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.

“Toni?”

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.

“Porter.”

“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, 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.

WHOSO SHEDDETH THINE ENEMIES BLOOD AND THINE OWN BLOOD AND BLEEDS OF GODRIC’S LINE SHALL BE EVER GRYFFINDOR’S CHAMPION

“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 NCIS, Short Fiction

tBS: Worn

The Big Short

Title: Worn
Prompt: Dr Spencer Reid

Fandom/Characters: Criminal Minds/NCIS; Spencer Reid/Tony Dinozzo
Genre: Smut. Seriously.
Rating/Warnings: M. Because: smut.
Word Count: 1762
Notes: Apparently, a prompt for the smartest character currently on tv requires a response of sexy times. Because: Tony and Spencer. Naked. Together.

Synopsis: Sometimes, Spencer needs to get out of his own way.


 

He dropped his bag and keys, kicked off his shoes and headed straight for the bathroom, stripping off clothes stale from two days and a six hour flight. Cranking the shower handle up high, Spencer waited until steam started billowing before stepping inside.

The heat and pressure against the tight muscles in his back and neck felt so amazing it was painful.

Another ugly case in a series of them; weeks of a one-two punch of casework and internal politics. Strauss was breathing down Hotch’s neck — again — and last week Spencer had spent four days interviewing the parents of missing children. His bones ached with exhaustion, but he was too tired to sleep, particularly hated and unfair condition. His mind, a double edged sword at the best of times, continued to turn over; composing the report due on Monday while recalling the three cases he was consulting on — the missing person case in Georgia was almost certainly a break in pattern, not an early indicator of an emerging serial —

This kind of physical and mental state made his skin itch, the need for a shot of Dilaudid burning in his veins, a craving for the drug’s ability to quiet his mind. For a few hours, at least, until the high faded and his thoughts scattered like light refracting on glass, sliding from his grasp and encouraging the need for another —

Spencer increased the water temperature, letting the subtle pain of too-hot water on his skin break that destructive thought pattern. First rule of being a recovering addict — don’t dwell on things you can’t change.

After ten minutes, he knew he risked either scalding or drowning — statistics for household accidents in bathrooms ran through his head, broken down by demographic, type, and time of day — but it took another moment to manage turning off the water.

He made it to the bedroom, considered pajamas, and collapsed, wet and naked, on the cool sheets of his bed. And lay there, unable to turn off his mind and sleep as his body demanded.

Faint strains of Chopin were audible on the other side of his apartment wall. Spencer counted his breaths and listened, hoping it would help. When the piece ended and the incomparable notes of Ray Charles began, he gave it up as a bad job, rolled out of bed, and staggered to the laundry basket.

Wearing cotton pants, an old CalTec teeshirt, and barefooted, Spencer snagged his keys, walked down the hall, and unlocked the door.

Tony was playing — of course he was, Tony was always playing. If not the piano, then the violin or the guitar. There were pages scattered around the living space, a sure sign he’d been composing. If he was lucky and Tony felt like he’d produced something, Spencer would get to hear his friend’s efforts before he performed it in public.

“Hey, Special Agent Genius. What’s — ” The former cop glanced over his shoulder. “That bad, huh?”

Spencer made a vague noise and made it to the sofa, collapsing on it. “I’ve had longer weeks, but they involved defending a thesis or terrorist acts, so. . .”

“I hear you.”

It wasn’t false sympathy; Tony DiNozzo had been a cop until a near-fatal shooting had cost him a spleen, a kidney, and his badge. He’d gone back to college to complete a law degree, but it was the solace he’d sought in music that had become a career. He’d moved into Spencer’s building two years before; they’d become friends several months later.

Spencer had realized six months ago that he was deeply attracted to his friend — watching the man play in a low-lit jazz club, pouring his passion and heart into a complex and beautiful song — and concluded that Tony had at least a passing interest in return a few months after that. At this rate, he might made a stumbling, embarrassing move in another year or so.

“I’m exhausted,” Spencer managed. “Too tired to sleep.”

“Sucks,” Tony murmured, then changed songs again. Something soft and playful was coaxed from the keys; Spencer didn’t recognize it. “I won’t wake you if you manage to fall asleep.”

“You should fuck me.” Tony missed a note and turned to stare at him.

Apparently his brain-to-mouth filter was gone. Fantastic.

“Not that I’m opposed, Spencer, but I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t be making decisions like that right now.” He frowned and Tony gave a little laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re so tired you can’t stand upright, Spence. You might as well be drunk.”

“I’m tired, not intoxicated.”

“Didn’t you tell me that people are more impaired by lack of sleep than by alcohol?”

He knew he was pouting. “The law doesn’t see it as impeding consent.”

“The law once judged tight jeans and short skirts as implied consent, Spence,” Tony said dryly. “The law is somewhat behind morality on the nuances of the matter.” Sighing, he rose and offered his hand. “C’mon.”

Spencer staggered to his feet, letting Tony guide him to the bedroom. “Then you’ll —”

“If you make the same offer after ten hours of sleep, Spencer, I will enthusiastically take you up on it.”

“Going to,” he muttered, letting Tony tug off his shirt and nudge him into bed; it was larger than Spencer’s. “Love watching you play. Love your hands.” And had masturbated, repeatedly, to the thought of them.

“We’ll compare hand fantasies later.” Thumbs dug into his shoulder muscles, working out knots; Spencer moaned at the release of tension. “I hope you remember this tomorrow, Spence.” Hands worked down his spine —

— the clock said 10:21; the sun was out. The sheets were blue, not gray.

He could smell coffee.

Spencer made it to the kitchen before he remembered, then debated between humiliation and caffeine. Caffeine won. He snagged the cup sitting on the counter and inhaled it.

Then he glanced up at Tony, who watched him with amusement.

Tony, who he’d propositioned; who was half-naked, his chest displayed by low-slung sweatpants. Bullet wound, surgical scars, and a steel hoop piercing his right nipple and all. “Um.”

“More coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

Coffee came with a plate of scrambled eggs and toast; Spencer’s stomach reminded him that he’d gone more than ten hours without food and wasn’t happy about it. When the food had vanished, Tony was nowhere to be seen, but there was a toothbrush on the counter; Spencer claimed it and retreated to the bathroom.

He might wish to flee back to his apartment, but he should be a grownup and talk about . . . things. Probably.

Tony was waiting in the kitchen. “Feeling more human?”

“Yes. Tony —”

“Well-rested?”

“I feel much better. Tony —”

“Good.” He was crowded up against the counter by a body the same height but larger than his own. Spencer rapidly recalled that he was also shirtless, mostly because there was hot skin against his from collarbones to waist. “Now, about your suggestion. Was it the rambling of an exhausted mind — or something you want even when you have the self-control not to say it?”

He could see the pulse throbbing in Tony’s throat; Spencer swallowed. “I — really want you to fuck me.”

He was drawn into a bruising kiss; they made it down the hallway with minimal injuries despite being unable to separate. The door jam caught Tony on the shoulder as Spencer pinned him in place to bite at his pulse. Pianist hands slid past his waistband and over his ass.

He ended up flat on his back, Tony straddling his hips and sucking marks along his collar. “I don’t just say things like that, you know. I don’t really think of people that way.”

“Affection first, then attraction, right?” Tony lifted up enough to push their pants over their hips.

“Usually.” Spencer eyed the man’s cock, then reached out to touch the scrotum piercing. “How many —?”

“The two you can see, and a guiche.” He inhaled sharply as Spencer gave into his curiosity and sought the aforementioned piercing; there was another metal hoop behind Tony’s scrotum, warm from body heat.

“Not something you expect from a cop.”

“I went through a period of confirming that I was alive and still attractive. My post-recovery slut-phase.” Spencer frowned at the term, though he understood the psychology of Tony’s life affirming actions. “Slut is only an insult if you think it’s one. I tend to consider it a lifestyle choice.” Then he grinned, shifted, and bent down to swallow the head of Spencer’s cock.

He made a soft noise, arched his head back, and wallowed in the best blowjob he’d ever had.

“I didn’t expect you to be quiet in bed,” Tony mused as he sat back up. “It’s charming.” Spencer flailed a hand, unable to speak while he was lingering on the edge of orgasm. The snick of a cap was warning enough that he wasn’t surprised by a slick hand wrapping around him; he managed to lift one of his own to join Tony’s where the man pressed their cocks together and stroked.

“Want you to fuck me,” Spencer reminded him.

“Oh, gorgeous, this is just to take the edge off.” Spencer lifted his eyelids to watch Tony; the way his arm moved steadily and the arch of his throat. “I’m going to watch you come, then stretch out that amazing ass of yours — and then I’m going to get you absolutely filthy again.” The description was accompanied by a sharp tug along his shaft while two fingers slid back to find his perineum. He groaned low in his throat and came all over himself and Tony.

Fuck.” Tony wrapped Spencer’s hand around his cock and used it to jerk rapidly. “Fuck, Spencer, you’re better than music.” He came over Spencer’s belly with a harsh noise. “We aren’t leaving this bed until we pass out or Monday comes.”

“I have nowhere else to be.” Spencer ran a hand through the semen on his stomach, then lifted his hand; Tony groaned and sucked two fingers into his mouth. “Do you need a minute? Or should we shower and get started on the next phase of your plan?”

Tony laughed, dragged them both out of bed, and slapped Spencer’s ass sharply on the way to the bathroom. Spencer retaliated by pinning him to the shower wall and doing a detailed examination of his piercings. That led to . . . well, Tony excelled at meeting his obligations. Repeatedly.

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 . . .”

“Bitch.”

“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?”

“Both.”

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

Posted in Short Fiction, Stargate Atlantis

tBS: Moonlight

The Big Short

Title: Moonlight
Prompt: John Sheppard
Genre: drama, fix-it, introspective
Word Count: 1957
Author’s Note: I wanted to do an Stargate story, since I’m planning on writing SG Atlantis for July’s episode challenge and I need to start getting a feel for the characters. But, I also had ‘Tony as Agent Afloat’ on the brain, so this happened.

Synopsis: Sometimes, John wondered if this is how the Ancients felt; like everything they did to fix their mistakes only made things worse. It didn’t excuse the way they abandoned the galaxy to the Wraith, but it made their obsession with Ascension and non-interference a little more understandable.
Continue reading “tBS: Moonlight”

Posted in NCIS, Rule 63, Short Fiction

tBS: Hunter, Hunted

Title: Hunter, Hunted
Prompt: Original Male Character
Fandom: NCIS
Characters: Toni DiNozzo (fem!Tony), Nikki Jardine, Michelle Lee, Paula Cassidy, Cassie Yates, Director Morrow, various original characters mentioned
Genre: angst, drama, Women Being Awesome
Warnings: Sexually coercive behaviour, aggressive sexual pursuit, and behaviour that is intended to cause distress and anxiety in an OCD person. Do Not Read This if any of that will bother you, I don’t want to trigger anyone.
Rating: M
Notes: So the prompt was to create an Original Male Character and, in under 2000 words, make the audience love him. As per usual, I am incapable of following the brief; I wrote someone for you all to hate. Let’s see if I got it right.

Synopsis: There are all kinds of predators in the world, and most of them hunt the weakest members of the herd.

Continue reading “tBS: Hunter, Hunted”

Posted in Harry Potter, Rule 63, Short Fiction

tBS: Consenting Magic

The Big Short

Title: Consenting Magic
Prompt: Rule 63 (not that I need an excuse for this; I haven’t written anything but in 9 months. Okay, there was one prompt I wrote slash for but serious that’s it, there is something wrong with me)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing/Characters: Sirius, Ianthe (female Harry Potter), a twinkling old coot, teachers who are never around when you need them, a little asshole who thinks he can get away with shit, and an asshole who raised the little asshole.
Genre: Drama, angst, righteous revenge
Word Count: 1372
Warnings: There is mention of the use of love potions, which means attempting to subvert consent, which is attempted rape. Please read carefully or not at all if this is a trigger issue for you. There is no rape.
Rating: M for mention of consent issues
Notes: So this . . . I’m not sure where this came from, but it might have been brewing while listening to/having a conversation about what consent actually is. Either that, or it was while I was contemplating some of the terrible shit that magic apparently lets people get away with. (FYI: all the terrible shit. All of it.)

Synopsis: Sirius had pranked every person in Hogwarts, received 316 detentions, been injured in a Death Eater attack on Hogsmeade, and nearly killed a classmate — and not once had the school summoned a parent. So when he gets a note requesting his presence in regards to his goddaughter, he doesn’t dawdle.

Continue reading “tBS: Consenting Magic”

Posted in MCU, Rule 63, Short Fiction, The Sentinel

tBS: A Knock at the Door

The Big Short

Title: A Knock at the Door
Prompt: Rule 63
Fandom: MCU/Avengers
Pairing/Characters: female Tony Stark/Loki, Phil Coulson/Clint Barton, Fury, Selvig, random SHIELD red shirts, others
Genre: sentinel fusion, angst, drama
Word Count: 1945
Warnings: Tony’s sass, Coulson’s deadpan, Clint’s . . . Clintness, Loki being the Universe’s chew toy.
Notes: Yes, I did fanfic my own story. This is a kind of AU of my Tony/Loki Sentinel story. I’m not sorry.

Synopsis: So her day starts with plans to ruin Fury’s week, and ends with a portal to the end of the universe spitting out her sentinel. That’s . . . not actually the worst day she’s ever had. In fact, it’s not even in the top ten.

Continue reading “tBS: A Knock at the Door”

Posted in Harry Potter, Rule 63, Short Fiction

tBS: Alchemy

The Big Short

Title: Alchemy
Author: darkseraphina
Prompt: Original Male Character
Characters/Pairings: female Harry Potter (Ianthe), OMC, OFC, Dursleys
Genre: drama, genderbent
Word Count: 2000
Warnings: . . . no canon, no beta, no fucks
Author’s Note: Nicolas Flamel is actually a character in something I’m working on, so I wanted to play with him to cement his character in my head. Technically, you could argue that he isn’t an original character but we never actually saw him or learned anything about his character. So, you know, fuck the rules.

Synopsis: The confrontation over the Philosopher’s Stone had repercussions that Dumbledore never imagined. Ianthe Potter isn’t quite sure what’s happening, but that’s not new when it comes to magic.
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Posted in Rule 63, Short Fiction, The Sentinel

tBS: A Guide’s Place

The Big Short

Title: A Guide’s Place
Prompt: escape
Characters/Pairings: female Blair Sandburg/Jim Ellison, Sentinel cast, OC
Genre: genderbend, Sentinels/Guides, asswhooping
Word Count: 872
Warnings: I will genderbend all your characters, especially if fandom likes to make them a 12-year-old girl. And I will make them a badass woman. And you can’t stop me.
Author’s Note: I really need to stop listening to old recordings of Keira’s podcast while I’m writing at two a.m. because this is what happens. Also, I’m not sorry, and I will probably do it again. Blair is often made into a weeping, emotional figure — a ‘girl with a dick’ — so I took Keira’s advice. If you want to write Blair as a girl, go ahead — and write him as a kick ass girl. So, here is Blair as a kick ass girl.

Synopsis: All Blair had going for her was three feet of wild curls, too much courage and stubbornness to fit in a body twice her size, an Alpha Guide’s empathy, and her brain.

Continue reading “tBS: A Guide’s Place”