No. 3

Prompt: Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Stargate SG-1 fusion, Buffy Summers + Daniel Jackson, Daniel in the Buffyverse where his obsession is Slayers rather than Ancient Egypt and he replaces either Giles or Wesley as Buffy's new Watcher.

Buffy was convinced that all Watchers came from the same family, because every one she'd ever met was tall, slender, bespectacled, and had brilliant blue eyes. None of them had been blond - Giles gray, Wesley dark, and now Daniel. He had lighter brown hair, and he'd probably been blond as a child, but he fit the Watcher mould to a T.

Except that he wasn't British, and he was much more excitable than the patient Giles and the stuffy Wesley. He spoke a couple of dozen languages and talked with his hands, and he was well-versed in Ancient Egyptian lore.

"Please, call me Daniel," he'd said upon introducing himself. "Calling me Dr. Jackson just makes people confused and try to get me to help with medical emergencies. Which are not my area of expertise."

"Heya, Danny," Buffy said, perched on the edge of a desk in the library and swinging her legs.

"Daniel," he said firmly. "My father called me Danny when I was a kid."

"And he calls you Daniel now?"

"He's dead." Daniel pushed his glasses up his nose. "Now, what's this about a yellow-eyed demon calling itself Apophis?"

Buffy blinked. "What about your mom?"

"Also dead," Daniel said, and his gaze softened. "But she lived longer than most, for a slayer."

Buffy stared at him. "Your mom was a slayer?"

"Yes," Daniel said. "She and my father both died when I was eight. Ancient Egyptian curse. Now, this demon?"

"Slayers can have kids?"

"Barring any medical anomalies, I assume so." Daniel flicked a glance over her. "You appear in perfect health. So, Apophis is the Greek name for the Egyptian serpent god Apep –"

"Ooh! Was your dad her Watcher?"

Daniel set down the heavy leather tome and leveled a glare at her. "No. Unlike Wesley, I will not be frightened off by come-ons from teenage girls, nor will I respond to them. We have work to do. If you want to live long enough to be a mother, pay attention."

Buffy pursed her lips. So she was always going to have a Watcher, and he was always going to be a buzz-kill. "Fine. So, serpent god. What'll kill a serpent?"

"Beheading is very traditional," Daniel said. "I think there is a special ceremonial sword the ancient Nepalese used to behead Nagas, which are snake-women. That might be appropriate. Come on, Ms. Summers. I brought additional weapons."

Buffy hopped off the desk. New weapons! Maybe Daniel wasn't a buzz-kill after all.

No. 2

Prompt: Stargate Atlantis, John Sheppard/Rodney McKay, The first time Rodney realizes John is his best friend (and maybe more).

The first time Rodney realized that Sheppard might be his best friend was when he sat down to lunch one day and Sheppared handed him a piece of apple pie. The last piece of apple pie.

"I thought you weren't so greedy that you wanted two slices," Ronon said.

"Apple pie's Rodney's favorite," Sheppard said easily. "I knew he'd pout if he didn't get to have any."

"I do not pout," Rodney said, but accepted the slice of pie and dug in gratefully. The only other person in his life who'd remembered his favorite foods was Jeannie, his sister. She was the closest thing he'd ever had to a best friend before she'd gone and ruined her life with motherhood.

Sheppard remembered Rodney's favorite food. That was what best friends did.

Huh.

Sheppard was Rodney's best friend.

But then Rodney was wondering what Sheppard's favorite food was, and when it would be made next, and if he could somehow arrange with the KP marines to set aside an extra portion especially for Sheppard.

And Rodney realized that yes, Sheppard was his best friend, but maybe he was also something more.

No. 53

Prompt: The Flash (TV), Barry Allen/Any rogue, “please tell me this wasn’t stolen.”
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/684795.html?thread=90039291#t90039291

Hanging around in an abandoned warehouse after dark was more like making a shady drug deal than making a date.

Barry started when footsteps thumped behind him. He turned.

Snart crossed the cement floor in a few strides. "Give me your hand." He didn't make requests.

Barry obeyed. "Hey, what's up? How are you doing?" He tried for a polite smile.

Snart grabbed his wrist. "This is a brand new Apple Watch."

Barry stared at the gleaming blank watch face. "Please tell me this wasn't stolen."

Smart fastened the band smoothly, his fingers confident and warm against Barry's skin. "It's been modified so you can contact your little Scooby Gang at a single word, and it can measure how fast even you run. I also installed the newspaper app where Iris works so you can keep an eye on your press."

Barry blinked. "Did you steal this from Cisco? Because he said he was going to give me a --"

Snart tugged Barry close for a kiss, quick and dirty and stolen. Then he turned and walked away.

"Hey!" Barry called after him. "What about our date?"

The watch beeped. It was a calendar alert. Dinner at an upscale restaurant across town in ten minutes. Dress up nicely. Depart now to get there on time. Barry took off in a crackle of colored lightning. Could he choose the right outfit in under ten minutes?

No. 1

(Harry Potter/Stargate SG-1, Harry Potter + SG-1, (AU post-books) Harry somehow manages to get himself transported to another reality and tumbles ungracefully out of Earth's Stargate. http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/683541.html?thread=89973525#t89973525)

"All right, Harry?" Ron asked.

Standing in the Department of Mysteries in front of the thing through which Sirius Black had vanished forever was difficult. He had been a faithful member of the Order of the Phoenix till the end, and the Wizengamot had finally cleared his name. Harry stood before the Veil and listened to its whispers.

"I'm all right," he said.

Hermione cleared her throat. "We can't stay down here forever."

Harry closed his eyes, wished he could hear his godfather's voice one more time.

A woman cried, "Harry!"

His eyes snapped open.

She said it again. No, not his name. She'd said, "Hurry!"

Harry peered at the veil, expecting to see some spectre of a woman. Instead, he saw himself. The Veil wasn't a veil at all. It was a sheer cloth covering for some kind of mirror. For one second, Harry was gazing at his own reflection, and then there was a low humming.

Ron said, "What's that?"

Harry's reflection flickered, and in its place was a woman, but she wasn't a spectre. She was tall and blonde. "Hermione," Harry said, "the veil's really a mirror." He pushed the fabric aside.

Hermione screamed. "Don't!"

The woman in the mirror said, "SGC, this is Carter. We're coming in hot!"

Harry felt that sharp tug behind his navel, like a portkey, and then he was tumbling arse over teakettle down a metal ramp.

In a cement room full of soldiers with guns.

He flailed to his feet. The woman from the mirror was there, followed by a massive black man, and two other men with brown hair and blue eyes who might have been brothers.

A voice from overhead said, "SG-1, status?"

The man with the glasses said, "Where's Vala?"

The other man stared. "Who the hell are you?"

Harry raised his hands like he'd seen In films. "I'm sorry, I think I'm lost."

The man with the glasses blinked at him. "Is it just me, or is that accent familiar?"

"Dr. Jackson," the overhead voice intoned, "are you telling me that Vala was changed into a teenaged boy?"

The other man sighed. "It's possible, sir. There was an Ancient device. It was shiny. I told her not to touch it."

The blonde woman peered at Harry. "Vala, is that you?"

Dr. Jackson smiled gently at Harry. "Everything is going to be fine."

The massive black man, who had a curious golden tattoo on his forehead, raised his eyebrows. "What is your name, young man?"

"Harry, Potter," he said.

Mitchell blinked. "Come again?"

"Harry Potter."

Mitchell winced. "Not Vala?"

Harry resisted the urge to reach for his wand. "No."

Carter furrowed her brow. "Let's see your scar."

Harry reached up, paused. "You know who I am?"

Dr. Jackson turned to Carter. "You do?"

The massive black man said, "You do not?"

Dr. Jackson's brow furrowed. "Teal'c, do you know him?"

Teal'c raised his eyebrows. "I am familiar with his life story."

"The scar, kid," Mitchell said.

Harry pushed his fringe up off his forehead.

Carter peered more closely at him. "It looks real."

Mitchell groaned. "Of course it is." He gazed up at the window overlooking the cement room. "Sir?"

"Get cleared by medical, and then escort our guest to a VIP room while we sort this out." The overhead voice sounded worn-out. "Any theories about how this happened, Carter?"

She turned to Harry. "Are there stargates where you come from?"

"Never heard of them."

Dr. Jackson said, "Did you happen to touch a strange mirror?"

Harry blinked. "How did you know?"

Mitchell smiled. "Quantum mirror. Piece of cake. C'mon, Boy Who Lived. Let's get you checked, fed, and then we can send you home, and we can get Vala back."

"Am I in America?" Harry asked. He followed Mitchell down the ramp. At a command, the other soldiers lowered their weapons and stepped back.

"Yes," Dr. Jackson said, "but probably not the one you're thinking of. Do you know Sam and Mitchell?"

"Sam?" Harry echoed.

"Major Carter," Dr. Jackson amended.

"No," Harry said. "I don't really know any Americans."

Dr. Jackson looked confused.

Teal'c placed a massive hand on his shoulder. "You may borrow my books, Daniel Jackson."

"Books?" Dr. Jackson echoed.

"Indeed." Teal'c turned to Harry. "Harry Potter, are you able to cast magic in this universe?"

Harry, who had started to reach for his wand, paused. "What do you mean, this universe?"

Dimestore Plot Bunnies

So it's been over a year since anyone posted here, which I think is a pretty terrible shame. I have loads of terrible dime store romance novel plot bunnies floating around in my pathetic brain, and I think some of them need to happen.

And they're going to happen here.

Chances are I won't finish very many of them, but them's the breaks, I guess. Besides, who knows what weirdness will emerge. If someone likes something I abandon, please, feel free to step up and take over. I'm down with that.

So...let the bunnies commence!

Attempted Pyrokinetic Murder

Okay, so the title is obviously a work in progress. Who else knows what will happen.

Incidentally, the story starts here.

It continues below, or above, depending on whether or not you know where to click.



James was a simple creature, and he liked life best when it was sunny and uncomplicated. He'd never admit it to his mates, but he'd always imagined that his first real gander at love would've been...simple: an exchange of smiles across a room at party; a long, surprisingly engaging conversation. They'd exchange phone numbers, and then there'd be dates and long phone calls, and one day there'd be no more dates, there'd be living in each other's lives. After that, the only answer would be marriage...or moving on.

James hadn't expected the object of his affection to be co-opted by his co-star. Everyone on set loved Riley, so maybe James shouldn't have been surprised that Asia fell in with the rest, but people loved Riley because he was adorably shy and polite, and Asia the super stunt-girl should hardly have been attracted to such...puppyish sweetness.

During sword training Asia was polite and helpful, encouraging even, and James had to summon all his acting skills so as not to blush whenever Asia curled her hand around his to correct his grip. It took every ounce of his will not to lean close and breathe in the scent of her whenever she put a hand on his hip to correct his posture. Outside of the training shed, Asia's acknowledgment of him was perfunctory at best. She always seemed too busy to do more than nod and make brief eye-contact before hurrying on to do whatever it was that anyone needed her to do. Because, of course, she wasn't just the stunt coordinator - she also handled armor and weapons and a host of other things that required her to hover around James almost as much as his AD without ever really acknowledging him.

It was only a month into shooting, and James was convinced that someone higher up the ladder was conspiring with the fates to taunt him with Asia's presence as much as possible so as to drive him insane - or maybe just test his acting mettle. Lunch was his only reprieve. He could slump alone in a corner of the catering tent and eat slowly, pretend that he wasn't scanning the face of ever passer-by and hoping it was hers.

Until the day when it was hers and she was laughing, face alight with joy, and goodness gracious she was beautiful in an uncanny, unexpected way - and she was laughing at something Riley had said.

James's chest tightened. He watched, gaze hawk-like, as Asia and Riley drifted through the catering line together, got matching salads and drinks, chattering all the while. They sat down at the other end of the table. Fiona amd Serena, who were usually thick as thieves with Riley, didn't join him. They sat with James instead. That was a bad sign. A horrible sign. A boy and a girl only got deliberately left alone like that when their friends were hoping they'd hit it off or something equally rom-com horrid.

Serena glanced down at the happily chatting couple. "I'm surprised you're not with them, Fi."

Fiona shrugged. "Unlike Riley, my Irish is terrible. I'd never keep up."

"What Irish?" James asked distractedly, watching how Asia and Riley spoke, heads bent close.

"Asia speaks Irish, so Riley's getting his daily dose of home during lunch," Serena explained.

"Oh." James swallowed and focused his attention more closely on his lunch companions. "I thought Asia was American."

Serena snickered softly; Bradley rolled his eyes.

"Apparently one of her adopted brothers is from Northern Ireland, so she speaks Irish," Fiona said. "She's terribly fascinating."

James agreed, though for entirely different reasons than Serena might.

"She's quite fun to talk to when she's not bossing the stunt boys around," Serena said. "You should talk to her sometime. I think you'd like her."

James would've given he wasn't sure what - something extreme, definitely - if she's say something to him beyond Guard up!

"What makes you think I don't like her?" he asked.

Fiona made an indelicate sound rather like a snort, but she was too pretty to snort. "You barely speak to her, you hardly look at her, and when you do, you seem to be putting every effort into pyrokinetically murdering her."

Haunted

The house was old and I loved it from the first moment I saw it. It was of Victorian design, and all three stories of it leaned slightly to the south, like an old man huddled over a fire on a cold day. Janine Harold had called it 'the blue house', but what little you could see of the paint beneath the ivy was peeling and had long since faded to grey. Dusty, moth eaten curtains hung wearily in the large windows, and combined with the overgrown hedges skirting the fence and the large oak tree that obscured most the house from the street, it gave the house a feeling of impenetrable solitude.
The little iron gate squeaked as I pushed it open, a sound somewhere between heartache and a slow smile. Silence hung low in the yard, swirling idly about the empty bottles, balls and broken things that it had collected over the years from opprobrious neighbors. It was like stepping out of reality into the realm of forgotten and overlooked treasures, and I felt neither wanted nor unwelcome- I was just another lost thing that had found my way to the place where all lost things go.

I heard Janine's car purr to a stop just beyond the hedge. I sighed, and tried to look at the house as I thought she might. I couldn't get far enough out of my head. I turned to watch her pick her way across the yard in her heels, jamming my hands into my sweater's pocket. She looked up and gave me a tight lipped smile. I imagine she was trying to appear friendly and eager, but a blind man would have been able to see how uncomfortable she was. A plump, smartly dressed woman in the shady end of a seedy town.
"Good morning, Miss Brunning!" her voice was so overly sweet it almost hurt as she extended a hand towards me.
I barely touched her hand before she whisked it away.
"So, this is the house! Its a...bit of a fixer-upper, I suppose." she gestured to the front door and "For the life of me, I don't know why your mother never did anything with it. She refused to sell the place, but as far as I know, she hadn't gone past the front gate in over a decade before she died."
I followed her onto the front porch and watched as she fumbled with the keys and the front door.
"I can't imagine a woman like my mother had much interest in a house like this." I offered quietly.
Janine shot me a strange look "She...She said that it had been her mother's house. They used to come here for the summers when she was little. Fond childhood memories, I suppose."
She finally convinced the door to open, and stood to the side so I could enter.
"Your grandmother had the place re-wired for electricity and fixed up the plumbing. The heat is all gas, you can find the tank in the back. I believe your mother kept it full, just in case."
I stepped inside and flicked the old light switch to the side of the door. The light-an old chandelier with regular 100 watt light bulbs screwed into it- flickered on, illuminating the entry way. The walls were the shade of yellow that could once have been white, a long time ago, and the hardwood floor was carpeted with dust. Janine stepped in behind me, leaving the door ajar, and moved to stand by the stairs.
"The door to the left leads to the parlour, the other leads to the old library. If you follow the hallway, it leads back to the kitchen, dining room and office. A bathroom" She pointed as she spoke "There are stairs down to the cellar in the kitchen, I believe. The second floor is all bedrooms. One master bedroom, a nursery, and two smaller bedrooms. Two bathrooms. The third floor was all servant housing, I don't think anyone's done anything to change that since the place was built. Then there's the attic, of course."
I nodded, and pushed open the door to the parlour. It was smaller than I'd imagined it, but still large. The furniture was all draped with dust cloths. Portraits in oval frames hung on the walls, so covered in dust you could barely see them.