Posted in Hawaii Five-0, NCIS, Rule 63, The Sentinel

Waves Towards The Shore

Title: Waves Towards The Shore
Fandom: NCIS/Hawaii Five-0, Sentinel Fusion
Pairing: Female Tony DiNozzo/Steve McGarrett
Genre: genderbend, casefic, action-adventure, romance, sentinel fusion, alternate universe
Word Count: 19 968
Canon-typical violence, child abandonment and abuse, mentions of murder and other criminal activities.
Notes: Written as part of the Rough Trade Little Black Dress Challenge for sentinel fusions in July 2018. This is not part of any other series or story I’ve written including other sentinel fusions. If you see elements or characterizations I’ve used before it’s because I have certain ongoing headcanons for favourite fandoms and characters, of which Tony DiNozzo is one. The child abandonment in the warnings regards a canon event in Tony’s life where his father leaves him alone in Hawaii for days. This takes place in the first season, canonically, of Hawaii Five-0 and after the third season of NCIS. The timelines don’t exactly line up because I don’t care and it’s an alternate universe.

Synopsis: Left behind by her father while he chased a wealthy new wife, budding guide Antonia DiNozzo is adopted by her mother’s family in England. Hawaii is behind her — until a hunt for an arms dealer brings her back to the island. And Steve McGarrett, the sentinel son of the man who once saved her.

Continue reading “Waves Towards The Shore”

Posted in JAG, NCIS, Rule 63

Bounce Back

Title: Bounce Back
Fandom: NCIS/JAG
Pairing: female Tony DiNozzo/AJ Chegwidden
Genre: post-episode (6×16 Bounce); romance
Warnings: I am not kind to Tim and Ziva and as far as I’m concerned, they deserve it.
Notes:  Like Boxed In and Dead Air, this episode pissed me off. 

Synopsis: An innocent man spent two years in prison. That’s not a joke, and only Tim and Ziva seem to be laughing. Responsibility and blame are not the same things.

If real police work was like a television show, there would only be one case on the deck at a time and they would end when the last question was answered and an arrest was made. All the motives would be neat and make sense, and you would be left with the assumption that the perp would get exactly what they deserved.

Toni DiNozzo was very fond of the small and silver screens — too fond, according to some — but real life wasn’t television and cop work was hell and gone more complex and less precise than police procedurals made out. Even the grittiest and most hardboiled of the lot, which might capture some of the cynicism, couldn’t come close to the reality.

For one thing, they didn’t show cops spending nearly enough time doing paperwork. Continue reading “Bounce Back”

Posted in Fiction, Rule 63, The Hobbit

Of Glowing Starlight

Title: Of Glowing Starlight
Series: Radiance #1
Fandom: The Hobbit/LotR
Pairing(s): Elrond/fem!Legolas, Thorin Oakenshield/Bellamira Baggins (fem!Bilbo)
Genre: Romance, fantasy, action adventure, genderbend, alternate universe
Warnings: genderbend of several Tolkien characters (because I can and because there are entirely too many male and too few female characters in those books-slash-movies), canon-typical violence (which covers a lot)
Word Count: 13 314
Notes: see Series Page for full notes;  Bilbo, Legolas and Kíli are female for reasons. I’m using the movie verse as my primary canon, with a dash of book and Tolkien lore, and fusing elements of The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. Movie casting unless otherwise specified; see series page for Casting. Glossary at end of work and series page.

Synopsis: Thorin Oakenshield has no love of elves, but a burning hate of orcs — so it isn’t terribly hard for Gandalf to convince him to join efforts with an elf-maid while they are hunted across the foothills of Rhudaur. Elf or not, he can only respect someone who can so handily dispatch their enemy.

He only wanted to get the Company to safety, and to the Misty Mountains for the next leg of their journey. Rivendell was never on his itinerary — and he never expected the she-elf they fell in with to be the wife of Elrond, Lord of Rivendell.

But then, Legolas has always managed to surprise people.

The Company of Thorin Oakenshield detours to Rivendell, thanks to orcs being . . . well, orcs. Everything that comes after that is probably not their fault.

Continue reading “Of Glowing Starlight”

Posted in Criminal Minds, Hawaii Five-0, NCIS, Rule 63, Short Fiction

tBS: War Brides

Title: War Brides
Author: darkseraphina
Fandom: NCIS/Criminal Minds
Prompt: Rule 63

Characters/Pairings: Spencer Reid/Aaron Hotchner, Antonia DiNozzo/Steve McGarrett
Genre: historical AU (yes, really)
Word Count: 1990
Notes: So, I wrote a historical AU. And a Rule 63 story. At the same time. This is what happens when you spend time reorganizing a history section in a bookstore. I have no regrets. More seriously, I’m Canadian and that means that war brides are a large part of the post-WWII identity of my country; more than 40,000 brides from Britain and thousands more from Germany, the Netherlands, France, Italy, and other nations immigrated to Canada in the years after the war. Some faced poverty, others rural isolation; some faced abuse and suffering. And some made happy lives, despite the strange circumstances and the difficulties of a world recovering from war.

Synopsis: They were more fortunate than most, even far from home and soon to reach a strange country.

They were luckier than most.

It was an odd thing to think, hundreds of miles from home while on their way to a new country to meet husbands they hadn’t seen in years. They’d been at sea for days and the war was barely over.

Still, they were lucky for the war was over and they had survived as had the men they’d wed days before being sent to the front lines. Though they were sailing to a new land, it was one that spoke the same language as their own. Their families were an ocean behind them but they’d found a friend in each other to ease fear and homesickness.

Spencer leant against the railing of RMS Queen Elizabeth, watching the dark smudge of land along the horizon. She’d calculated their position based on estimated speed and her knowledge of nautical charts; they were past the coast of Canada and soon to pass Boston, the final leg of the trip between Southampton and New York.

“Almost there,” Nina said softly, round tones giving away her upper-class breeding. Spencer’s accent was pure London despite years at Oxford, first under the guardianship of her mentor, Dr Gideon, and later as a student of mathematics. It wasn’t her accent that had drawn looks then, but her age and gender; women were permitted within the hallowed halls of Oxford but only begrudgingly, and sixteen-year-old girls more so than most.

When war broke out it hadn’t mattered that she was nineteen and female to the War Office. Her gender was a blessing for once, as it meant one less man pulled from the front lines to do the work needed at Bletchley Park. Spencer had been challenged, by both the work and the people, but there was nothing she regretted from her time there.

It was at Bletchley that she’d met Aaron, an American army captain attached to the War Office as an interrogator. It was in the nearby village that she’d married him, two years after their first meeting and two days before he was sent to rejoin the Americans, seven weeks before Normandy.

It was September 17, 1946. Spencer Hotchner had last seen her husband in April of 1944.

She touched a creased letter in her skirt pocket. It was the last of many sent over the years, having arrived only days before she boarded the ship. “Yes, almost.”

Nina leant back against the rail, arms draped across it as she lifted her face; the sun was thin, but it was there. For days the ship had been battered by storms, forcing them to stay inside and many to battle seasickness. That wasn’t a problem for her, not after years spent flying everything from Tiger Moths to Spitfires.

She was the granddaughter of an Earl and Italian immigrants; raised amid grand rooms and manicured gardens and expected to marry well. The Paddingtons wished for a well-connected husband while her father wanted him to be rich. Antonia, called Nina, had never concerned herself with a wealthy life, only one that was hers.

When the war started, she hadn’t joined a women’s organization as a director, the way Peeresses and their daughters had; she hadn’t signed up as an ambulance driver like Princess Elizabeth. She’d joined the Air Transport Auxiliary and learned to fly.

It had horrified her cousin Crispian and worried her Uncle Clive, but Nina had done right by her country and enjoyed herself immensely. The work was hard and dangerous, but they’d made the most of every day, and even more of the nights.

It was on such a night that she’d met Steven, a Navy officer. They’d been celebrating in the pub and he had offered a truly terrible line only to make up for it by buying a round. He’d also known how to dance, which Nina found terribly attractive in a man. They’d been married a month later.

When he’d been sent to Sicily, she’d gone three months without a word; more than once she’d found an S. McGarrett on the casualty lists but always of a different rank or nationality. The letter that finally arrived had mentioned that he’d been ‘a little shot up, but fine’ and little else. Her blistering response had threatened to set the mailbag on fire and ensured he’d never gone more than two weeks between letters again.

A child ran by, obviously enjoying some time above deck, mother following and calling in French. Nina and Spencer grinned; as they both understood French, they caught the woman’s creative scolding. Of the hundreds of women and children on board, less than half were English.

“Are you frightened?”

“Running into a Jerry on reconnaissance while you’re flying with empty guns is frightening.”


“Terrified,” she admitted. “And you? I’ve more time to wait, but you’ll meet Aaron again soon.” Having been discharged, Aaron lived in the Capitol as a barrister. The trip to New York was only the first part of Nina’s journey; she would take a train to San Francisco, then another ship to Honolulu.

“His mother is going to hate me,” Spencer mumbled.

“Probably,” Nina said cheerfully, ignoring Spencer’s frown. “A posh bird from another country who stole her lad’s heart and left him to pine all this time? Fortunately, your husband doesn’t live with his mother. Think about how many women on this ship will be living in the same house as their mother-in-law, and be grateful.”

“I’m grateful he lives in a city, one with libraries. I like a ramble in the countryside as much as anyone,” Spencer admitted, “but I’m not interested in living there.”

“Countryside means something quite different for us than Americans, but I agree; the first thing I asked Steven when he asked for a dance was if he was a farmer.”


Unashamed, Nina shrugged. “Better to be rude than to fall in love with a man whose life would make you miserable. Don’t frown at me, you had the sense to marry a barrister.”

Since it was true, Spencer only asked: “Are you packed?”

Many war brides carried only a single bag with them as they joined their husbands, but they were more fortunate. Nina’s family and Spencer’s husband both had money enough to pay for passage rather than depending on the government. Instead of only what they could carry, they were able to bring all their belongings.

Well, most; Spencer would have to wait and have her books sent by packet later.

“I’m ready to get off this boat as soon as we land,” Nina agreed.

The waters grew busy as other vessels became more common; fishing and transport, steam and sailboats grew numerous. The decks grew crowded with women and children who watched as their new home grew closer. Crewmen made the rounds, warning of the coming landfall. A few left to gather belongings but most stayed, waiting and watching.

“Oh,” Nina said quietly beneath the shouts and cheers in multiple languages; Spencer clutched the railing. The Statue of Liberty was larger than they’d expected, rising above the sea and city beyond her. Her face appeared solemn and kind.

As they drew closer to port, both women retreated to their berth to collect their suitcases and their composure.

“How long to unload the baggage, do you think?” Spencer asked as they descended the gangplank; around them, chaos reigned. Spencer gripped the handle of her suitcase as she watched the exuberant greetings and kisses playing out. There was a crowd of onlookers and even photographers nearby, and wasn’t sure if she was grateful not to be part of the spectacle or saddened; there was still a train journey to Washington D.C.

“In this? At least an hour, then we’ll have to arrange to get the trunks on the right trains.” Nina eyed the crowd with a faint smile and dark eyes, for it reminded her of the Victory Day celebrations, right down to the sailors dipping women back in enthusiastic kisses. “We might find a place to sit, or better still, to have a bite to eat.”

“You can still take the train to Washington, and then go to San Francisco from there.”

“Spencer, I doubt either of you wants a house guest on your first night together since D-Day.”

“You can find a hotel if you insist,” Spencer cajoled. “You were of staying a night here before going on; why not Washington?”

Nina linked their arms and drew Spencer through the crowd. “We’ll see. You know what I’m looking forward to most?”

“Not in public, Nina,” Spencer blushed.

“Do you know what I look forward to almost as much as that? No rationing.”

“Sugar for tea,” Spencer sighed. “Bacon for breakfast.”

“And fruit instead of jam. Steve told me that you can buy pineapples and bananas in every greengrocer on the island.” It had been years since she’d had a banana, and only ever canned pineapple. Even oranges had been rare since the war began, the risks of shipping too great for luxury items. Apples and fruit from gardens and hedgerows made into preserves had been the order of the day.

A letter describing Hawaii was carefully folded among many in her case and while Steven was quite awful with words, he managed to summon some eloquence in writing as well as private moments. Lush green forests and crystal blue seas, white sand and warm sun; he obviously loved his home.


She glanced around at her name; it wasn’t common and was usually someone calling a last name rather than her. This time, however . . . “Oh.”

Nina chuckled and took her case from her hand, then gave her a little nudge. “Go on, then.”

“He wasn’t supposed to be here.”

“Well, go tell him that.”

It was odd to see him in a dark suit rather than a uniform, but his face seemed the same. A few creases near his eyes and a scar on his jaw that she could see up close, but otherwise as the picture in her pocketbook showed. And just like she remembered, he showed little of what he thought in his face and everything in his eyes.

“You weren’t — what are you doing here?” she managed then blushed. Hardly a warm greeting.

Aaron smiled. “I missed you.”

She took the last few steps and wrapped her arms around him; his came up to hold her tightly. “I missed you, too.”

Nina smiled and turned away to give them privacy, though she doubted they’d do anything half so demonstrative as those around them. Spencer described her husband as restrained, and she was rather contained as well. Around them, husbands and wives, parents and children were still connecting as the business of unloading a ship went on around them.

She and Spencer were the lucky ones. For every kiss, there was a stilted greeting; for every warm hug, a loveless one. Nina would lay a pound for a pence that at least one woman here had been widowed and not yet gotten word, and was now without husband or money in a foreign land. Plenty had married in haste and would now have time to repent, and there were surely men who’d all but forgotten they were married.

Spencer’s husband was speaking quietly in her ear and, based on the women’s blush, it was something loving or carnal. Nina rather hoped it was both for Spencer was charming and so terribly serious. Regardless, there was no repenting there. As for herself, Steven’s letters were as full of wistfulness and longing as ever, so she didn’t think he’d forgotten her. She would go to the other side of the world and make a home with him and, if it didn’t work, she had three hundred pounds hidden in her case and a bank draft for more from her grandfather.


She turned away from the crowds towards her friend, and let her stern husband take the luggage.



Note: Yes, I used Nina as a nickname instead of Toni. Context matters, and fashion changes. Try to picture a young woman, growing up in the 1920’s in Britain with an upper-class family being called ‘Toni’. And that’s before the whole ‘we’re at war with Italy’ element. Nina is a nickname for women’s names that start with N or end with ‘-nia’ and is well-known in Britain.

Posted in JAG, NCIS, Rule 63

tBS: Uniform Tastes

Prompt: Surrender
Fandom: NCIS/JAG
Characters/Pairing: Toni DiNozzo/AJ Chegwidden; female Tony DiNozzo
Genre: erotic, romance
Rating/Warnings: yeah, this is Explicit. Definitely M or R. Here there be sexy times.
Word Count: 917
Notes: I wanted to write a bit of uniform kink; I got this. I can’t even write a blowjob without adding romance and character development. If this is wrong, I don’t want to be right.

Synopsis: “You know, Admiral, there’s something about a man in uniform.”

Toni had only just begun to drift off when he arrived, having spent some time mentally going over a cold case. There was something about the crime scene layout. . .

So the quiet tread and the light from the hallway didn’t wake her so much as get her attention. She turned on the bedside lamp, and the tall shadow in the doorway resolved itself into an admiral in full uniform.

“Sorry,” AJ murmured. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.” She sat up, watching as he removed his cover and laid it aside, then carefully hung up his jacket. “They okay?”

He laughed tiredly. “Right in the midst of chaos, like expected. They’re the best the navy has but, my God, can Mac and Harm find trouble anywhere they go.” He smiled at her. “I didn’t expect you to still be here. Sorry about dinner.”

“You can hardly make it up to me tomorrow if I’m not here,” she pointed out, “and I understand.” Her own job had kept her from weddings, holidays, and more dates than she could count; missing dinner was hardly an issue.

“I will make it up to you, but I’m still sorry,” AJ agreed, reaching for his top button.

Sliding from the bed, she laid a hand on his chest, stopping the motion. “You know, Admiral,” she murmured, “there’s something about a man in uniform. Something. . . commanding.”

“Toni,” he drawled.

“Yes, Admiral?” She made quick work of his trousers, only shifting enough fabric to reveal her target.

“Toni, you don’t have to —” he trailed off as she stroked the length of his cock, “Christ, darling.”

“Admiral, I’ve never sucked a man’s cock because I felt like had to; I’ve gone down plenty because I wanted to.” She nipped his throat above his collar, making him groan. “And I really, really want to while you’re still in your uniform.”

“You assured me that you weren’t a uniform groupie,” he said, a hand sliding up her thigh and under the shirt she’d worn to bed.  

“It’s less about being turned on by a uniform, and more about you in uniform,” Toni admitted softly. “You might have noticed, but I’ve definitely got a thing for you.”

“Ah, hell,” he whispered, eyes darkening. “Toni, you’re ten years too young to fall for an old sailor.”

“Forty-seven isn’t old, AJ.”

“It’s hell and gone older than thirty-one.” He tipped their foreheads together. “I never should have touched you.”

“Fuck that, AJ, I practically sexually harassed you in the Hilton ballroom. Taking me home was practically self-defense.” She hated that tone, the one where she could hear him adding up their ages and coming up with the idea he should be ashamed. Thirty-one was hardly an intern in a married man’s office or a hook up with a college coed.

Thirty-one was nine years of law enforcement, five of them in uniform and three as a Fed. It was undercover work and international terrorism and serial killers. It was firefights and fatal shooting inquiries and mandatory counselling and looking back at her childhood and realizing that she could live her life or let her parents’ issues rule it.

It was learning the difference between a good time and a good man.

She kissed him hard, all heat and lust and heart, and he responded immediately in kind. With a nip at his lip, she pulled away and nudged him back against the dresser. “Sorry, Admiral, but you’re going to have to surrender and take it like a man.” Dropping to her knees, she licked his dick and grinned at the groan it got her. “Just hold on and think of the navy.” And swallowed the head of his cock.

“Fuck, darling.” Hands dug into her hair and he did, indeed, hold on while she wallowed in the weight and taste and scent of him; the light tugging against her scalp and the way one hand cupped the back of her head were added encouragement. She worked the base with one hand and played with his balls with the other and went to town on her man.

He took it with quiet curses and little else, letting her do what she wanted without demands. When she abandoned his cock to run her mouth delicately over his testicles, he spread his legs a little and leant back to offer better access. And when she’d toyed with him enough and focused on the sensitive head and underside with intent, AJ only said her name like a prayer.

“Darling,” he warned, “I’m —” and Toni ignored it, hollowing her cheeks and swallowing as much as she could while she brought him over.

“Fucking Christ,” he managed.

Smug, Toni released him and sat back on her heels. “Well, that more than made up for missing dinner.”

AJ hauled her upright and kissed the breath out of her. “You have until I get out of this uniform to be naked and on the bed, or you’ll have to stay upright while I eat you out.”

She laughed, but wriggled out of his hold and stripped off her shirt. Better not to test him since she knew just how good he was with his mouth. Weak knees were the least of what he did to her. “If you’re trying to punish me, you’re doing it wrong.”

“Let’s see if you say that in half an hour,” he warned, tossing aside his shirt and stalking her to the bed where he made his closing arguments. Thoroughly.


Posted in Criminal Minds, Fiction, NCIS, Rule 63

tBS: Prohibited

Prompt: Rule 63
Fandom: Criminal Minds/NCIS
Pairings/Characters: Tony DiNozzo/Spencer Reid, BAU team
Warnings: Recreational Alcohol is consumed on screen; please drink responsibly.
Word Count: 1,811
Notes: Well, I’ve written Tony and Spencer as a slash pairing, with female Spencer and with female Tony so you know what that means: femslash. Also, I was going to keep this pretty close to canon by having Toni and Spencer at their canon jobs, but somehow I wrote my way around to this. I don’t usually write Tony as a civilian unless he was injured in the line of duty but this really worked for me. If Tony, male or female, had ever gone into business, I can absolutely picture this.

Synopsis: The team meets Spencer for a night out, gets lost, and finds a surprise.

“I don’t know where we’re going, but I doubt it’s what I had in mind for a Friday night.”

“Oh hush, spoilsport,” Penelope scolded. “How often does our genius invite everyone out, instead of one of us luring her from her book cocoon for an evening with the team?”

“That would be my point,” Derek said. “Rossi agrees with me, right man?”

“Not really.”

“Come on, man — Reid’s idea of a good time is a three-hour foreign film or a day at the Library of Congress. Hey, now!” He jumped a little when Emily prodded his ribs. “Careful, Prentis.”

“You’re already on thin ice, Morgan, after your stunt the other day, so watch it.”

“Stunt? What stunt?”

“The latest episode of your epic quest to cockblock Spencer,” JJ said mildly.

He scowled and walked a little quicker to get out of Emily’s reach; behind his back, she and Penelope fist bumped. “He was hitting on her and she wasn’t interested.”

“He was a decorated officer inviting a colleague to lunch, and she is a twenty-six-year-old genius with ten degrees and a gun,” Hotch sighed. “She’s shot a man in the head, Morgan; Reid is perfectly capable of turning down a polite invitation without you throwing yourself on the grenade.”

“Being asked out makes her flustered.”

“And she’ll never get any practice at it with you around, Chocolate Thunder,” Penelope hooked her arm through his and pinched his bicep. “This is our shot across your bow, my love; the next time, we start playing dirty.”

Because he was a smart man, her beautiful Derek looked wary. “Do I want to know?”

“Lets’ just say,” JJ interjected, “that I doubt you’d enjoy an outright campaign on your ability to get a phone number, much less a date.”

“Sauce for the gander,” Rossi chuckled. “Karma.”

Morgan gave her a betrayed look. She patted his arm. “It’s for your own good, Sir Morgan.”

Rossi, who was navigating, stopped. “I hate these damned GPS apps,” he grumbled, staring at his phone. “This can’t be it.”

‘This’ was a narrow alley between a movie theatre and a Mexican restaurant, walls plastered with posters and graffiti. Near the end was a sign that said Underground.

She pursed her lips. This rang a bell or two but it couldn’t be . . . could it?

“This better not be some kind of walking tour of haunted places or murder sites,” Derek muttered.

At the end of the alley was a door, opening to a descending staircase complete with flickering lights and subway tiles. They gamely continued — a federal badge or six would get them out of trespassing charges — and at the bottom, after a turn, came to an old-fashioned turnstile with its arms locked in place.

“Well, we’re lost. Someone call Reid.”

“Oh!” Penelope dug into her pocket. “I forgot, she gave me these.” And retrieved a handful of tickets, naked of anything but barcodes. “I thought they were for a movie, but they look like they’ll fit the ticket slot.”

Hotch tried first, and passed through the arms of the turnstile, then waited for the rest of them. Will had a knowing smile on his face; Garcia bounced on her toes, thrilled and eager for more. Just beyond them was a heavy door. “Open it!”

“It says ‘No Entrance’, Mama,” Derek cautioned, but she knew what this was and pushed forward to grab the handle and yank.

And they walked into the Prohibition.

“No. Way.” Emily breathed. “Seriously?”

Lush and gorgeous, filled with vintage wood and fabric and gleaming glass, the 1920’s swirled around them. There were two bars, dozens of tables, and multiple chandeliers. On the dance floor were a dozen couples including one doing a vigorous Charleston, to cheers and applause, and a live band.

The servers and bar staff, male and female alike, wore tuxedo pants, shirts, and cummerbunds complete with suspenders; the head bartender wore a vest and tie as well. The hostess looked like Anna May Wong had stepped off the screen and into Washington in her black and red silk dress. The patrons wore street clothes and suits, flapper dresses and fifties fashion, sequins and blue jeans and everything in between.

At a high-topped table near the bar, fitting in perfectly in her usual tweed skirt, argyle knee socks and saddlebacks, Spencer Reid sat with a cocktail and a book.

“Doctor Reid, you are a genius! How did you find this place?”

Spencer looked up from her book — Fitzgerald seemed appropriate — to find her team descending on her. “Oh good, you found it. I thought I might need to text you instructions.”

“It took a moment,” Rossi agreed. “An Old Fashioned,” he told a server who’d descended on them.

There was a round of ordering, along with a few questions about the drinks listed on the menu — and a few laughs over the House Rules printed there. Garcia dug out her phone and switched it off immediately, happy to immerse herself in the atmosphere, and Will and JJ announced that they were coming back wearing fedoras to take advantage of the half priced drinks.

“No, really, how did you find this place?” Emily asked when they were served. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“I have,” Will said, “but I didn’t know where the entrance was. Anybody can slap up a few decorations and call themselves a speakeasy. It takes a secret entrance and word of mouth to make a real one.”

“Where do you get the tickets?” Morgan asked, gazing around at the decor.

“There’s a ticket booth in the movie theatre,” Spencer explained, “they only sell tickets after six. The same person owns both, so it works.”

“The theatre shows vintage films, right? Someone with vision and a love of history.” Hotch’s shoulders relaxed, a sure sign he was feeling comfortable.

“And movies,” she agreed. “Not to mention a flair for the dramatic.”

“You know him?” Morgan asked suspiciously, then flinched. JJ and Emily glared at him, and Spencer figured one of them had kicked him under the table.

“Cockblocking,” Garcia said warningly.

“Remind me to add ‘No Cockblocking’ to the House Rules.” Spencer grinned and turned; Toni had swanned up to the table, looking every inch a modern Marlene Dietrich in a floor-length sequined gown and styled curls. “Really, it should always be against the rules.”

“Guys, this is the owner of Underground; Antonia DiNozzo. Toni, this is my team.”

“The infamous BAU,” she purred, sliding right into Spencer’s personal space. She tucked her arm around Toni’s waist; Rossi’s eyebrow flew up and Garcia’s jaw dropped. “A bunch of Feds in a speakeasy; well, it’s not the first time.”

“We aren’t all Feds,” Will teased.

“Corrupting the local coppers is old news, Detective,” Toni returned sassily, “the Chief of Detectives and Police Commissioner are regulars. Don’t come on Thursdays if you want to avoid getting pinched for colluding with moonshiners.”

“See? Dramatic.”

Toni pouted. “Don’t you love me, doll? Why you gotta be so mean?” Laughing, Spencer kissed her. Her girlfriend lingered for a long moment; they ignored Morgan’s choked squawk. When Toni drew back, her smile was real and soft and full of love.  

“I really do love you, but that means I’m aware of and enjoy your preference for drama.”

“You’re forgiven, but I demand a dance later in payment for hurting my feelings.” Toni pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth, then grinned at the team. “I’ll be back later. Don’t wear her out with too many questions; I have plans later.”

“You,” Garcia intoned seriously as Toni sauntered away, hips swaying beneath her shimmering dress, “are going to tell me everything. And don’t spare on the sexy stuff.”

Toni slid back up to the table after they’d ploughed through several platters of hors d’oeuvres and several refills apiece. “Enjoying yourselves?”

“The food and drink are almost as good as storytime,” Garcia said shamelessly. “I especially like the part where you invited her home to see your etchings.”

“They were art deco prints, actually,” Spencer explained. “Toni’s a collector.”

Her team laughed; Toni hugged her shoulders and consoled: “Don’t worry, Spencer, I love you even when you can’t see a come on with a deep space telescope.”

“It’s a lovely collection,” Spencer huffed.

“You didn’t see my artwork until the next morning, sweetheart,” Toni reminded her. “Unless we’re counting my rack, which I think qualifies.”

“Let’s go dance,” JJ laughed, tugging Will towards the dance floor. “I’m not sure we should be listening to this!”

“I just invited you home for coffee.” He finished his drink and followed. “Which we didn’t get to until morning either, come to think.”

“Come along, Derek,” Garcia ordered. “I want to take a spin as well. You’re next, David Rossi, so don’t go anywhere.”

“What about Hotch?” the older profiler demanded. “I’m ten years too old to keep up with you!”

“Our fearless leader is about to find himself with his own partner,” she called back cheerfully.

“Redhead, two o’clock,” Toni pointed out. “Partner in a local law firm, does charity work for an inner city family law centre. Comes in on Fridays, usually, for the stage and burlesque shows. Looks fantastic in Dior,” she added with a smile as a redhead in a black dress slid up to Hotch’s seat.

“And then there were three,” Rossi mused as their Unit Chief followed the exodus to the crowded dance floor. “Why are you two still here?”

“I don’t want to leave you alone,” Spencer admitted, familiar with the sensation of holding the table while everyone else had fun.

“Take your woman and get your rear onto the dance floor, Agent Doctor Reid,” she was told sternly. “I’m getting another drink, and then I’m going to watch and smugly imagine how sore and hung over you’ll all be tomorrow.”

“Come on, sugar,” Toni laughed, “we’ve got our orders.” And she was pulled along.

“I haven’t gotten any better since the last time,” Spencer warned.

“Which is why the band is going to play something slow.” The music changed, and Toni drew her close. They were nearly the same height, but Toni’s heels elevated her so she took the lead as they danced cheek to cheek.

“I’m glad you brought them,” Toni murmured.

“So am I.” And she was; her team was like family, and you introduced someone you loved to your family; even she knew that. Spencer stroked her thumb along the side of Toni’s neck. “Half the people in this room are picturing us naked together.”

There was a throaty chuckle next to her ear. “So am I. I’m going to New York to check on my places there. Come with me?”

“I can only take a couple of days, and only if we don’t have a case.” Lips touched her cheek. “Yes.”   



Posted in JAG, NCIS, Rule 63, Short Fiction

tBS: Mercy and Justice

Title: Mercy and Vengeance
Prompt: Justice
Fandom: NCIS/JAG
Characters/Pairings: Toni DiNozzo/AJ Chegwidden, SECNAV Sarah Porter, others mentioned
Word Count: 971
Rating/Warnings/Notes: a little swearing and mentions of naked stuff; probably no more than Mature. 

Synopsis: Without justice, the law is merciless. Without law, justice is vengeance.

He found her sitting on the couch, shoulders slumped. The dog’s head was in her lap, a plea for attention and an offer of comfort; she was stroking his ears, heedless of dog hair and her two thousand dollar suit.

The coffee table held an empty beer bottle, her badge, and a handgun.


She didn’t look at him, only stared down at the table and asked: “What’s the difference between the law and justice?”

“Nothing, and everything.” AJ removed his cover and uniform jacket and laid them aside before joining her.

“The law doesn’t always equal justice,” she murmured. “The legal system certainly doesn’t.”

AJ slid the clasp free from her hair, making her sigh the tight chignon tumbled loose. “The law is shaped by countless people,” he offered, hand settling on her neck and rubbing the tension there. “Society, lawmakers, victims and criminals. Justice is a solitary and personal thing.”

“The difference is that while the law may not always be just, justice outside of the bounds of law never is.” Toni shifted the rest her forehead against his shoulder and he gathered her close. The dog sprawled out on the floor with a sigh as AJ kissed her hair. “Without justice, the law is merciless. Without law, justice is . . .”

“Revenge,” he finished as she fell silent, curling tighter against him.

“I may be working longer hours for the next little while,” Toni explained later. “Vance and Ziva are both on indefinite hardship leave.”

AJ nodded and finished removing her blouse. “Not their idea, I assume.”

“A federal agency can’t have a director who is emotionally compromised making decisions, and his children need him. Ziva . . .” Toni chuckled, a harsh and bitter thing, as her head fell forward against his chest. “Well. there’s ample evidence of her lack of decision-making skills when she’s emotional.”

Ziva David was a ticking time bomb looking for a place to detonate in a healthy frame of mind if such was ever the case. When she was off-balance, the woman was constantly a moment away from meltdown, and her blast radius was most of NCIS. Toni had dealt with the aftermath far too often.

“I’m sure they’ll benefit from the mental health break and the chance to grieve,” AJ said dryly, unclasping her bra and sliding her panties off her hips. “Go on and have a shower while I grab something from the kitchen.”

Instead of complying, Toni pressed closer and kissed his jaw. “We can eat later; come join me.” Long fingers cupped his dick through his trousers.

Toni DiNozzo was sex wrapped in sin and gilded in temptation, and AJ had rarely been able to resist. Eight years after she’d congratulated him on his second star by inviting him home for coffee and fucking them both stupid, AJ was still just as susceptible to the dare in her smile and the promise in her voice.

But he’d come home to find her grieving and guilty and, despite the sultry tone there were lines of stress and exhaustion around her eyes. So he kissed his wife gently and told her, “Shower and eat and then we’ll see if you can make good on that.”

She huffed and strode into the steamy bathroom. “What kind of officer and gentleman turns down a willing woman?” Toni called over the shower. “You’re letting down the navy, Admiral Chegwidden!”

“I’ll uphold the honour of the navy when you don’t look like you’ll fall asleep or cry before we’ve finished,” AJ called back as she stripped the remains of his uniform, ignoring his half-hard dick, and pulled on sweatpants.

Something wet slapped against the bathroom door. “Fuck you! I’ve never cried during sex in my life!”

Pleased with her display of playful temper — far preferable to the sadness of earlier — AJ grinned and grabbed his phone. “You make enough noise to make up for it.” And retreated from the bedroom with Toni’s growled response following him.

There was some leftover chicken in the fridge along with some pasta salad and he set the meat to warm in the microwave while dialling.


“What kind of fallout can we expect over Vance and David, ma’am?”

“Minimal,” the SECNAV replied. “Vance is on leave; he’ll either get his head straight and return in six months, or he’ll retire. David has been informed that her future employment hinges on regular therapy, a minimum of three months leave, and remaining in the country until she’d declared fit.”

“How bad was it?”

She sighed. “Vance signed off on David going to Europe to ‘arrest’ a Mossad Deputy Director based on insufficient and circumstantial evidence.”

“For fuck’s sake.” AJ spooned pasta onto two plates and added the warm chicken. “When has David taking things into her own hands ever resulted in anything but bodies and a black eye for NCIS?”

“Fortunately, someone was paying attention and notified me.” There was a short pause. “After contacting Interpol with a request for observation and detainment of Deputy Director Bodnar and requesting the TSA block David’s passport. Not to mention arranging for Eli’s body to be returned to Tel Aviv and ensuring that Vance’s children were cared for and under guard.”

“Busy day,” was all he said. No wonder Toni was tired.

“And tomorrow will be more of the same,” she warned. “Tell your wife to get some rest, AJ, because NCIS is down another director and I’m not willing to rush an appointment since that led to Vance getting the chair. She’s turned down two promotions that would limit fieldwork, but I’m going to need a SAC for the DC office and she’s one of the only people at the agency I can trust to do their job without starting a war or undermining democracy.”

“I’ll let her know.”

In case you forgot how delicious Admiral AJ Chegwidden was and why Toni would have climbed that like a tree:

NCIS Cast JAG AJ Chegwidden

Posted in Harry Potter, Rule 63


Title: Fangirl
Fandom: Harry Potter
Genre: Rule 63/Always a Girl, Alternate Universe, Real Life, No Magic, Family
Word Count:
All the fluff, and lots of geeky things besides, and some swearing.
Synopsis: There are secrets everywhere in Hogwarts; Harry Potter intends to hunt down all of them.



Harry Potter made his way down the corridor, stopping often to check The Marauder’s Map. This was an unknown part of Hogwarts Castle and he’d hate to get lost.

At the junction of two hallways, he drew his wand and cast a spell. It was one he’d recently learned for this very purpose; to find the secrets of Hogwarts. “Point Me,” he said aloud and his wand spun in his palm before pointing left, throwing a trail of sparks to follow.

He came to the end of the shimmering trail, which vanished abruptly. When he cast again, his wand spun wildly until he cancelled the spell. The Map was no help either, telling him he was at his destination.

Harry turned in a circle, studying his surroundings and assessing his options. There were no magical paintings nearby, which ruled out best option for getting information. There were a trio of gargoyles along the ceiling, but Harry disregarded them; it took a lot of magic to convince one of the stone guardians to offer information, and he didn’t like to waste magic that he might need later if he was attacked by one of his many enemies.

Which left the suits of armour standing at attention only a few feet away.

Hogwarts was full of the clanky piles of armour, both to the good and bad. Not only could you ask them for directions, but they made great hiding spots to avoid being caught out after hours. Conversely, if you ran into one while trying to escape — a teacher, an older student, or a troll, say — the noise drew attention to you and getting tangled up in the pile of metal slowed you down long enough to get caught.

“Excuse me?” he asked. “I’m looking for a secret room that’s supposed to be around here. I don’t suppose you know where it is?”

The armour creaked as the helmet opened; a raspy chuckle emerged. “Those who dance, also watch.”

The real problem with the ancient armours, however, was that every one of them spoke in bloody riddles. “Right, thanks. I guess.”  He turned back to study the stone walls while racking his brain for a spell that might help. “Should have brought Hermione,” he muttered, thinking of his friend and the smartest witch in Hogwarts.

He could try tapping every part of the walls with his wand, hoping to find the right spot, but even supposing that was the right way to trigger a hidden entrance, Harry would need a Pepperup Potion before he covered even half of the hallway. No one could spend magic like water without paying for it, not even Albus Dumbledore, the highest-ranking wizard about.

Only one thing for it; check everything.

There was a tapestry covering a large part of one wall, and anyone who spent more than a minute in the magical world knew that portraits and hangings could hide any number of secrets. Harry tugged and huffed, managing to pull the heavy cloth far enough from the stone wall to check behind it, but found nothing. Sighing, he let the tapestry, with it’s ugly figures caught mid-dance, fall back.

“Who though teaching trolls to dance was a good idea?” Trolls were about the least graceful things he’d met since coming to Hogwarts. “Wait a minute . . . Those who dance —” He studied the tapestry; each troll was facing the same direction. “ — also watch.”

Drawing his wand, Harry walked to the opposite wall, and tapped a stone. The wall shimmered, and a door appeared.

Secret Meetings
You Have Unlocked a Trophy!

“Ha!” Eleanor Black laughed. “Gotcha!”

Quest Complete! The Come and Go Room
+2000 XP
Level Up! LV 9
1 New Skill Point Available
New Spells Available in Spellbook
Room of Requirements added to Marauder’s Map
Obtained: 500G

“I thought you were studying.”

Ellie glanced over to the door, where her uncle and guardian leaned against the frame. “If I study any more today, my brains will dribble out my ears. If I’m going to die young it will be in a spectacular and ill-advised manner, not from maths-induced boredom.” She studied him for a moment. Sirius was performing tonight, and he was already decked out in true rock and roll style: black jeans, motorcycle boots, snug black shirt, and an abundance of wild hair, rings, and eyeliner. Which was what he looked like most of the time, come to think it. “You know how there was that time, when I was a teen, where you and my therapist were worried about my social development?”

“You mean last year, luv? And you’re still a teenager.”

“I’ll be eighteen in July,” she said importantly.

He laughed and wandered over to settle on the sofa beside her. “Which leaves your eighteenth and nineteenth years left, Ellie-girl.”

“Don’t be logical, it’s disconcerting. Anyway, that time when you were all fussed that I don’t bring over many friends and didn’t go out much?”

“I’m only forty, Ellie, I’m not senile yet.”

“Well, it might never have happened if my adopted father were older and less attractive.” She hit the control pad and resumed her game while her dad spluttered, and set about raiding the Room of Requirements of all it’s sweet, sweet loot.

“Wait, I was worried you were suffering some delayed traumatic response to your parents’ deaths or were socially isolated because of my fame and the fact that you spent so much of your childhood out of school while we toured — and it was actually because I’m too attractive?”

“I was not socially isolated, I just made sure not to bring classmates over. The boys all wanted your autograph, and the girls all wanted to flirt inappropriately with you. Ha!”

Obtained: Blood Replenishing Potion
Obtained: Pepperup Potion
Obtained: 50G
Obtained: Hogwarts Medallion
Obtained: Unicorn Hair
Obtained: Dragon Scale
Obtained: Dueling Robe (Lv 13)
Obtained: Tales of Beedle the Bard
Obtained: Skeleton Key
Obtained: Common Merlinite

“It’s awkward enough to watch grown women throw themselves at my adopted father,” Ellie added, guiding her character to another raidable item, a tall cabinet with multiple shelves. “I certainly don’t want to watch girls my age do it.”

“So it’s my fault regardless?” Sirius chuckled. “Fantastic, it’s a good thing I can afford to send you to therapy.”

“It’s entirely your fault that I grew up travelling the world, had tutors in any subject I wanted or needed, learned to play the guitar and piano and sing from a group of world-class musicians, and had nearly everything I could ever want.” She reached over and poked him. “Obviously, you should have let my mother’s odious family take me in after the car crash to avoid ruining my chances at living a mediocre life in some pissant little village no one can find on a map.”

“Language,” he chuckled, dropping his arm over her shoulder. “Let’s pretend I didn’t ruin you until you’re in uni, yeah? Which game is this?”

Witchcraft and Wizardry. It’s a new game by an indie developer — came out of nowhere and blew everyone’s minds. That’s Harry Potter, a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, permanent target for an insidious Dark Lord with a typically ridiculous name, and the prophetic savior of the Magical World.”

On screen, she directed Harry to open another cabinet. Chimes sounded and a silver crown filled the screen.

Obtained: Rowena’s Diadem
You have discovered one of the Founder’s Relics!
This item will be displayed in your bedchamber
+5000 XP
+30% Spell Knowledge – spells acquired faster
+10% Defensive Spell Range
+10% Offensive Spell Damage
+10% Vault Interest
+100 Points Creature Communication
Your Relationship with the Horde has improved!

“Fuck yeah! Two down, two more to go!”

“You and your fantasy games, Ellie-girl.”

She huffed, pointedly looking at the game case, which Sirius had picked up and was studying. “Please, we had to get a second console last summer because someone kept bogarting the machine to play The Witcher. Besides, my first foray into fantasy games involved your old Dungeons & Dragons guides, remember?” Ellie returned to raiding the room — she wasn’t a quarter of the way through the chests and shelves, which made this whole sidequest totally worth it even without the legendary artifact. “And someone wearing a tee-shirt of a man transforming under a full moon, who fronts a band called Ravensmoor, and whose signature song is ‘Rise of the Dragon’, does not get to give me shit about being a geek.”

“Language,” he muttered. “And I’m not a geek, I’m a rock star.”

“A rock star more influenced by Tolkien and Bram Stoker than The Beatles, Dad. That makes you a geek. Relax, geek is cool these days, remember? No one’s going to bully you for it, and if they try, you can sic your rabid fans on them.”

Obtained: Thunderbird Feather
Obtained: Butterbeer
Obtained: Guide to Advance Occlumency
Obtained: Elixir of Life
Obtained: 100G
Obtained: Crystal Potion Vial

“Excellent, that potion is expensive to make even with the bonus from completing the alchemist’s side quest.”

“Full health restore?”

“Yeah, but this is primarily a magic game, so the Elixir restores your health and your magical resources and gives you an extra bar for ten minutes. Plus, you’re basically invulnerable for thirty seconds after you take it, so it’s great in a fight.” Ellie pulled up her character profile and skimmed her inventory, deciding what to equip and discard. “It’s odd; most games are a balance of physical and magical combat, or they skew towards physical. This one has almost no melee and the only weapons are a couple of legendary ones that you need to fulfill quests to use. Gameplay is all about strategy and spellwork.”

“That why you’re playing a male mage? Usually you go for a female rogue or paladin character.”

“My Dragon Age character is female, so I thought I’d switch it up; plus, one of the best characters to romance is male so —”

“What are gender roles there for but to be fucked with,” Sirius recited with her. “Excellent, I have taught you well.”

“Absolutely.” Debating, she finally slotted her skill point into her magical stamina, which would let her chain more spells together. Increasing her flying ability was tempting, but she’d put the last point there, and she’d already used the Quidditch minigame to increase her renown and attractiveness quite a bit. “Plus, this game doesn’t have a character creator, just a choice between playing as Harry or Harriet, and there’s no differences in gameplay or story outcome if you choose the female character. I hate it when all they change is the pronouns.”  

“Agreed; it’s either lazy, an attempt to give an illusion of inclusion without making an effort for it, or profoundly naive.”

“That’s the kind of talking that gets your music banned from conservative radio stations.”

“It’s hardly my fault that interviewer had never taken a gender studies class in his life,” he said cheerfully. “And it didn’t work out for that family values group that boycotted our music, did it? Since record sales went up after they starting going off online about the death of the family and traditions and music corrupting youth. As if I can do anything that online porn hasn’t already managed.”

Ellie laughed, but at the time it had been far less funny. The short, vicious war that the band had fought in the media had started after Sirius lost his temper and gave an interviewer a blunt lesson in gender politics and the representation of women in music. She’d not known it at the time, being only eleven, but a few conservative figures had questioned whether Sirius, with his flamboyant lifestyle and ‘radical’ views was a suitable guardian for a young girl. Fortunately, the public largely sided with a man who had chosen to raise his niece after the tragic death of his brother and sister-in-law.

Toying with her controller, she debated swapping her wand for a staff — sacrificing speed for spell range and strength — and asked, “Hey, Dad?”

“Yes, luv?”

“We’re still going to Italy this summer, right?”

“Of course, once your exams are over.” He set down the case and turned to face her; Ellie focused on the screen deliberately. “What’s this about?”

“I heard you and Uncle Remy talking about the new album. It’s not gelling, so you need more studio time. And I know you and Marley are trying to work things out,” she mentioned offhandedly, having spoken recently to her father’s girlfriend, Marlene McKinnon. Marley was one of her most formative female influences, and one of the reasons that Ellie was constitutionally unable to take anyone’s shit. Marley and Sirius were nearly always working things out; they broke up on the regular, and got back together just as often.

“You think I would have learned by now that you hear everything in this house,” Sirius murmured. “Yes, we’re having trouble with the new album, mostly because the label tried to shove us in a new direction and it resulted in ten absolute shit songs. Which is why we’ll rent a house and set up a sound studio and spend the summer writing and recording.”

“The whole band is coming? Really?”

“And Marley, and your Aunt Ny,” he agreed, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “We’ll spend plenty of time doing the tourist thing, and spend a week in Rome and another in Venice, but if we set down in a nice spot we can use it as headquarters for the summer. Besides, I don’t think you’ll be too upset at getting to spend time on your own at the beach or ogling the cute Italian boys with your aunts.”

“Will Marley be staying with us, or near by?” she fished casually.

Sirius gave her an amused look. “With us, unless I do something stupid and she decides I’m hopeless.”

Ellie grinned, a knot of tension unwinding in her belly. “She decided that years ago. I told her she needs a therapist, since she keeps taking you back.”

“She can share yours, cheeky.”

She stuck out her tongue at him, then gave Sirius a narrow-eyed stare. “Wait — we aren’t leaving until after the convention. Right?”

The look she got was offended. “Excuse me? Are David Tennant and Tom Hiddleston going to be at this years’ convention? Have we ever missed one? Do I not already have my costume? What exactly do you take me for, Eleanor Lilith Black?”  

“A man who thinks Tennant is a better Doctor than Matt Smith and prefers Kirk to Picard,” she trolled.

Sirius clutched his heart. “Betrayed by my own child, my own blood — where did I go wrong? Don’t answer that,” he added quickly.

“I’ll save it for my tell-all book,” she agreed. “I need to make an appointment to dye my hair.”

To his credit, Sirius didn’t react. He’d gotten that kind of thing out of his system years ago, when Ellie had first asked to pierce her ears at eight. Her body belonged to her and Sirius had taught her to respect it, not to alter it on impulse and not to let society dictate what she did with it. Which was why, at sixteen, he’d agreed to a tattoo. She’d spent six months researching artists and shops and planning her design, only to back out when the stencil was placed. Sirius hadn’t teased, said ‘I told you so’ or demonstrate the relief he’d probably felt.

“What are you planning?”

“A blue streak on either side of my face and a trim.”

“Mako Mori from Pacific Rim?” He looked surprised. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Well, everyone and their mother will dress as Rey or Jyn this year,” she explained, “I’m not nearly enough of a badass to pull off Aeryn Sun, and I was B’elanna Torres last year and Deanna Troi the year before. Mako’s tough and smart and has a tragic backstory, plus I found an old Transformer at a boot sale,” she explained, “and I’m going to paint it to look like Gipsy Danger.”

“Very clever,” he laughed. “If I didn’t already have my Stargate uniform, I’d dress as a Jaeger to match you.”

“You could still go as Loki, you know, like you originally planned.”

“I am not going to try and outdo the actor who made a supervillain iconic; it’s like performing a cover of a song when opening for the band who wrote it.” He rose and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’m off; I have sound check and an interview before the concert. Don’t wait up for me, there’s a meet and greet afterwards.”

“You say that like I stay up to one a.m. to wait for you and not because I can,” she teased. “Go be a rock star; make sure to dodge all the panties that the underage groupies throw at you!”

“Locking you in the cellar until you’re eighteen is still an option!” he threatened cheerfully as he left.

Ellie grinned, waiting until she heard the front door of their London townhouse close before she rose to raid the kitchen; an epic gaming fest required epic snacks and their housekeeper, Winn Key, always had something put aside.



Notes: This started as an idea for a Rule 63 prompt fill for Rough Trade, and rapidly shot past the 2000 limit as it became something of a love letter to geekdom. Video games, fantasy stuff, music, science fiction and cosplay all get a little mention. So do women in all these things, because Girl Geek and Fangirl are not insults or girls who only there to get a boyfriend: girls are gamers and video game designers, sci fi fans and writers and actresses. We play music and games and Dungeons & Dragons not to get the attention of boys but because we love it — and sometimes that means getting the guy, because who doesn’t love a girl who is passionate and excited about what she loves and wants to share it with people who love the same things. And yes, we cosplay as sexy female characters but that’s because there are very few fantasy and science fiction role models who aren’t sexy because, hey, that’s how tv and media and popular culture works. But those sexy women are also strong and interesting and powerful; they take on empires and rule mythic kingdoms and fly space ships and carry big guns and bigger swords and kick so much ass that even when they’re written to be nothing but a love interests or the prize at the end of a boy’s fantasy — they still manage to be their own people, interesting and imperfect and amazing. And despite the terrible things — internet harassment and toxic subcultures and female characters written to be a fantasy for a man and too revealing costumes that sure as hell don’t resemble armour — there are so many amazing parts of fandoms and geekdom, and every year there’s more to love as women in science fiction and fantasy move from sexy love interests to superheroes, junior bridge officers to starship captains, rescued princesses to strike force commanders and generals and Jedi.

In her lifetime, Carrie Fisher went from the damsel in distress — and, at nineteen, was nearly judged too old for the role of Leia — who was at her strongest even as she became a sex symbol in a metal bikini to becoming a General in an intergalactic army. Video games took us from Princess Peach to Princess Ciri; Star Trek gave us a black female officer in 1966 and a female starship captain in 1995. Catwoman might have worn a leather catsuit, but she stole the show every time she came on the scene not for her outfit but for her character. And, regardless of her leather and metal bustier, there is a reason Xena was a goddamned Warrior Princess. Fandom isn’t perfect, and there’s always someone who tries to deny us access or shame us for our passions or just drag us down; who tries to reduce a woman’s strength by putting her in an impractical costume, or making her a love interest instead of the lead character or a sex symbol instead of a hero. But women have been proving since long before Ginger Rogers said a thing about high heels — they can do the shit a man can do, wearing something no man would, and pull it off like a motherfucking boss.

Posted in Harry Potter, Rule 63, Short Fiction

tBS: Gryffindor’s Champion

The Big Short

Title: Gryffindor’s Champion
Prompt: Sword
Fandom/Characters: Harry Potter; female Harry, OMC, Amelia Bones, the Sorting Hat, Fawkes
Genre: drama, genderbent
Warnings: minor character death (but only one that Joanne killed anyway so, ya know) and some blood and gross stuff that comes from stabbing things as well as possession and blood sacrifice. So, canon-typical stuff for the children’s books!
Notes: Vincent DeLeon is Ron Perlman and Amelia Bones is Lena Headey. The Sorting Hat plays himself.
Word Count: 976

Synopsis: Anecdotal evidence suggests that drawing a weapon from anything but a sheath or stand — should have rather more impact than Dumbledore originally explained.


Eleanor watched the wound on her arm close, preferring the sight of her flesh knitting to the gruesome scene nearby.

“Thanks, Fawkes,” Ellie said softly. “For everything.” Her hand was slick with gore and remained firmly on the sword Fawkes had brought.

The phoenix trilled, fluffing his crest. She managed a grin, and carefully didn’t look beyond the bird to where Percy Weasley lay in a heap, his hair a match to Fawkes.

Carefully didn’t remember red eyes in a freckled face, a low drawl demanding, gloating, uttering ugly promises. Didn’t look at the bruises on her wrists where the possessed boy had dragged her down into the Chamber —

Violently shaking away those memories, she asked, “What now?”

Chirping, Fawkes nodded his head at the blade she held. Ellie studied it; it was far too light for its size and fit her hand easily even though she doubted people made swords the right size for a very short second year.

the one meant to wield the sword shall wield the sword

Ellie set the sword on the ground. “I’ve had enough of possessed magical things for today, thanks,” she managed, glancing at the destroyed book Percy —

Fawkes set the Sorting Hat by her knee, and the ragged brim opened. “I commend your caution, Ms Potter — sadly, the late Mr Weasley did not share it — but would remind you that not all objects with a voice are possessed.”

“Is it — safe?”

“Well, it is a sharp weapon designed to kill.”

She laughed, a little hysterically, and looked over at the dead basilisk. “No kidding.” Since the Hat was in a position to know, Ellie lifted the sword again. “Hello?”

look to the blade for answers

The whisper in her head — magic, honestly — was deep and rumbled like thunder distant thunder. She angled the blade, swiping her filthy sleeve along the flat side. Were those words?

The etched letters were unreadable at first, then twisted and realigned into something she could recognize.


“Oh boy.”

The Hat chuckled. “A problem for another day. For now — the Sword of Gryffindor is aware, though not alive, and no one may part it from you as you have blooded it with your own blood and that of a foe.”

“‘Cause that’s not weird —” and wiped away a sudden tear. “Oh, Merlin — I killed Percy!”

“I rather think the snake was a greater threat.”

“He — he was going to — he said he was Tom, and a blood sacrifice would make it permanent and —” she shuddered, “he was Voldemort. And I — oh, Merlin, I need — I need the police — and a lawyer! I killed him, they’ll send me to prison or expel me!”

“One would negate the need to do the other,” the Hat soothed, “and it’s quite doubtful, though the sensibility of wixen is rather suspect at times. Fawkes? If you would?”

“I didn’t want to,” she whispered. “But he just — and he took my wand, and knocked out Neville before we could tell the teachers where the Chamber was —”

“Bloody phoenix! Albus, what — great gods and goddesses!”

Ellie looked up to find a man and woman standing above her, a smug-looking phoenix hovering above them. The lady wore dueling robes far more practical and well-worn than Lockhart’s and the man was huge and looked like a lion animagi who got stuck part way. They were both gaping at the Chamber and it’s bloody scene.

“I’m sorry!” Ellie choked out. “I didn’t mean it! But Hermione was petrified and the monster was a Basilisk and we realized where the Chamber was but Percy came and, he was possessed by Tom! And he brought me here — and then he called the snake and Fawkes brought the Hat and it had the sword —”

Amelia Bones looked away from the carcass of the biggest snake she’d ever heard of to stare down at — bloody hell, the Girl Who Lived, splattered in blood and slime and Merlin knew what else, holding the Sword of Gryffindor of all things, and turned to Vincent DeLeon. Who, for the first time in thirty years, looked utterly gobsmacked.

“And I had to kill him but I didn’t mean to! Because Percy was Tom and Tom was Voldemort and he —”

DeLeon crouched down, and without his bulk in the way she could see a thirteen-point circle marked on the ground beneath the ugliest statue she’d ever seen. Thirteen for blood sacrifice, Amelia noted absently, and realized the body lying near it was one of Arthur’s sons.

“Take a deep breath, child — good,” DeLeon soothed. Shock and a little hysteria and who could blame her. She needed a healer, and Amelia needed to get a team of Aurors here — an Unspeakable as well. She should have pushed the issue of Hogwarts months ago, but both Fudge and Dumbledore had used their political power to block all interference.

“I don’t want to go to prison,” Potter whispered.

“I assure you, that won’t happen,” Vincent offered. “I’m a Chief Judiciary of the Wizengamot.”

“I don’t want to get expelled, either.”

The girl was going to get the damned Order of Merlin if Amelia had anything to say about it.

“That won’t happen, either. I don’t suppose you know where we are?”

She sniffed and rubbed a scrape on her cheek. “The Chamber of Secrets. The entrance is in the girl’s toilet. But it’s a long walk — maybe Fawkes can get us out?”

“Excellent idea,” Amelia stated and eyed the bird. “St Mungos, please, this girl needs a healer.”

“I’m okay — Fawkes healed the bite.”

Vincent paled. “Hospital — now.”

Posted in Hawaii Five-0, NCIS, Rule 63, Short Fiction

tBS: Give Us A Kiss

The Big Short

Title: Give Us A Kiss
Prompt: Kiss
Fandom: NCIS/Hawaii 5-O
Characters/Pairings: fem!Tony DiNozzo/Steve McGarrett, John McGarrett, Victor Hesse
Word Count: 760
Notes: I did a Tony/Steve prompt fill earlier, so I suppose I genderbent my own story
Warnings: canon-typical violence

Synopsis: “McGarrett has good taste. Give us a kiss, sweetheart?”


John yanked futilely at his bonds at the sight of the woman that Hesse’s stooge dragged inside. Twenty years ago — hell, ten — he’d have not let some Irish gangster get the drop on him. Retirement had made him soft. Or maybe he was just old.

“Ah, there she is! Well, now,” Hesse eyed the gorgeous blonde up and down, “McGarrett has good taste. Give us a kiss, sweetheart?”

“I’d rather kiss a pufferfish, Victor.”

Hesse laughed. “Spirited, too!” And casually backhanded her.

She licked her split lip and raised a brow. “Really? Is that how they do it in Belfast, Vicky? I’ve had harder blows from wannabe wiseguys who only dream of making their bones.”

The Irishman jerked his head, sending his goon toward the laptop on John’s desk, and grabbed a handful of the woman’s hair before leading her to John.

“Let her go, Hesse — you already have leverage with Steve.”

“I do, old man, but then I thought — who’s more use, an estranged father, or a pretty new wife?” Hesse smirked and drew her closer. “And the I found out that you, lass, were coming to this fair isle, and I could get both.” Then he leaned forward and licked her cheek.

John growled and tried to lunge; Hesse punched him, hard, and he spat blood. “You’re a tough old man, McGarrett. Must be where your son gets it from.”

“Hey, Victor?”

“Yes, luv? Reconsidered that kiss?”

“No.” And she elbowed him in the face, spun, and jammed a sleek black stun gun into the side of his neck.

Hesse dropped like a rock and a small hideaway gun was pointed at the computer man. “Hands, now! Though I should just shoot him anyway,” she told John. “Bastard didn’t even search me, just took my cell phone. Fucking hackers, I swear.”

“You should definitely shoot him,” John agreed, “though maybe he assumed you couldn’t hide anything in that dress.” She wore one of those soft, floaty sundresses that made a man think of summer.

She shoved the hacker’s face into the desk, wrenched his arms back and yanked a zip tie over his wrists. “I’ve got a knife, too; I work for a Marine. Though, I know a woman who carries a small armoury with her everywhere but the shower.”

Hesse shifted moments after she’d hogtied him. John rubbed one of his freed wrists and glared down at him. “We could both shoot him.”

“It’s still an option. Toni DiNozzo.”

“Not McGarrett?”

Toni smiled; there was blood on her lip. “I’m a modern woman, John, and getting new ID is a pain in the ass — especially a badge.”

“I’m not sure if I should throw a luau or kick his ass. How long?”

“Two months ago — I got tired of his begging.” Then she shoved Hesse on his back with a sandled foot. “Comfortable, Hesse? Or should I shoot you in the knee to make my point?”

“Should have known McGarrett would marry a stone-cold bitch.

“Bet your ass, Hesse; Steve is the nice one. You’re going to give me everything, Vicky. Names, contacts, places — I’m going to wring you dry and take apart your empire piece by piece.”

He sneered. “Is that what you think?”

“It is. You know why? Because as long as you’re useful to me, NCIS will fight off all comers to hold on to you. Otherwise,” she smiled, “I won’t have any reason to refuse the Navy when they demand you. You came at a SEAL’s family, Hesse; you’re a dead man walking.”

And now the smug fucker looked wary; John was thrilled to see it. “You think McGarrett has the balls to kill me in custody? An unarmed man?”

“I’m sure your escape attempt would be suitable justification, but if I were you I’d be more concerned that he wouldn’t kill you. You put your hands on me, Hesse; Steve might just feed you your own dick. Unless . . .”


“Agent Bitch, Hesse. Victor Hesse, you’re under arrest.”

After she’d read him his rights and John had called HPD and Pearl Harbour, Jack turned to his daughter-in-law. “So, dinner? There’s a place nearby that makes some of the best ahi poke on the island.”

“If there’s beer to go with it, deal.”

“Steve’s going to be pretty freaked out when he gets here.”

“About Hesse? Or us meeting?”


“It’s his own fault — I told him he had two months to tell you and Mary. Besides, I like to keep him guessing.”