Luna (LT, or January)-female \\ shy of 30 \\ New Yorker \\ writer in some fashion \\ multi-fandom
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Title: To the Last Three (chapter 1)
Fandom: Superwholock/Superwhowoodlock/Superwholockwood (Supernatural, Doctor Who, Torchwood, BBC!Sherlock)
- Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Jack Harkness, Rex Matheson, the Doctor, River Song, others
Rating: PG-13
Summary: No one wants to be alone forever.
Notes: Takes place during: Supernatural, between 7x16 and 7x17 (incorporates heavy story elements of 7x17 and beyond); Doctor Who, post-Christmas Special and pre-S7; Torchwood, post-Miracle Day; Sherlock, during and post 2x03. Assume spoilers up to each listed episode, except Supernatural, which you should just assume spoilers for the whole damn 7th season.
Events covered this chapter: none
Prev: (prologue)
——
Still hoping it all falls together in the end.
Together - Avengers ficlet
How I want my writing to go:
How my writing takes this approach:
LITTLE RED RIDINGHOOD.
yes please.
I can’t not reblog this. hnnng.
One upon a time, in a place so very far away, lived a little boy with hair as blue as the sky, in a small cottage built into the branches of a very old tree. And one day, the boy’s ill-attentive father, who was rarely home, thrust a basket full of medicinal ointments at his son and said, “Can you run an errand for me? My friend in the woods—the one who lives under a waterfall—asked me to get him things, but I don’t have time to see him today. Think you could get this to him?”
The boy’s nose wrinkled at being ordered (asked) to do anything, especially by his father, and he replied, “What if I’m busy today? You can’t just drop this on me!”
“But you’re not, so go.”
Soon, the boy was descending down the ladder of their home, his father having forbidden him from being carried by one of their birds—“You need the exercise.”—with a red cloak over his head and shoulders, with a basket in the crook of one arm, and a small rut sack full of things to eat on his back.
“Beware of wolves and bears and mountain cats!” cried the father, leaning over the railing precariously.
“I’m not six years old!” replied the son.
The father’s friend lived quite a ways away. It would take the boy all day to get there and return, if he wanted to be back by dark. It was through the wild flower fields, through the woods, and across a stream to get there. He quickly set out from the village in the trees.
He was on one of the paths through the wild flower fields when he saw a great big mountain cat sunbathing on top of a large rock. The boy tried to be quiet passing, but then the mountain opened one eye and grinned a feral grin. “What do with have here?”
The mountain cat was tall, with small ears and a long tail, pale as hell and the most vivid, round bloom of red for hair the boy had ever seen. It was off-setting. “I’m no one.”
“A little red hood nothing,” teased the mountain cat. He stretched and then leered. “Do you have something to pay my toll with?”
The boy’s nose wrinkled. “I have sandwiches…”
“Sandwiches are lovely. I’ll take all of yours. Unless…you have something else to pay with?” The mountain cat looked the boy up and down appraisingly.
“No, I don’t,” the boy said quickly, and he handed over his sandwiches. The mountain cat watched the boy pass and slid off the rock like liquid, heading back to his glen. He had a friend he could share these sandwiches with.
The boy reached the woods, eventually. It was a ways inside them, however, when he spotted a bear digging futilely at the trunk of a tree, grunting in exerted effort to get whatever was trapped inside. The boy tried to be quiet passing, but the bear turned his head and grinned ferally. “What do with have here?”
The bear was not as tall as the mountain cat, but he was stocky, with a tuft of a tail and even smaller ears, hairy as hell and the weirdest shade of brown-violet hair the boy had ever seen. It was off-setting. “I’m no one.”
“A little red hood nothing,” teased the bear. He sniffed longingly at the hole and then leered. “Do you have something to pay my toll with?”
The boy’s nose wrinkled. “I have desserts…”
“Desserts are lovely, like holes. I’ll take all of yours. Unless…you have something else to pay with?” The bear looked the boy up and down appraisingly.
“No, I don’t,” the boy said quickly, and he handed over his desserts. The bear watched the boy pass and left the digging of the trunk for another day, heading back to his cave. He had a son he could share these desserts with.
The boy reached the stream, eventually. His feet had barely crossed over four of the bridge’s stones, however, when he spied upon a wolf down below at the bank of the stream, ankle deep in the running water and claws poised above the water’s surface. The boy stopped to watched, curious, but the wolf smelled him and looked up in confusion. “What do with have here?”
The wolf was not as tall as the mountain cat and not as tall as the bear, but he was slim and well defined, with large pointed ears and a handsomely thick tail, sunbleached as hell and the brightest blond hair the boy had ever seen. It was…arousing. “I’m no one.”
“A little red hood nothing,” noticed the wolf. He glanced back to the stream and then frowned. “Do you have something to pay my toll with?”
The boy’s face heated. “I gave my sandwiches to a mountain cat and my desserts to a bear. I don’t have food left.”
“Sandwiches and desserts sounded lovely. I wish you had some to spare. Is…there anything else to pay with?” The wolf looked at the boy hopefully.
“No, I don’t,” the boy said breathily, and he rounded the end of the bridge and slid down the slope to the bank. The wolf was already getting out of the water, eyeing the boy carefully. The boy set down his things and boldly approached the wolf, reaching out to cup his jaw. “But I could make it worth your while.”
——
When the boy finally got to his father’s friend’s place, it was later than he wished. But he handed over the basket and the friend checked everything. “Hey, there’s one missing.”
The boy put on his best I-don’t-know face and said, “I might have dropped it by accident. I had run-ins with a mountain cat, a bear, and a wolf.”
“I’m glad you’re okay, then!” said the friend, and he patted the boy’s shoulder. “Do you want me to accompany you home?”
“No, I don’t,” said the boy quickly, and he offered an assuring smile. “I’ll be fine. I have someone waiting for me close-by.”
“If you’re sure,” said the friend.
“I’m sure,” said the boy, and he grinned ferally to himself. “I’m very sure.”
——
To the Last Three
Title: To the Last Three (prologue)
Fandom: Superwholock/Superwhowoodlock/Superwholockwood (Supernatural, Doctor Who, Torchwood, BBC!Sherlock)
- Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, OCs (angels Samael and Ariel), inconsequential characters
Rating: PG-13
Summary: No one wants to be alone forever.
Notes: Takes place during: Supernatural, between 7x16 and 7x17 (incorporates heavy story elements of 7x17 and beyond); Doctor Who, post-Christmas Special and pre-S7; Torchwood, post-Miracle Day; Sherlock, during and post 2x03. Assume spoilers up to each listed episode, except Supernatural, which you should just assume spoilers for the whole damn 7th season.
Events covered this chapter: Beginning of the events of Miracle Day series (Torchwood), end of the episode “The Reichenbach Fall” (Sherlock)
Complicated and partially well-planned
I has a plot in mind. It’s just trouble trying to figure the Doctor’s presence without making him a simple transporter. In the mean time, this was a bit of a trip to write, since it was more, “How do you handle a sizable group of people who are all going to talk over each other and crap,” because that’s ALWAYS an issue, and this is a scene I wanted to write anyway, because foreshadowing and =3= I’m dabbling in my own headcanon.
So…presenting the potential relationship between Castiel and Captain Jack.
from perdition, the winchesters: Sam
Raising Sam Winchester wasn’t in any book Castiel knew of. The boy was under lock and key with his brother, in a dimension of Hell set aside to keep in anything inside it, tangible or not. But one (Sam) or both (and Adam) needed freeing. He owed Dean that, right? Owed Dean some happiness?
Didn’t he?
The fight for Dean was nothing like the battle for Sam. In this instance, Castiel was alone, one angel against the whole of Hell. But also in this instance was there nothing to fight against. No demons barred his way, no Enochian sigils right and left to trap and repel. It was simply him staring at the giant black wall, while demons looked on and laughed, and laughed, and laughed. However, he remained confident. The Winchesters were his responsibility; if anyone could reach in and return to mortality what was once taken, to complete the world, he was sure it was himself, with all his love and affection for his—
Charges.
No one ever touched what was known as the ‘sides’ of the cage; it was simply you touch it, you enter its nightmare. But there were things that could be done from this side; on Earth, the door was the rings of the Horsemen. But that was the top of the cage. The black, smooth mass of ether in Hell was the bars. To get through the flat, solid top of a cage was nearly impossible without a door. But bars could be bent, just a little, just enough to drag Sam back definitely, and Adam maybe. Just big enough for a human infinitely smaller than an archangel (fallen or not).
And he had the means and determination to see it right.
So when Sam was in sight, just in reach, Castiel, weakened by the struggle against the bars, made the last valiant effort he felt he would ever make and stretched out to grab a hold of Sam’s arm.
And slipped.
——
And that was Castiel’s first step to damnation.
from perdition, the winchesters: Dean
Dean Winchester being sent to Hell had all been part of the grand plan of Heaven, a back-up in case John Winchester, an equal vessel of Michael’s, did not break. John had not, so Dean selling his soul had been perfect. And perfectly so that Crowley would not break that contract for anything, not wondering for one second that the angels predicted that, too.
Once Dean broke, it was a ten year war in Hell to return him back to Earth. Demons died at angel hands, angels fought to get beyond the magic Enochian barriers where the tortured were kept. Even the demons reluctant to let this fight continue lent to arms, because while chaos was good, chaos in Hell would simply not do. And the angels were pricks.
It had been Michael’s assumed destiny to be the one to touch Dean’s broken soul, to mark Dean forever and always his. But time was important, too. They couldn’t afford to waste so much of it down below after so much had already passed, so when one insignificant, unknown angel has an opening, he broke ranks and took it.
Dean Winchester needed to rise from perdition.
Michael was otherwise occupied.
There was no more time.
So the little Angel of Thursday raced forward through the tiny gap of golden opportunity and threw his hand on Dean’s shoulder.
And pulled.
——
And that was Castiel’s first taste of Choice.
Title: n/a
Fandom: Sengoku Basara
- Characters: Chosokabe Motochika, Mouri Motonari(female)
Rating: NC-17
Prompt: Motochika x Motonari (Motonari genderbending [and tsun as usual], Motochika is really horny~)
Notes: For the anon sengoku_kink meme. …I wrote hetero porn. HET PORN. And I’m AT SCHOOL, WORKING.
It was good to know a secret.
“Unhand me, demon!”
Chosokabe made a face that would have been a pout if it were anyone else. Getting past Mouri’s scathing cat-act was a pain, like always, and shedding his armor to reveal the her beneath was a chore that, in the end, was worth it. Like always.
Mouri squirmed and struggled, trying to smack Chosokabe in the head with her armguard, but it was unlatched too soon for the hit to be solid. She was slippery, however, and Chosokabe always did have to fight to keep his hold. “You’re the one going around wearing that veil.”
“I wasn’t wearing it,” she hissed.
“Last time,” he said and finally only had modest clothing to shed from her body. He sat back and dragged her with him, hooking his legs over hers and pressing her back to his chest. “Been hard for you since last time.”
New Year’s Absolution
Title: New Year’s Absolution
Fandom: Pokémon
- Characters: Morty, Falkner (Honorshipping)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: It’s one year later. What did Morty accomplish?
Notes: Second in the New Years’ set. Since NYR’s own rewrite hasn’t been completed at this point, you’ll note this story makes allusions to events that are going to happen in it. And it only took two years to complete.
The snow never took as well in Cianwood as it did for the inland towns. The winds off the Whirl Pool Islands kept the snow on the sand to a faint dusting, hardly ever more than two inches under heavy precipitation and always quick to melt. Celadon City would have the better conditions for it, surrounded on all sides by the wood of the Oddish, and the Gym itself isolated from the rest of the town, the wind stifled by the evening, leaving a delicate silence easily perverted by those not of its realm.
They should have been in Celadon this year. Except Celadon was miles away with mountains between, where a festival was currently being alighted with funny stories and music and smells of sugared berry cakes and above all, Morty believed, chatty ladies with nothing better to do then spin fables. Cissy would be there this time, already long informed on what happened last year, if Whitney had anything to do with it. In fact, Cissy probably found out two mornings later, since Whitney would have likely called the first day of the new year, and Cissy would have told her, as politely as possible, to buzz off, I have a hangover, don’t talk.
Cissy was a holiday drinker. An over-indulgent one at that.
Which gave him one of the better reasons to not go this year: if anyone could make a loud (yet nothing short of embarrassingly jovial) spectacle, it would be Cissy. And she would be there this year. And he wouldn’t allow her near him, not when he finally had this precious creature all to himself. Morty was not about to share this without fully getting his own fill, because the effort he had put in would make an artist weep in appreciation.
Pinioning
Title: Pinioning
Fandom: Pokémon
- Characters: Falkner, Morty (others)
Rating: NC-17
Prompt: Rape!Comfort fic. I want one character to get raped by another, and then the first character’s lover has to comfort him/her. Maybe a little of the first character trying to get over the rape. Would really like Falkner to be the one getting raped. However am not picky.
Notes: Prompt for pokanon. Honorshipping. I was very serious with writing this one, and it’s so hard to get into the mind of a rape victim without feeling like you’re underplaying this factor or overplaying that one. Personality is a factor, and trying to make it feel authentic…well, I can only hope I did the entire genre justice. (I PUT THIS EVERYWHERE ELSE; TUMBLR SHOULD SUFFICE, TOO.)
Warnings: Description of rape probably not fit for human eyes (which was the easiest bit to write, I admit).
He could feel the circles under his eyes, the ache of them lessening none as he rubbed futilely at them. Falkner did not fight the yawn, however, as one in several came. The cold of the night stopped being effective once the adrenaline had flushed out of his system, while he and his fellow officers were left clearing out the storehouse full of ducks and swans.
Swanna and Ducklett were popular in the smuggle trade, due to the special quality of their feathers, called in Unova “Wings”. Getting a steady supply batch was nigh impossible without having them gathered in such a way, so when the police noticed an increase in their use in Johto, red flags went up and tracking them down was on the agenda. Having a bird expert on the force only helped localize where the smugglers might be, using the aged quality of the Wings. They were best used fresh, right off the bird. If it was fresh, it was somewhere close. It had to be.
