Sirius/McGonagall seems pretty easy to write actually. I have ideas that could work, both involving teenage-Sirius. And yes, Republic's challengers are becoming stranger and stranger.

I'll take another challenge (HP, DC, DF or Marvel).

 

If you can pull this off, I will be amazed. Dumbledore alone is a bitch to write, but Mab, too?

Hmm...

Here's a curveball for ya: Harry Potter and... Poison Ivy.

 

Accepted. I just went back to uni so it might take me a few days to sit down and write it. Now, that said ...

Open Challenge:

Neville Longbottom and Poison Ivy.

---------- Post automerged 1st Mar 2014 at 01:40 PM ---------- Previous post was 28th Feb 2014 at 03:04 PM ----------

I had 20 minutes so I wrote this. I didn't really strike the tone I was going for but I'm not going to agonise over that.

~*~*~​

“You’re better than the other security guards,” Ivy said, her attention seemingly fixed on the hybrid wheat stalk that was preening for her.

“I’m not a security guard,” Harry said, stepping out from the shadows, breaking the delicate concealment magic. He was impressed that Ivy had detected his presence and took it as confirmation that she didn’t just control plants but talked to them. It made him jealous. “I’m Harry Potter.”

“Of Potter Consolidated? Interesting. Are you here for me?”

“I’m in town for a meeting with Wayne Enterprises and heard a tale about how someone keeps breaking into my research lab. I decided to take a look around,” Harry said. That wasn’t all of it. After the first confirmed break in the Head of Security for the facility had installed a number of small spy cameras of a type available from any half-decent spy shop. The cameras had caught several shots of Ivy during her next illegal entry into the building and Harry had exerted some influence to keep them from calling the cops down on the eco-terrorist.

Ivy turned and stepped forward into a shaft of moonlight that was pouring through the lab’s high windows. Harry’s mouth went dry. The video stills didn’t do her justice.

She was wearing a green dress that hugged her figure and displayed ample cleavage and green-tinged skin. Her red hair was tousled and threaded through with flowers. The dishevelled mess of her hair made Harry think of a woman who had just gotten out of bed.

“You’re lying,” she said. Her tone changed, becoming breathier. Sexier. There was seduction in her voice and the way she caught Harry’s eyes and pinned him down with her gaze.

Harry smiled and turned away to conceal his growing arousal. He reached out to touch a plant but stopped short. His smile grew when the plant came alive beneath his hand and Ivy gasped in surprise. It stretched and seemed to luxuriate under his attention. Plant manipulation was one of the earliest manifestations of his magic, one that Harry had worked on for years before Hogwarts. It had been his salvation with Little Whinging Reserve becoming a sanctuary.

“You’re just full of surprises,” Ivy said.

Harry let his hand dropped and turned, stepping towards her. Her eyes flicked down the length of his body and she smirked. Harry refused to be embarrassed. “I’m not the only one. You’re not known for your repeat visits to corporate research labs.” There were no repeat visits because they were usually destroyed during the first visits.

“You do good work. The business pages say that you’re working with Wayne Enterprises to develop a type of wheat that will grow in sub-Saharan Africa. You’re also an outspoken advocate of corporate responsibility, which has cost you millions of dollars in lost contracts. Your work interests me. We could do great things together, we could protect this world.” She lightly touched his face, trailing a finger down his cheek.

Part of Harry roared at him to agree, to do whatever she wanted. The much smaller, rational part of his mind told his hormones to shut the fuck up and reminded him that Ivy was a wanted eco-terrorist, linked to the destruction of several dozen research labs and other corporate-related entities and several deaths and disappearances. He also remembered that she was suspected of having some type of mind control abilities.

He smiled and stepped closer. He could feel her breasts brushing against his chest. “I don’t think you mind-fucking me into doing what you want is a good start to our relationship.”

Ivy stepped back, surprise flicking across her face.

Harry continued, “You’re not the only one with abilities, remember that.” He pulled a card from his pocket. “Visit whenever you want. My scientists say that whatever you’ve done to the plants have advanced their research by years. The number on the card will reach my office; call it if you ever want a job.”

Ivy took the card. “What’s the other number?” There was a handwritten mobile number scrawled beneath the printed landline.

“My personal number. Call if you ever want to get dinner,” he said.

“What? You want dinner after …”

Harry smiled. “You’d be surprised at how many of my friendships and relationships start out like this.” He turned away and headed for the door before stopping halfway and turning back. “If you hurt any of my employees, I’ll hunt you down and bury you in a deep, dark hole.”

 

Hold onto your butts, I'm all over this.

---------- Post automerged at 03:28 AM ---------- Previous post was at 03:27 AM ----------

Mind if I include the above?

 

No. Go for it.

 

Neville Longbottom/Poison Ivy
​

~~

I was not strange to find Professor Longbottom working in the Greenhouses in ungodly hours. As the resident Herbology professor, he had to keep all the plants in the greenhouses in top condition, some of which required tending to in specific hours, or under the moonlight.

This was such a night. Neville Longbottom was carefully keeping his wand aimed at the root of the Venomous Tentacula, keeping it frozen and immobile, while with the other he patted its vines and body, looking for the indicative bumps of infection. Soon, he would move on to the Moonshens, and then he would be done with Greenhouse 7.

He worked in the dim light of only a few candles, brow furrowed in consentration. When the first candle went out on a corner behind him, he paid it no mind. Many windows were open, thus a draft could have easily snuffed it.

When the second candle went out in quick succession, Neville narrowed his eyes, but kept working.

He almost twitched when he heard a tiny snap, knowing of nothing that would make such a sound at this hour. Crouched as he was over the Tentacula, he took one quickstep to the right to move out of range of its vines and whirled around, training his wand at the, now dark, corner where he knew the uninvited visitor was.

"Come out," he growled menacingly, the tip of his wand trailing a faint red mist in warning.

A few seconds passed in silence, during which Neville manage to make out a silhouette in the darkness, but nothing more. Then, he heard her.

"Neville Longbottom."

There was no doubt it was a 'her'. That throaty, sultry tone from low in one's throat could only be accomplished by females, Neville knew, and only a certain percentage of females, at that.

"That's me." He confirmed. "And you are?"

His sarcastic drawl must have been lost on her, for after a few seconds her reply came, in the same seductive tone. "You may call me .. Ivy."

Neville raised an eyebrow at her choice of nickname, but didn't comment. He'd heard much worse.

"Ivy it is. Well, Ivy, you have five seconds to explain what you're doing here before I curse you for trespassing on school grounds, and entering the Greenhouses after hours." All the while, his wand remained trained on where he approximated her chest to be.

As he talked, his nostrils flared, recognizing a shift in the greenhouse's air. It smelled sweet and ... pheromones?

"Oh Neville, would you really? Would you curse me?" Neville had no trouble imagining a fake pout, or a forlorn expression. He shook his head to clear it. Pheromones that could affect him to such a level was pretty impressive. If nothing else, his professional curiosity was drawn, as he recognized the scent as being completely organic. Did she grow it herself?

"If you think your pheromones would stop me, you must have thought me a pretty crappy Hebologist." Really, permanently immuning himself from most known poisons and other agents had been one of the first things he did, along with raising his general resistances, years ago.

This time, he could just as easily imagine her scowl, and heard the small huff of frustration.

"I suppose I should have expected something of the sort. Your attunement with Nature has reached my ears ... yes, my babies sing in your presence."

Neville did not pretend to understand what this woman was talking about. Maybe she was mentally unbalanced?

"Your five seconds are up, Ivy. What is it you want?"

"Revenge, mister Longbottom. Revenge."

"I'm sure I've never met you before in my life."

She tut tuted. "Not on you, mister Longbottom, not on you."

"Then who?"

She didn't reply immediately, and the hair on the back of Neville's neck rose when he sensed her rising anger.

"Harry ... Potter."

Neville barely repressed his groan. This did explain things. "What did Harry do this time?"

"We ... met some time ago. He intrigued me with his ecological work and personal charm. We talked, and he offered me a job. I accepted, and later he started courting me. I gave in, and the next day he threw me away like so many weeds!" She was all but snarling, in the end.

Neville shook his head at Harry's antics. Really, his skirt chasing would catch up to him eventually, Neville was sure.

"Did he promise to become your boyfriend? Or marry you? Or give you a promotion?"

"What? No, none of these things. He mentioned that he was not looking for anything beyond one night. At the time, I let him have his delusions that he could resist me."

"And then he threw you away? Did you lose your job?" That'd be a new low, even for Harry.

"No, I am still employed." She growled. Growled. A more sexy sound Neville had never heard before in his life.

Neville frowned at Ivy's obscured form. "Then why does Harry necessitate revenge?"

"No one spurns me, mister Longbottom, man or woman. No one."

Neville did not resist the need to roll his eyes. "You obviously don't know Harry Potter very well if you include him in generalisations like that."

"So I'm beginning to find out." Ivy grumbled. "But he will pay, nevertheless."

"Right, okay Ivy. And how does that have anything to do with you breaking into my greenhouses?"

"Potter will come crawling back to me, asking forgiveness, when he sees me move on with someone he knows. Of all his friends, you were the only one ... acceptable."

Neville's eyebrows were lost in his hairline, but that was his only reaction. Now he finally understood what Ivy was doing here.

"That sounds like a good plan." It didn't, but no need for Neville not to be courteous. "But I don't see why I should agree, and we both know you can't force me. What's in it for me?"

Instead of replying, Ivy simply stepped forward into the faint candlelight. It took all of Neville's considerable willpower not to let his jaw hit the floor, but he couldn't help the widening of his eyes.

Red hair cascading to the small of her back, Ivy's perfectly proportioned body had the most curious shade of light green, which only served to make her sexier. She was naked, save for some leafy vines that snaked around her and covered her more sensitive spots. Leaves were coming out of her hair, but it was sexy rather than messy. Suddenly, her nickname made much more sense.

With the edge of his mind, Neville noted how a Venomous Tentacula near Ivy reached out to her. Rather than trying to smother or poison her, it reached for her, almost shyly. Ivy's right hand rose to pet the venomous plant like a kitty.

Neville shook his head, and thought things through.

He smiled.

"Consider me intrigued. How about we negotiate the terms of our agreement?"

Ivy smiled.

"Of course, Professor."

~~

 

Dumbledore and Mab

I wanted to make it a proper smut story but it just didn't work out in my head. Surprise surprise. I hope I didn't butcher Dumbledore's character. It's been a while since I read the HP books.

Written in about an hour and beta'd by a bottle of Bowmore, so don't fucking judge me.

***

The knock at the door of his study took Dumbledore by surprise. Harry had only just left to fetch his cloak. He’d expected him to be at least fifteen minutes, perhaps a little while longer, if he wished to speak to his friends before departing. Perhaps Professor McGonagall had decided to pop in for a glass of single malt scotch, as she sometimes did.

With a little more effort than usual, Dumbledore made his way out of the comfortable office chair and crossed the room in a couple of long strides to open the door. Even now, even having met her over a hundred times, there was a moment of shocked awe upon seeing her.

Mab, the Queen of Air and Darkness, Monarch of the Unseelie Fae – and as strange as it might seem to many, including himself, his old friend – was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. It was meeting her that had finally made him come to terms with the denial regarding his preferences.

If she did not inspire lust in a man, then no other woman ever would.

She was tall, six feet with some change added by suggestive but sensibly high heels, and slender. She wore a shimmering white dress to match her snow-white hair, its cut dipping just deep enough.

It had been almost a hundred years since they had first met and in that time, Mab had not changed in the slightest. Whereas he had turned from a young fool full of ideals into an old fool full of regrets.

“Good evening, Albus,” she said. “It has been a long time.”

“Too long,” he agreed and meant it. “Come in. Have some tea.”

She nodded. “Thank you. That would be appreciated.”

They settled at a small table over by one of the office’s windows, with just enough place for a kettle of tea, cups and a small tray of biscuits.

Mab poured milk and sugar into her tea, swirled it twice with her spoon and moved one of her knights before popping the question.

“When?” She asked. Her gaze did not flicker down to his blackened hand, but he knew that she knew. There were very few things that she did not.
Dumbledore smiled at her over his own cup of tea and after taking a sip, moved one of his pawns.

“Months,” Dumbledore responded easily. “If all things go according to plan, it will be less. This may be our last meeting.”

To someone who did not know her, it probably would’ve looked like Mab was pondering her next move. She wasn’t. Dumbledore rather doubted she’d need to see the board to beat him. She was – upset? He wasn’t sure the word was perfectly applicable, but it would serve.

“The curse,” Mab said, her voice unusually quiet. “I could break it.”

Dumbledore nodded and smiled as one of his Pawns made the ultimate sacrifice.

“Indeed,” he responded, and moved his queen to box her Knight in a few turns down the line. “But I am not the one who has to defeat Voldemort. My days are over.”

He smiled gently at Mab as she evaded his entrapment and took out his Rook. She looked him in the eye for a long minute. “Your trap is set, then?”

“Yes,” Dumbledore said grimly. “It is.”

“I- “ she hesitated, something he could not recall her doing in all the time they’d known one another. “I shall miss these meetings.”

Dumbledore reached over the table and took one of her hands in his old wrinkled fingers. Her skin was just as cold, smooth and soft as he’d remembered.

“As will I.” He cleared his throat. “Now, tell me. How is that charming daughter of yours doing?”

Mab did not have time to tell him before there was a second knock on the door.

“It would seem our time is up,” she said and moved her Queen. “Check mate.”

“Alas,” Dumbledore agreed as his King fell. “Good game. It was a pleasure playing with you.”

He turned to the door.

“You may come in, Harry.”

By the time he’d returned his attention to Mab, she was halfway turned away from him. He thought he might’ve spotted a tear on her cheek. Perhaps. His eyesight was not what it once had been.

“Good bye, old friend,” the Queen of Air and Darkness said. There was a gust of cold wind which rattled the empty teacups in their saucers and she was gone.

Harry stood slack-jawed in the door opening, staring at the spot where Mab had disappeared.

“Who was that, sir?”

Dumbledore smile. “An old friend. Are you ready?”


***

I do hereby solemnly and somewhat drunkenly challenge Rep to write a Luna Lovegood/Harley Quinn/Harry Potter fic. The craziest sandwich since Elvis' peanutbutter and banana ones.

I'm still open for challenges, though I'd sorta prefer Dresden Files. Or maybe Buffy.

Awesome story, Peace.

 

I feel cheated. This is not the 'old friends' thread, dammit. T_T I am not sure I should accept your challenge under these conditions.

 

Were you hoping to read about Dumbledore's wrinkled sack?
I'd say we're all much better off with chess pieces being exchanged rather than bodily fluids.

 

You know, I thought about it, but I couldnt get any of my replies to that to be anything other than directly or indirectly questioning your intelligence.

 

I've written a lot of pointless smut in my day and if you give me a sensible pairing, I'll do it again.

 

You have no excuse, after all we talked about.

 

A sensible pairing? Alright, then.

Harry Potter and Apolline Delacour.

 

How about a challenge of your own, Jorm? What fandoms can you work with?

 

Meh. All we talked about was the friendship part. Jorm, DF only please. I haven't read HP in years.

 

In total?

Harry Potter, obviously, uh...

I have a passing familiarity with the Dresden Files from other people's fics on here, but I haven't read the actual books themselves (need to get around to reading them).

I don't watch/read anime/manga at all, so I get the feeling that's a huge chunk of possibilities removed.

DC and Marvel, I suppose.

FiM I'm pretty into, at the moment.

Just getting into Worm -- been reading fanfics at the moment, and I'm going to be spending the next few days reading through the actual canon story (huzzah for free time!).

Starcraft, Diablo...

 

Alright, Jorm. You're on. The Overmind/Cho Chang.

 

Challenge for Jorm: HP/Kerrigan.

 

HP pairing from Zeelthor: Neville/Tonks.


· * * * *


At first, sleeping in the two-man tent had been awkward for both of them, but after hard days of scouting, observing, tracking the progress of the enemy below, it didn't quite matter. Neville ducked his shoulder, and climbed in headfirst. He unzipped his sleeping bag.

He dozed for a second, but the rustle near the entrance jolted him awake. Tonks half fell into the tent, and landed atop him. The air whooshed out of him, and Tonks lay there for a minute.

"Sorry," she said, her voice cracking.

He wiggled around, and waited for Tonks to move her head.

She rolled off him, climbed into her bag, and fell asleep.

For a moment, he listened to the blast of air through her nose as she exhaled. There was something steady about it, a constant in a world of variables and uncertainty. He hoped that she'd still be breathing at the end - that they'd all still be breathing at the end.

Then her breathing sped up, and he braced himself. He peered over the top of his bag into her face, eyes closed, but teeth gritted. She moaned something, but he couldn't quite make it out. She thrashed, rebounding off the thin canvas wall of the tent, and he wanted so much to just hold her, to shoo the nightmares away. He wanted to be that stable someone, because he was the only someone she had out here.

He reached up and out and touched her cheek gently, trying to soothe her by mere contact alone. She mewed and pressed the corner of her mouth harder into his palm.

"Shh," he whispered. "Shh, it's gonna be okay..."

And then she jerked awake, and her eyes sprang wide, flitted about her, then settled on his face.

"Tonks... I'm sorry. You were yelling, and-"

But she lunged out of her bag, and pinned him to the ground, falling onto him, bag still wrapped about her knees. Her lips came down on his.

For a second, he froze, then he kissed her back. He knew they'd regret this in the morning, but it was good now, and now was all that mattered. He unzipped the sleeping bag, and rolled Tonks onto her back.

He pulled back, staring into her eyes, waiting for realisation to strike. But it never did. She pulled his head back down, their lips meeting again, mouths opening, tongues twining. Her legs came up to wrap about him, pulling up his pyjama shirt. Her legs felt like they were wreathed in flames as they encircled his waist, and the faint stubble on her calves scratched his back. She drew him in closer.

Their hands wondered over unfamiliar territory, unbuttoning buttons, flicking back shirts, and rolling down waistbands. Before he knew it, Neville had a fist full of the crotch of Tonks's underwear, and had pulled it off.

Now was the point of no return.

She took him in hand, and he slid into her.

 

Managed the down and dirty pretty well. Nice. Feel free to drop a challenge in return.