I dream the impossible dream...

SGA Big Bang has gone live!

Fri, 13 Nov 2009 18:26:09 GMT

Without further ado:

Calling Down the Lightning at http://sgabigbang.talkoncorners.net/?view=fic&id=86

The art is incredibly beautiful; I can't stop staring at it.

And I'm so full of squee right now that I CAN'T EVEN TALK COHERENTLY and typing is a trial.

AEWFHIFODIJINOWEFIOJAWEFJIOAWFDFSLKAJIWAEF!!!!!!!!! -dances madly-

SGA Big Bang preview

Tue, 03 Nov 2009 17:29:27 GMT

O flist, I have posted a preview to my Big Bang!

It be here.

community.livejournal.com/sgabigbang/66280.html

:D :D :D

O Mighty Flist, I ask for aid!

Fri, 30 Oct 2009 05:42:27 GMT

So I'm writing a crack SGA fic (which is ALL aliaras 's FAULT BTW :P) and...well, I basically have 2 questions. They will be after the summary. Which is here:

John’s been the Hair Volume Fairy for a while now, and though he likes his job, he’s found himself wishing, now and then, for something more in his life. Rodney has barely begun to be the Physics Genius Fairy, and he needs to find just the right physicist to inspire. Having a bothersome hair fairy following him around isn’t helping, either, but John can’t bring himself to stay away. Will Rodney ever find a physicist? Can John persuade him that just maybe, finding love is more important?

The question is not, "Should I post it". The question is, "Where do I post it?"

And also, "what the FUCK should I call it?"

I am having way, way too much fun writing this. Seriously.

Also I want to write an epic SGA Regency AU with SPN/Dresden Files elements to it but I'll talk about that later.

EDIT: Because apparently an icon already exists for this fic. IT WAS MADE BEFORE THIS STORY WAS WRITTEN. IT IS FATE. -dies of squee-

Big Bang (again)

Sat, 17 Oct 2009 00:56:10 GMT

I FINISHED SGA BIG BANG OFFICIALLY YAAAAAAAY!

IT IS OFFICIALLY BETANATED AND FORMATIFIED AND TURNED IN. AND I HAVE AN ILLUSTRATOR FOR IT YAAAAAY.

I AM NOW GOING TO RETIRE TO MY FAINTING COUCH BECAUSE I HAVE NOT SLEPT MORE THAN 5 HOURS A NIGHT ALL WEEK AND HAD ORGANIC CHEMISTRY MIDTERMS TODAY.

FALL BREAK IS YAY!

-faints-

FUCKING FINISHED BIG BANG

Mon, 28 Sep 2009 00:19:25 GMT

OMG OMG OMG GUYS I FINISHED BIG BANG! :D :D :D :D :D

My final word count is 50,696 at the moment, after beta it might be more or less.

But oh my god, you guys, I didn't know if I'd actually be able to do it and I totally DID.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

I'm going to dinner now! Where I shall probably be flailing happily for some time.

SGA Big Bang (again)

Sun, 27 Sep 2009 08:00:48 GMT

I hit 40K about an hour ago.

I think I can wrap it up in...maybe 7000 words or so.

Rodney and Ronon are now camping out on the run. Teyla is putting her Xanatos Gambit master plan into motion, and John has a headache.

I've been writing all day and I think I'll be writing all day tomorrow, too. There's no dance troupe, so I have all morning and all afternoon, if I actually just sit down and type ahead at full speed.

I almost can't believe it. I think my Big Bang playlist is engraved into my brain. But I wrote John's discovery on Friday and the hurt and then acceptance today and then I wrote Rodney saving an entire people with magic and now he's on the run and Teyla's going to make everyone think Atlantis is haunted because she is scary when defending those she loves and I have an epilogue in mind.

If I finish it it will be the first fanfic I've ever finished that wasn't intended to be a oneshot.

My mind is reeling a little bit.

SGA Big Bang update

Mon, 21 Sep 2009 07:50:39 GMT

As several of you know, I'm doing Stargate Atlantis Big Bang this year. I'm writing an AU in which basically some people have magical powers, but on Earth wizards and magicians are so feared that if you're even suspected of having them you're executed. Usually by burning at the stake, though in Canada and Sweden you're just shot.

Anyway, I haven't written a whole lot about it here, just because it doesn't usually occur to me to, but one of the things I've been worrying about whether or not I can pull off is making it slashy. But good news, the slash happened! -punches the air-

It's McShep, because, well, it's just the way the fic needs to work. It probably won't go above PG though because hi aliaras and nianeyna, I love you and I know you IRL and writing pr0n that you two would then have to beta would be awkward for everybody!

But yeah, the slash happened, and it was largely because I realized that yes, I did have to address 'Duet' in the plot, and the way it worked out was that Rodney was trying so hard to hide his magical powers from Cadman that she decided he was harboring a secret passion for Colonel Sheppard. Because that's just embarrassing for him and isn't going to get him, y'know, shot, Rodney went with it, except then it all went wrong because a: Cadman told Katie and Katie broke up with Rodney, and b: Rodney told John so John wouldn't be surprised by rumors, except John actually is hiding a secret passion for Rodney, so it opened a whole box of awkward.

Then I got Rodney drunk, and John almost turned into a bug and confessed his feelings to Rodney, and Rodney just kind of decided to go with it.

Of course, the next bit I write, I think, is where John discovers that Rodney is a wizard when Rodney saves the whole team from a cave-in, but huzzah, the slash that I wasn't sure was going to happen at all is happening. -waves flag-

I have...27170 words out of 40000 right now. So I've got 13K left to write in gah, eight days. Well, I've done NaNo; it shouldn't be a huge problem. I got out a good 8000 words this weekend, and that was just working last night and sporadically today. If I sit down this Saturday and just work for a while I should be able to -gasp- finish it! -crosses fingers-

Of course, then it has to be edited and stuff, but the first draft is due the 29th so hey. Also beta-names, but aliaras and nia, you're both still up for it, right? -puppy eyes of DOOM-

I can't actually post previews though, so y'all are just going to have to wait for a while. But when I do finish it, whether or not it goes on the Big Bang website (which I hope it will, even if I don't make the cut I'll still finish and post it here I've decided) I will also be uploading behind-the-scenes stuff like my SGA Big Bang playlist and the reasons behind each song. Most characters, have at least one, and my main characters have a lot more. I think Rodney has, like, six or eight songs just for him. And he shares some with John. Then there's a full-cast number...

I need a title, though. I can't figure out what my title should be. The theme song for the whole fic is "Firebird" by Stravinsky, so the working one is "Firebird Rising", but that doesn't sit right with me. "Ride the Lightning" just sounds like a mullet-rock song, though I toyed with it for a bit. I use a lot of lightning and electricity adjectives to describe magic, though. Any ideas, o flist?

tl;dr: hurrah, I might actually be able to finish Stargate Atlantis Big Bang!

...why is this so freaking true?

Tue, 01 Sep 2009 16:40:05 GMT

Here, have a deviantart link. http://ursulav.deviantart.com/art/Enlightenment-50453518

Why is this so true? That is, more or less, EXACTLY what happened to me. I remember being a bit confused because I was in maybe sixth grade and I'd never even heard of such a thing before. (this was a bit before a friend of mine introduced me to fanfiction, namely Harry/Draco slashfiction. DO NOT MOCK ME I WAS IN SIXTH GRADE. -cough-)

But I flipped back and forth looking for a typo, because what, Vanyel was crushing on a boy, huh? This is confusing! Why is he crushing on a boy? Boys can do that? Huh? I have never before heard of this! When did this become an option?

In part of the little description of the art below the picture, the artist says something like, "Parents, you may want to explain this to your kids before the telepathic white horses do."

Well, the telepathic white horses explained it to ME, and I feel I turned out okay. But...it's a bit sad I had to learn it that way, y'know? -sigh-

If/when I have kids, I shall explain it to them long before the telepathic white horses do! They will be free to read about the telepathic white horses, of course, but...well, I hope I'll do better educating my kids than what happened to me. I learned about my period and about sex from Alanna. Tamora Pierce is a great explainer! (okay, I got at least those from my parents, but I read the Alanna books when I was eight and Mom waited until I was twelve.) And then I learned about gay people from Mercedes Lackey.

Is this true for any of you, O Flist? (and other people?)

:D :D :D

Mon, 27 Jul 2009 03:21:08 GMT

Damn, I love rock and roll.

My headphones broke the other day, so I bought some new, much nicer ones. As it turns out, I can fix the old ones-I took them apart out of curiosity, and I just need a few minutes with a soldering iron-but the new ones are awesome.

Currently I'm listening to AC/DC. And the song "Hell's Bells". Hot damn I love this.

There's just something about rock and roll that nothing else can possibly measure up to. When the singers are screaming and the guitar is wailing and the drummer's going a million miles a second and the bass threads through everything and ties it together-the only thing I love as much is really hardcore awesome classical music. For some reason the best of Beethoven and the best of rock and roll hit many of the same buttons in my soul. It's like it sets my brain on fire and all I want to do is rock the hell out.

tl;dr-I LOVE MY NEW HEADPHONES.

(edit: okay, so right after I was totally rocking out to "Hell's Bells" the next song was "Dancing Queen". Dancing Queen. -facepalm- There are times when shuffle is a very bad thing.)

(edit II: I love my new default icon. :D I'm on a boat!)

Musings on OTPs

Tue, 21 Jul 2009 07:53:46 GMT

There's something comforting about having an OTP.

I freely admit that I have many favorite pairings. Many are slash because I read a lot of Victorian literature where rounded female characters are scarce. For some reason I also like pairing best friends together and they usually happen to be male BFFs. I do ship a lot of canon, though, when I think about it.

Some of my favorites are House and Wilson (House), McKay and Sheppard (Stargate Atlantis), Jack and Ianto (Torchwood, and they're canonical), Daine and Numair (Tamora Pierce), Alanna and George (Tamora Pierce), Sam and Sybil (Discworld), Moist and Adora (Discworld), Carrot and Angua (Discworld), Clark and Lex (Smallville, I know, I know -wince-), Tim and Kon (DC comics, I've never been able to stand Wonder Girl, though I loved Steph), and Jeeves and Wooster.

But my first real ship, my first OTP, and the one which remains most constant, is Holmes and Watson.

It's in a bit of a weird way, though. I love the Canon. I love it to bits. Holmes and Watson define BFF.

But I see the good slash fanfiction as an extension of the Canon. There's subtext galore, if you know how to look. Hell, I have a link to an entire series of essays on the subject. But I've shipped Holmes and Watson since before I knew what shipping was. I've thought they were married in all but name since I first read the books when I was, like, eight.

I have no enmity towards Watson's wives. At all. My personal theory is that Watson married twice-first Mary, who died while Holmes was on Hiatus, and then a second time to a woman who died very soon after they married. She's the one who called him "James". It doesn't matter to me, though. Because when I read the Canon, what I see is a man head over heels for his best friend. Nothing can stand between them; he'll drop anything for Holmes, anytime, anywhere, and, just as importantly, Holmes will do the same for him if Watson needs it.

Watson is my favorite. I refuse to read pastiches in which Watson is bashed. I won't watch movies where Watson is portrayed as a bumbling fool. I won't. Because while Holmes is very cool, the one I'd want to be friends with and hang out with is Watson. Holmes can come too, but only if Watson is there to keep him in line.

But, back to what I originally said, there is something comforting about having an OTP. (Particularly one where the Canon is no longer being added to, I have to say. -coughcoughTORCHWOODcough-) Because, as far as I'm concerned, Holmes and Watson are unshakable. They're constant.

Okay, it goes a bit beyond being just an OTP. Holmes and Watson have lasted. For over a century.

I guess Vincent Starr said it best in his sonnet about the pair of them. The last two lines are:

"Here, though the world explode, these two survive
And it is always eighteen ninety five."

In the world I find myself living in now, it's nice to have something like this to hold on to.

Torchwood yet again

Sat, 11 Jul 2009 04:19:27 GMT

Right. So. Torchwood.

I have decided to officially retcon the fact that there was a season 3 in my version of the universe. And, for that matter, the last episode of season 2 of Torchwood and the whole bit where Owen became a zombie. La la la, he got better.

I cried like a small child tonight. I cried for nearly the entire episode.

And I have decided that no, it did not happen.

Oh, Ianto has a sister. And Jack has a daughter and grandson. And Gwen can be pregnant. But the 456 never existed.

I got the tiniest impression that Russell T. Davies wanted to be done with Torchwood. And, y'know what, that's fine.

But you do not have to fucking destroy the entire show to make it end. Would it be too much to ask for...if not a happy ending, at least one that didn't destroy my faith in humanity as a species? I don't want to watch a show about people making impossible choices and hating themselves for the rest of their lives. Because Torchwood is a show about pretty people fighting aliens. That's WHY I watch it.

So, from now on, in my version of the universe-everything from the last episode of season 2 of Torchwood onwards is filmed fanfic. Oh, it's excellent. It's dark and twisty and really deeply affects you.

But in the end it's fanfic. And therefore NOT CANON.

(the last bit of season 2, btw, had Jack get buried alive for almost 2000 years. I am taphophobic. Hence why I am retconning it. Also I like Tosh and Owen. But mostly it's the Jack-getting-buried-alive thing. I almost threw up when I watched that sequence.)

So! I am now going to watch some of my lovely season 2 of Torchwood and lament the fact that they never made a season 3. And that the end of the season is kind of abrupt. Who's with me?

Torchwood again (major spoilers this time)

Fri, 10 Jul 2009 14:34:17 GMT

So I don't have much time here as it's literally two minutes before I head off to work. I'll be editing this entry later to go a little more in-depth.

But I'm still in shock over Torchwood last night. Day 4.

See, the thing is, last night when I wrote my letter to Kripke and Whedon, I was upset about Ianto. More about that later.

But what really, REALLY got me about that episode-the part that's making me PHYSICALLY sick to my stomach-is the leaders of Britain slowly talking themselves into sacrificing kids.

I always take character deaths hard, but right now I kind of wish that Ianto's death was all I had to be upset about, because it was...I can't believe it. -shakes head-

More later.

A letter to Eric Kripke and Joss Whedon (Torchwood related)

Fri, 10 Jul 2009 05:32:30 GMT

Dear Eric Kripke and Joss Whedon,

I admire both of you. You two write very good shows. Firefly's one of my top favorites, as is Supernatural.

However, with all due respect, I must disagree with the generally held opinion that you're the writers of the most tearjerking episodes ever. Yes, All Hell Breaks Loose was sad. So was the Supernatural s3 finale. Firefly too had its moments, particularly in Serenity. And by all reports, Buffy's got some real heartwrenchers.

Don't get me wrong, you guys are pretty good.

But...try watching Torchwood sometime.

It is with considerable regret that I must label you with this adjective, but label I must.

You two are amateurs.

Love, dreamwaffles.

(ok, this was weird. BUT IT WAS THE ONLY WAY I COULD COPE WITH THE MOST RECENT EPISODE OF TORCHWOOD OMGWTF I AM CRYING BUCKETS OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD. -sobs-

WHO'S WITH ME TO RETCON THE HELL OUT OF THIS SEASON?)

S3 Torchwood squee (as spoiler-less as I can make it)

Wed, 08 Jul 2009 14:39:27 GMT

So Torchwood is airing July 6-10 or something, and I've actually been watching it while it's airing, which I don't actually like to do as much because it leads to cliffhangers that...make my soul cry or something.

BUT.

I've been watching it! The internet is my friend. And I MUST squee. So, in the cut, I've squeed semi-coherently and have simultaneously tried to keep it as spoiler-free as I can. Click at your own risk. But you'll probably be amused. Vague spoilers for days 1 and 2 so far. Capslock warning ahead...

ADOSIFHWEFIODSOHIFOIHADSFOIHAGRHIOAG TORCHWOOD

OMG SIDE CHARACTERS FTW PLZ PLZ PLZ BE RECRUITED I LOVE YOU

POOR JACK, YOU ARE HAVING A VERY VERY BAD DAY, I WOULD NEVER DO THAT, I WOULD GIVE YOU COCOA AND MAYBE SOME CLOTHING

IANTO! OMG IANTO YOU ARE MY FAVORITE!

BRITISH CIVIL SERVICE FAIL, YOU DO NOT DROP THE ONLY PEOPLE WHO CAN FIND OUT WHAT'S GOING ON INTO PIE

YOU TALK TO YOUR HUSBAND GWEN, YOU DON'T DO ENOUGH OF THAT

HOMG HOMG FAMILY TIMES! -SQUEE-

JACK STOP DENYING YOUR COUPLEHOOD YOU ARE ADORABLE

IAAAAAAAANTOOOOOOOOO!

EVEN MORE FAILSAUCE, BRITISH CIVIL SERVICE, BOO

CREEPY CHILDREN FTL D:

OMG, CREEPY CHILDREN FTW :D

BRITLAND WTF, YOU KNOW ALIENS EXIST

OMG JACK'S DAY JUST GOT EVEN WORSE D: D: D:

IANTO ALWAYS WANTED TO BE A CONSTRUCTION WORKER, EVER SINCE HE WAS A SMALL CHILD, TRUFAX :D

GWEN YOU ROCK, YOU ARE A CRAZY PERSON AND YOU ARE AWESOME

GO GO GADGET STUNTMEN

I HAVE TO GO TO WORK BUT I'LL BE AMUSED ALL DAY AND ALSO WAITING FOR DAY 3 TO AIR

Another meme!

Wed, 04 Mar 2009 04:17:58 GMT

floydsir made me do it! I swear! Also, I'm bored and am tired of reading Tacitus; Nero was a LUNATIC and reading about all the shit he did is pissing me off.

So, here's a meme to take my mind off things! :D

Firstly: People who have been tagged must write their answers on their blog and replace any question that they dislike with a new, original question.

Secondly: Tag eight people. Don't refuse to do that. Don't tag who tagged you.

O1. Make a list of 5 things you can see:
-cellphone
-Tin of mints
-Kleenex
-The USS Abraham Lincoln (it's a picture)
-my manly tool satchel

O2. Would you ever get plastic surgery?
Doubt it. I like my face. If there were a horrific accident, though, then sure.

O3. What is your favorite color?
I have three, and it changes depending on my mood; blue, purple, and red. My dorm is mostly decorated (insofar as there IS decoration) in red and blue.

O4. What's your occupation?
College freshman, inveterate napper.

O5. Do you nap a lot?
Oh hell yes. I fall asleep on people all the time.

O6. What was your first car?
A Barbie convertible that moved on its own when you rolled it back first. (What? I don't have a real car!)

O7. What's your current fandom/obsession/addiction?
Oh lord. Well, I've got my standbys of Jeeves and Wooster, Holmes, and SPN, of course. I'm also really into SGA right now. I've also recently started watching Firefly, and have gone through 9 episodes in 2 days. Ahem.

O8. What was the last thing you ate today?
A beef stir fry and then an ice cream cone.

O9. What was the last text message you received?
Um..."Aw, thanks. :)" from nianeyna .

1O. What websites do you always visit when you go online?
Facebook, livejournal, Elftown, gmail, comcast, Questionable Content, and XKCD.

11. What was the last thing you bought?
I'm assuming this question means not with my ID card, so...um...Kleenex and some Cheezits.

12. What are you listening to right now?
The "Saturn" suite by Holst.

13. If you could pick another name for you, what would it be?
I think probably "Chava". It's pronounced "Hah-vah" and is the Hebrew form of the name Eve. I think it's really, really pretty.

14. What is your zodiac sign?
Libra!

15. What is your favorite weather, and why?
Between 60-70 F, patchy clouds, and a nice, stiff breeze that makes it only just cool enough for a jacket. Perfect sailing weather.

16. If you could play any musical instrument, which one would you play?
I already play a bunch of instruments...hm...I'd have to say either the bagpipes or the cello.

17. Do you have any siblings?
Yep. A sister.

18. What's something you'd like to say to someone right now?
"Look, get the hell away from my lab partner. She doesn't want to date you and your being passive-aggressive is NOT helping her mental health. You are whiny and negative and until you come to terms with that, she's not going to want anything to do with you and I don't blame her one bit." ...aaaaand you can probably figure out why I want to say this on your own.

19. What are your plans for next weekend?
One word: WATCHMEN. :D

2O. Say something to the person who tagged you:
floydsir , you are strange and awesome. Our friendship is an odd and wonderful thing. Keep on playing that trombone, but stop blowing it in my ear! :D

I'm not really into tagging people. If you want to do this, go ahead. If you don't, well, then don't. Toodles!

Happy (very late) birthday, brainmissing!

Tue, 10 Feb 2009 04:31:15 GMT

So because it worked so well for romanshoes, I offered brainmissing the opportunity to request a fic from me for her birthday. Here it is, um, about two months late. It's Supernatural, gen, and humor. It's also unbetaed, but I think it works fine as it is. I apologize for the title; it was too obvious a pun for me to pass up.

Title: Supersoak Me
Rating: PG
Genre: Gen, humor
Warnings: I’ve taken some liberties with the Mesopotamian demon Lamashtu. My version is of a fairly typical SPN demon, except for where she eats unborn babies. I figure that if Kripke can do it, so can I! (Sam Hain, anyone? –cringe-)
Summary: This is very late birthday fic for brainmissing, who requested me to write a fic about supersoakers filled with holy water. I actually did Google “demon who eats babies”. And researched water guns. Extensively.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Dude, we’ve been here a week. If it hasn’t shown by now, it’s probably not going to. It probably skipped town ahead of us. Again.”

Sam huffed a breath from his side of the Impala, fingers drumming on the windowsill as they cruised the streets, on their way to a new town and new motel-again-from a bland suburban neighborhood-again-where they’d interviewed every person in a quarter-mile radius of an obviously demonic murder and found not even the slightest trace of a demonic presence.

Again.

They’d been following the damn thing for almost a month now. Early on in June, Dean had spotted an article about the murder of a pregnant soccer mom who, by the time of the autopsy, had no longer been pregnant.

At the scene of the crime, Sam had found sulfur on the windowsill, but the demon itself was long gone.

So far, five pregnant women had been murdered, never more than one in the same town.

“We were so close last time,” said Sam in frustration, remembering how they’d driven up to the murder scene only half an hour after the woman had been killed and her baby stolen.

“What I still want to know is, what the hell does the demon want with those babies?” snapped Dean, driving his foot down to get through the stoplight before it changed. The Impala growled as she accelerated, echoing the snarl in Dean’s words.

Sam rubbed the space between his eyebrows. “I have no idea. I’ve looked, but…”

“Well, if we can get a name, maybe we can find it faster,” said Dean, suddenly swinging the wheel around and taking a hard right, “Library’s down here, right?”

Sam blinked at Dean. “You’re voluntarily going to do research?” he said, incredulously.

Dean glared at him. “I do research!” he retorted defensively, “Sometimes.” He paused for a moment, then the fight went out of him and his shoulders drooped, just a little.

“Look, I just…I don’t want to go to the motel and turn on the news and find that we’ve missed another murder,” he confessed, turning into the library parking lot and looking for a space.

Sam didn’t call him on it. He could sympathize.

The last victim had been found by her daughter, who was eight. When they’d talked to her, Sam found himself asking most of the questions. Dean liked kids too much to ask them about these things. Sam knew it had upset him more than he let on to talk to the girl.

“Hey. Earth to geek-boy,” Dean said, snapping his fingers in front of Sam’s face, “Research time!”

An hour later, Sam had, once again, gotten exactly nowhere with the books he was combing through. Part of the problem was the selection; this library, like most libraries in small towns, generally didn’t have a whole lot about demonic lore.

Dean had moved from the table to a nearby computer desk, but Sam could tell by the tense line of his back that he hadn’t found anything. He stood up and wandered over, looking down to see what Dean was searching for.

“I’ve been looking for anything other than a demon that eats babies,” said Dean, rolling his head back to look at Sam and cracking his neck, “I started with demons, but we could be on the wrong track. Which would totally suck.”

“Hm,” said Sam absently, frowning down at the page and clicking back to see Dean’s search history. Upon seeing the first term, he raised an eyebrow.

“You actually Googled ‘demon who eats babies’?” he said, incredulously, clicking back a few times to see the results, “Dean, have you listened to anything I’ve ever said about the Internet?”

“Shut up, it was worth a try,” said Dean defensively, looking back at the page. The top site was something about a demon frog, closely followed by a claim about a demon-possessed Elmo doll.

Sam scrolled down out of morbid curiosity, clicked “Next,” and stopped.

“Huh,” he said, reaching out and pulling another chair closer, “Scoot over.”

Dean moved his chair as Sam sat down and followed the link he’d clicked for a minute, which was something about Mesopotamian mythology. After a few minutes, Sam was totally engrossed and Dean left, rolling his eyes.

“Got it,” said Sam a few minutes later, grabbing a piece of paper and scribbling on it.

“What is it?” asked Dean, looking up from the book he’d been half-heartedly poking through.

“It’s a demon called Lamashtu,” Sam told him, continuing to scribble for a minute, then getting up and coming back to the table, “Basically, she kills pregnant women and eats the unborn babies.”

“Okay,” said Dean, “So we have a name. Can we exorcise it?”

Sam looked at his notes for a minute. “No reason we shouldn’t be able to,” he said, looking back at Dean, “I mean, it still leaves a sulfur trail.”

“Right,” Dean said, then frowned as something dawned on him. “Hang on a second. Sam, why haven’t we found any possession victims? I mean, normally if a demon ditches someone after a murder, they’re left with bloody hands. Literally.”

Sam frowned too. “That is weird,” he said, running a hand through his hair, “What’s weirder is that we didn’t notice.”

“Well, can you blame us?” said Dean, “All those poor kids-“

He stopped dead as Sam whipped his head around to stare at him.

“Dean,” said Sam, slowly, “The mothers were all found by their kids. What if Lamashtu possessed the kids to kill them, cleaned them up, then left the kids to find their moms?”

They stared at one another.

“Dude, that’s sick,” said Dean, and stood up, shoving his chair back so hard it almost fell over. The librarian gave him a reproving look, and he raised his hands placatingly, jerking his head towards the exit.

Sam rose and followed Dean as his brother headed towards the Impala. “You’ve got to admit it fits,” he said, when Dean didn’t speak.

“Oh, I do,” said Dean grimly, unlocking the car door and sliding into the drivers’ seat, “It fits all right. It’s just fucking sick.”

“No argument there,” said Sam, blowing out a long breath, “So, how do we find the kid? It’s not like we can go around and ask to talk to every kid in town just to say ‘Christo’ to them. At least, not without probably being arrested as perverts.”

“Leave that to me,” said Dean, and grinned in the not-exactly-happy way he had when he suddenly got a really good idea. “Look, can you find out if there’s a pregnant moms’, I don’t know, daycare group or something? The age bracket’s been about six to nine.”

“I can do that,” said Sam warily, “Why?”

“Find out when they meet, and where, and it had better be outside,” said Dean.

“What?” said Sam, “Why? Dean, why do they have to meet oustside?”

“Never question a genius, Sammy,” said Dean, and refused to say anything more on the subject. He dropped Sam off at the community center without another word.

“Found anything?” said Dean, when Sam finally got to the motel.

Sam looked at him just long enough to let Dean know that Sam did not appreciate being left out of the planning process. “Yeah, actually,” he said, “There’s a group for moms pregnant a second or third time that meets at the park on Wednesday afternoons so the kids can run around and they can sit and talk.”

“Awesome,” said Dean, and the mad glint that meant he had a Plan was in his eye. Sam knew enough to be very wary of that glint.

“Dean, what the hell are you planning?” he asked, going to sit on his bed, “Just-just tell me already, okay? I’m sick of cryptic utterances.”

“What, your time of the month already?” Dean retorted, unmoved, and reached into his duffel, which looked fuller than usual, to toss something brightly colored and plastic at Sam.

Sam caught it reflexively, and stared at it.

“Dean, why did you throw me a water gun?” he asked, wearily, rubbing his forehead again when he had determined what it was, “And what does this have to do with anything?”

“That isn’t just any water gun, Sammy,” said Dean, pulling out another one from his bag and pumping it twice, “That is a Buzz Bee Water Warriors Renegade. And this one-“ he hefted his-“is a Super Soaker Max Infusion: Defender.”

“And you bought these why?” said Sam, trying to keep his voice patient and rather failing.

“I’m not done,” said Dean, and poked a jug of water by his foot with the toe of his boot. “Check that out.”

Sam looked at the jug, then back at Dean. “Congratulations, you found water,” he said, not getting up.

“It’s holy water, Sammy,” said Dean, beaming a little disturbingly at his brother.

Sam stared at him, then suddenly got it.

“Oh,” he said, “Oh.”

“You got it,” said Dean, saluting him with the Vindicator, “So, we load up, head out to the park, say hello to the mommies, then squirt the kids. The one who screams is our demon.”

“Okay,” said Sam, his mind kicking into gear. “We should go there early, draw some Devil’s Traps-herd the kid into one, then exorcise her as quick as possible.”

“I was thinking more, follow the one home and get her there,” said Dean, with a frown, “We really want to perform an exorcism in public?”

“If we don’t get it right away, Lamashtu’s just going to skip town again,” said Sam, his mind still whirring over the possibilities, “Besides, once it’s gone, it’s gone, and a fainting kid who vomited smoke in a park will get a lot more attention than two dudes with squirt guns.”

“Thus enabling a getaway,” said Dean, slowly. “Okay. Gotcha.”

He smiled again, suddenly. “But do I come up with awesome plans, or what? Squirt guns, Sammy. Squirt guns.”

Sam shook his head, but held his tongue. It would be no use trying to deal with Dean for at least the next week, if they pulled this one off.

They practiced with the guns for a while before going to bed, in order to become accustomed to how they fired. Sam felt a little stupid doing the drills their father had taught them with a brightly colored piece of plastic, but Dean seemed to take an evil glee in shooting Sam in the eye with deadly accuracy as much as possible.

“Dude, my Defender totally beats your Renegade,” he crowed, as they went inside, “It’s got a better pump action and totally doesn’t mist as badly as yours.”

“Mine’s bigger,” Sam retorted before he could stop himself.

Dean chuckled evilly. “Proving once again it’s not size that matters, Sasquatch, but how you use it,” he said, and disappeared into the shower before Sam could retort with something about Dean being short.

He rolled his eyes again instead and went to fill the guns with holy water.

The pregnant moms’ group met after lunch, so Sam and Dean turned up at twelve thirty to make sure they got there in time. The moms were gathered at a picnic table, keeping an eye on the play structures, but not seeming overly concerned about the shrieking coming from the swings and slides.

“So, there are Devil’s Traps…” murmured Dean, as he pumped his Defender, checking the seams for leaks.

“Under the yellow slide, on the merry-go-round, in the hopscotch area, and under all the picnic tables,” said Sam, rolling his eyes, “I was there too, Dean.”

They’d drawn the Devil’s Traps the night before, sneaking in with spray paint to cover all the ways a demon might flee holy water. The red paint wasn’t too noticeable on the bright metal merry-go-round, and it didn’t even look out of place among the bizarre drawings that adorned the area around the hopscotch designs.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Sam muttered, but followed Dean out of the car towards the playground.

It was totally bizarre to be hunting a demon in broad daylight in full view of passers-by. Sam tried to look nonchalant, and concentrated on Dean as they passed the table of moms, nodding politely.

As soon as Sam stepped onto the woodchips, Dean squirted him. Sam yelped and whirled to glare at him, but Dean was already bolting away, cackling as he dodged a group of kids and aimed over his shoulder, apparently haphazardly.

“Sorry!” he yelled when the kids shrieked in surprise, running automatically away from the man who’d squirted them.

Sam took cover behind one of the slides and aimed at Dean, pressurizing his squirt gun, taking aim, and firing. He winced automatically as the water splashed the girls on the tire swing, though that had been the idea.

They had to do this fast. Two grown men having a squirt gun fight wasn’t totally weird, but it was definitely kind of strange for them to do it in the middle of a play structure instead of in the perfectly good, empty soccer field just to the side of it. Sam aimed and squirted again, dropping and rolling as Dean fired back at him.

The demon was in a girl who couldn’t have been more than seven, and she screamed her head off when Dean first squirted her, immediately bolting in the opposite direction. Sam diverted her with another squirt, and the two of them began herding her towards the merry go round.

It worked beautifully. The demon scrambled onto the thing, crawled into the center, and froze as it realized it couldn’t get out.

Dean put down his water gun and went towards the merry-go-round, his hands up, one eye on the moms, who had turned to look at him. “Hey, I’m sorry for squirting you,” he said clearly, “I was trying to hit my brother. Want me to push this for you to make it up to you? I can make it go really fast.”

Sam lowered his own gun, and watched the moms relax as they heard the apology. He gave him his best sheepish smile, shrugging and letting his squirt gun drop.

Lamashtu wasn’t buying it, but Dean jerked his head towards Sam and began pushing the merry-go-round, letting it go when it began to spin at a respectable rate. A few other kids ran towards it and clambered on, so Dean gave it another few spins as Sam took out the paper with the exorcism on it, angled his body so his back was to the moms, and began to read it.

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus,” he said clearly, as Dean spun the thing faster, “Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio-“

Most of the kids were already shrieking with delight, so when Lamashtu began to scream, it wasn’t immediately noticeable. Sam read as fast as he could, trying to get through the exorcism before anyone else noticed.

When she flung her head back and a column of black smoke streaked into the sky, Dean pretended total surprise and stumbled backwards, shouting, “What the he-what on earth is that?”

Sam followed him back, stuffing the exorcism away as he finished the last word, as the kids began screaming in real terror and the moms flooded towards them. He lunged at the merry-go-round and stopped it, pulling hard, and the rest of the kids poured off it.

“Oh god, Kara!” cried one of the more heavily pregnant moms, and Sam scrambled onto the merry-go-round, turning the little girl over and checking her breathing.

“She’s unconscious!” he said, bending down to check for a heartbeat, “Call 911!”

Upon finding regular breathing and a pulse, he relaxed. “She’s breathing,” he said to the anxious woman standing at the side of the toy, clutching her hands together, “Want me to, er, get her off this thing?”

“Please,” said the woman, “Oh god, please-what was that? What happened?” and Sam picked up the girl and carried her to the picnic table.

When the paramedics got there, Sam and Dean gave them the barest details-“We don’t know what happened; we were just having a squirt gun fight, then this kid fainted-“ before getting the hell away from there.

They stopped at the motel to grab their duffels and check out, then Dean pulled onto the highway and started speeding atrociously.

“Admit it, Sam,” he said, grinning wildly when the Led Zeppelin tape they’d been listening to finally reached the end of one side, “That was awesome. I’m a genius.”

“It did work pretty well,” Sam admitted, “And the squirt guns were a lot more fun than just splashing them with our flasks.”

Dean cackled madly for a minute, then said, “You didn’t wrap yours up. That’s no way to treat the Renegade-it’s plastic, Sam, you can’t just throw it in the trunk like we usually do. Don’t worry, I took care of it.”

Sam stared at him. “You kept it?” he said, finally.

“Of course,” said Dean, giving Sam an incredulous look, “What, you think I’m going to just go back to the flask method?”

Sam groaned, and Dean turned the tape over, and the Impala roared as Dean began singing along to The Immigrant Song.

Fin

Happy birthday, brainmissing!

OH MY GOD

Sun, 08 Feb 2009 08:08:23 GMT

MAJOR EPIPHANY HERE.

Watch this video before you do anything else. NWS.

www.cracked.com/video_16077_clitter-body-glitter-your-vagina.html

"Warning: Using clitter during pregnancy may result in sparkle babies"

And do you know what this MEANS?!?

THIS EXPLAINS EDWARD CULLEN. He's not a vampire! He's just embarrassed! About his mom!

Everything is NOT better with daemons

Mon, 05 Jan 2009 21:57:49 GMT

Okay, so I'm going to just dive right into my topic here. There's a phrase that's often tossed around various fandoms (I'm thinking of House and Holmes in particular though I think I've seen a mention in M&C) that states, basically, that "Everything is better with daemons", aka crossing over with His Dark Materials (you know, Golden Compass et al) and giving everyone daemons. Now, I think daemons are awesome, and there's a few House stories that are just drop-dead amazing which happen to have daemons in them, and I liked them immensely. Likewise with Holmes; I want more Holmes!daemon fic, actually. There was also a really good Supernatural fic where Dean's daemon just wouldn't settle...anyway. As a concept they fascinate me-pardon the nerdiness but come on, the external animalistic expression of your soul? DUDE.

BUT.

I was up late last night, me being me, reading scans of Golden Age comic books and snickering hysterically (which is indeed possible although there is a risk of choking) and then I went to bed, and as I was trying to fall asleep I suddenly thought: Hang on a second.

In superhero universes-for the sake of argument I'm using DC examples, though I acknowledge Marvel's awesomeness-daemons would be the worst things EVER. Seriously! Imagine this scenario: You're a secretary or something working late at Wayne Towers and on the way to your car, someone steps out to mug you, their menacing panther daemon or whatever pinning down your helpless little chickadee, when suddenly IN SWINGS A MYSTERIOUS FIGURE followed closely by a blackbird and gets rid of the mugger for you. You go home, the next day you come into work and sit down at your desk and Mr. Wayne goes by, his blackbird daemon on his shoulder.

HM. I WONDER.

Superman, as an alien, would probably have no daemon at all. So, say Lois gets rescued and then meets Clark Kent for work, who BY THE WAY has no daemon. HM. I WONDER.

Seriously, the only people who could get away with being superheros and having secret identities at the same time are the kids who haven't settled yet. But probably most of the Teen Titans wouldn't be able to manage it, because daemons, if I remember correctly, settle at around fourteen or fifteen (which seems kind of young to me; that's freshman year of high school, that's not really mature enough. Environment might have something to do with it, I guess-I've always wondered if, say, a fourteen-year-old girl in Africa who is married and has a family would have a settled daemon because I always thought it had to do with mental status. But I digress.) and most of the Titans are older than that, at least the more recent ones. Old Titans might have been able to get away with it for a year or two.

But anyway, this is conclusive proof that not *everything* is better with daemons, because superheroes would be SCREWED. Good-bye secret identities! Unless, of course, the daemons had costumes too, and that's just plain ridiculous.

Anyway. I'm done.
Oh, and the other day I saw someone with a bumper sticker that said "Aubrey/Maturin 2008" ala those presidential sticker things and I squeed. The poor chick driving the car didn't seem to get it, though, I think she must have been borrowing it or something.

I have to go a: see why the cat is wailing and b: finish doing the dishes I am procrastinating on. It's 2. I need to wash the damn things.

Toodles!

Paper? What paper?

Sat, 15 Nov 2008 17:33:36 GMT

I'm actually supposed to be writing a paper right now, but whatever, I'll go work on it in a few minutes. I quite like the topic and it's largely, well, drafted, I'm just not motivated yet.

I know I kind of fail at LJ posting, and romanshoes, I swear I'll post that Jooster fic when I'm done with my paper. Perhaps tomorrow as I'm not sure I'll be in much of a state for anything tonight after paper-writing and going on a dorm outing to a place with roller coasters. I'm still not sure why I agreed to go to a roller coaster place as I am scared stiff of them, but there you go, I suppose. Anyway!

NaNo is...not going as well for me this year as it has in past years, but I remain optimistic. I've only got the one paper due this month and I'm easily capable of meeting my quota and would actually be at my quota if I stopped reading so much damn fanfic. :P Also, I recently became addicted to notalwaysright.com, which is funny momens in retail and food service. It's close to my heart, particularly the retail stuff because, well, I've worked in retail. But the tech support ones are funny as well.

For some reason my creative process has become even more schizophrenic than usual this year. I've had this idea for a graphic novel cooking for about...oh, five or six months, maybe a little longer, kind of at the back of my mind. I need to do some semi-heavy research on folklore and amulets and such and haven't done a whole lot of it yet. (It would help me enormously if Google would give me some serious websites rather than random New Age teenage Playgan crap. The books at my library aren't much better. Gah.) It's gotten to the point that whenever I see Bobby's house on Supernatural I sort of start drooling at his book collection, because I'm sure that he's got exactly what I need somewhere in there. If any of you have run across any sort of folklore involving tattoos-a book, a website, anything, I'm desperate-please let me know.

Anyway, the reason I'm saying my creative process has become schizophrenic is because every time I sit down to work on my NaNo, I work on it, but...kind of get crazily inspired for the graphic novel instead. It got to the point where I went and got a big sheet of butcher paper yesterday and taped it to my closet door. Originally it was going to go on the wall but there wasn't really room in an accessible part of my dorm. Anyway, it's on my closet door and I've started writing down...not really plot, but backstory, and it's color-coded and pretty and it makes me very happy because, well, it's color-coded! Currently there isn't a whole lot on there because it's a big sheet of paper, but my research is going to be complicated enough that it'll eventually probably become nearly indecipherable. But that's okay! I had to fold it and if necessary I can take it off the closet door and UNFOLD it! Ahahahaha I'm so clever. :)

Crud, it's 9:33. I made a schedule for today because otherwise I will never get my paper done and I'm supposed to be working on it now. Teatime! And see you guys later!

Supernatural ramblings

Thu, 25 Sep 2008 18:17:20 GMT

FYI: spoilers for Supernatural 4.01. :) Entry inside the cut tag.

Okay, so firstly, for those of you who don't already know: I moved into college, my roommate rocks as I knew she would, my life is insane, I have found lots of new friends who are both in fandom and in slash, so YAY, and in general I'm very, very happy right now.

So now onto what I want to ramble about, because while I normally do this stuff on ET, no one watches SPN and it is muchly sad! And they don't usually respond to my ramblings about crossovers anyway.

I loved the first episode of the 4th season. Kripke is walking a fine line, here, but I believe that if anyone can do it right, he can. But I was watching it, and at the end of it I was boggling along with everyone else who watches the series, and then my mind did a loop-de-loop as it often does and I suddenly thought about the Dresden Files.

Specifically, about the Knights of the Cross.

For those of you who don't know, the Dresden Files is an awesome series of books about this wizard named Harry Dresden who lives in Chicago and is in the phone book and hires out to take care of supernatural problems like ghosts or poltergeists or finding missing people/objects and stuff for people. But the universe hates him, so he often gets in way, way over his head and takes on more stuff than he can handle because Chicago is this weird hotspot for all things demonic and weird and killy-peopley and Harry swears a lot and has to take them down because, y'know, no one else can. And it rocks and I love that series.

Anyway, one of Harry's friends is this man named Michael, who is a Knight of the Cross. Harry calls him the Fist of God, and it's not just an affectionate nickname. Seriously, God arranges for Michael to be where he needs when he's needed with ridiculous coincidences that kind of make Harry facepalm, but Michael brings serious pwnage, so he just kind of ignores the whole God angle. Anywho. There are three Knights of the Cross, and all three of them have these swords with a nail from the Crucifixion worked into the hilt. Michael has the one that used to be Excalibur. A Russian named Sanya who is an atheist has another one. The third Knight died in the line of duty, and currently Harry has custody of the third sword. He has to pass it on at some point but he hasn't recieved any clues yet.

I love crossovers. I am a crossover junkie. And I really, really love crossovers between Supernatural and Dresden Files anyway, because they're very compatible and the characters bounce off one another in the right way.

But how this ties in to the fourth season of SPN is...Dean is a warrior of God. The Knights of the Cross are warriors of God.

CROSSOVER TIME! Give Dean the sword!

Also, the Knights of the Cross? Burninate evil. Vampires can't touch them. It's awesome. How this would work with Sam I don't know, but oh my god, I want that crossover.

Actually, the one Dresden Files/SPN crossover I've been able to find has Harry give Dean the sword, but it was written before most of season 3 and was too short and there were a few issues with it, though I did like it a lot. I really want to see that again, but done in light of the 3rd and 4th season and also in light of the most recent Dresden Files books and...anyway, WANTAGE.

I might just have to write it myself if no one else does, but I'm hoping someone else will because while it is fun to write fic on my own, then I can't reread it over and over without wanting to edit it.

Also, I haven't forgotten about the supersoaker fic, but I just haven't gotten to it yet.

Toodles!

I hate packing.

Tue, 26 Aug 2008 01:37:34 GMT

I really, really, really hate packing. I really do. Did I mention I hate packing? I HATE PACKING.

Guess how I spent my day?

I'm moving out and heading off to college this week, first year hurrah, and I'm both excited and kind of jittery about it. Also I'm kind of afraid that I'm bringing too much except then I look at things and go, "oh, wait, of course I must bring that for I will need it!" Except I have this lingering suspicion that I will wind up keeping a box of shit I don't need and bringing it home when I nip up for my birthday. (hurrah for being within driving distance of my college. 3 hours is totally doable if I don't drink too much coffee and wind up antsy.)

Oh well, c'est la vie I suppose. I already know my roommate, which is lovely, because we already know each other and which buttons not to push, and we can divvy up bringing the books. I suspect I'm going to go into a slight nervous breakdown when I try and find one of the books I'm not bringing because I am stricken with a sudden longing for Temeraire or whatever. Ah well.

Anywho, I'll post about college if I remember to, not that I post a whole lot about my life anyway. Currently I have to go up and eat my last proper meal at home. So. Um. Toodles!

Mon, 11 Aug 2008 19:32:38 GMT

Title: Necessary
Author: dreamwaffles
Word Count: 904
Rating: PG
Warnings: Unbetaed, sadly. My beta’s been terribly busy all summer and I couldn’t bring myself to add to her workload.
Prompt: Holmes/Watson-partners in crime-for king and country
A/N: I tried to make this slashy, I really did, but Holmes and Watson weren’t really cooperating, so it’s mostly just subtext. Also, I feel bad about what I had Watson do, although it didn’t stop me being strangely gleeful about calling nianeyna up and chirping happily at her about it when I wrote the first paragraph. This is crossposted to cox_and_co because that is where the Beeton Off challenge is from.

Although Holmes took to the breaking and entering as if he were born to it, it was Watson who was the first to kill in the name of the Queen. The echo of the shot lingered long past the sound had faded, resounding in Holmes’ mind in time with the horrible, throbbing ring in his ears.

It took an eternity for Watson to lower his revolver, his once-gentle eyes steely and cold as he turned his dispassionate gaze from the corpse on the floor to Holmes.

“It was necessary,” he said, as Holmes stared dumbfounded at the man he thought he knew. “Necessary,” Watson repeated, and suddenly turned to vomit into a corner.

Holmes’ paralysis shattered as Watson heaved, and he turned slowly back to the safe in the wall, his hands moving without orders from his mind as he turned the dial this way and that, finally swinging the door open and revealing only a plain little letterbox sitting in the centre of the compartment. Holmes watched his right hand grasp it and lift it out, sliding it into the sack at his feet.

He closed the safe before he turned around to see Watson watching him from beside the window, waiting for him to say something, anything. What Holmes could see of his face in the dimness was pale and haunted. Holmes’ mind whirled, searching frantically for a reassurance, a platitude, a comfort, anything-but found nothing. Finally, he bit his lip, then said, trying not to let his voice waver, “Necessary.”

Watson swallowed, hard, but the faint sound of footsteps caught Holmes’ attention, and there was no more time for words.

Necessary.

They reported to Mycroft that night at the Diogenes Club, in one of the private rooms. Holmes did the talking, summarizing their assignment in clinical, detached words and handing over the letterbox. Mycroft listened, eyes not moving from Holmes’ face until he lapsed into silence.

“You were not witnessed?” he asked, looking from Holmes to Watson, who stood staring into the fire.

“The shot raised no alarm,” said Holmes, “The revolver is a common model. We left without detection.”

“Good,” Mycroft said, “You are dismissed.” Holmes’ brother glanced back at Watson, and worry flickered briefly in his eyes. “Take him home,” he added, quietly, and left the room.

Watson said no word until they returned to Baker Street and their quarters, where Holmes knelt to stir up the fire.

“I should be arrested.”

Holmes added kindling to the embers and considered his range of responses. At last, he said simply, “Yes. But you won’t be.”

“I killed a man, Holmes,” said Watson, and his frozen voice was thawing, disbelief and horror colouring the tone, “I-God save me, I murdered him.”

For the first time Holmes wished he were capable of comforting someone, even if the comfort was undeniably false. “We had our orders,” he said, and it sounded weak in his ears.

“Orders,” said Watson, and made a faint sound almost like a sob, “Orders.”

“You were a military man, Watson,” said Holmes, rising from the hearth and turning, desperately grasping at straws, “Surely you-“

He stopped at the look in Watson’s eyes.

“Never,” said Watson, in answer to the unspoken question, “I am a doctor, Holmes. I didn’t-I was never a combatant. I was trained, of course, but I never…”

Holmes realised with distant horror that there were tears in Watson’s eyes. He was not conscious of moving forward, of raising a hand to Watson’s shoulder, but when the doctor flinched he jerked back as if burned. “Don’t,” said Watson, his voice ragged, “Holmes, I can’t-I didn’t-“

Holmes wondered if Watson knew what he was trying to say. “Watson,” he tried again, “Watson, I-we-it’s over. What’s done is done.” He reached forward again, and when Watson did not flinch, he tried a tentative embrace.

Watson stood perfectly still in the awkward ring of Holmes’ arms, his harsh breathing the only noise apart from the faint crackle of the fire. “I,” Holmes began, and wondered what he was trying to say, “Watson, I think no less of you.”

This, apparently, was the right thing to say. Watson’s breath shuddered out in a long sigh, and he leaned his head forward to rest on Holmes’ shoulder.

“You should,” he whispered, and Holmes felt his shoulders tremble, “Holmes, I-how can you bear to look at me, let alone touch me?”

Holmes moved one hand upwards to rest on Watson’s shoulder, hesitantly. “You are still the man I have known all these years,” he said, groping for words and finding them utterly inadequate, “You are still the man I call a friend. Whatever my brother asks us to do cannot change that.”

The words weren’t enough, but they were all Holmes had. After a moment, Watson drew slowly away and went to the window, drawing aside the curtains.

“Sunrise,” he said, staring through the glass.

Holmes went to stand beside him, resting his hands on the windowsill. “Yes,” he said, simply. They stood in silence, watching the sky pale in the coming dawn. Holmes’ breath left a fog on the cold glass, and he shifted a trifle.

A warm weight settled lightly on the back of one of Holmes’ hands, hovering uncertainly, like a butterfly unsure of whether or not to land. Without looking down, Holmes turned his hand over and grasped Watson’s fingers with his own.

It would have to be enough.

FIN

I have disturbed myself!

Sun, 06 Jan 2008 19:23:00 GMT

So I yanked this list-questionnaire-thingy from indeedsir, and applied it to Sherlock Holmes, and now I am suffering from weird mental images and evil fic ideas. I shall now inflict them on you. Because...I had fun even though I'm now mildly disturbed!

1. Sherlock Holmes

2. Mrs. Hudson

3. Dr. Watson

4. Inspector Lestrade

5. Inspector Gregson

6. Inspector Hopkins

7. Mycroft Holmes

8. Professor Moriarty

9. Irene Adler

10. Mary Morstan

11. Colonel Moran

12. Queen Victoria

Have you read 6/11 fic? Do you want to?
Hopkins/Moran? Never have, and never want to.

Do you think 4 is hot? How hot?
Lestrade? Er, not terribly.

What would happen if 12 got 8 pregnant?
…A child of Queen Victoria and Professor Moriarty? -brain explodes- I think that…it’s a good thing that never happened, because that child would wind up ruling the world.

Can you rec any fic(s) about 9?
Irene Adler...er...An Ideal Husband has some femslash with her, I think.

Would 2 and 6 make a good couple?
Mrs. Hudson and Hopkins? WHAT?

…I mean, no.

5/9 or 5/10? Why?
Gregson/Irene or Gregson/Mary? Um, I have no idea. Probably…Gregson/Mary, just because that gets her away from Watson. :P

What would happen if 7 walked in on 2 and 12 having sex?
Mycroft walks in on Mrs. Hudson and Queen Victoria? -brain explodes again-

So much for Queen Victoria not believing in lesbians.

I think Mycroft would blink a few times and leave.

Make up a summary for a 3/10 fic.

Watson/Mary Morstan. Um….The Sign of Four. : )

Is there any such thing as 1/8 fluff?
Holmes/Moriarty? No, that’s a hateslash pairing. I’ve never seen fluff for it.

Suggest a title for a 7/12 hurt/comfort fic.
Mycroft/Victoria? –brain dies a third time-

Okay, okay…um…crap, I’m really bad at titles…Noblesse Oblige?

Does anyone on your friends list read 7 slash?
Mycroft slash? There’s a few people, I’m sure.

Does anyone on your friends list read 3 het?
Watson het? …I reiterate, Sign of Four…

Does anyone on your friends list write or draw 11?
Colonel Moran…I don’t think so. He’s just not in enough fics. Or canon, for that matter.

Would anyone on your friends list write 2/4/5?
Mrs. Hudson/Lestrade/Gregson? I don’t think so, but now my mind is filled with terrible, horrifying possibilities.

What might 10 scream out at a moment of great passion?
Mary Morstan? She’d…oh god, I really don’t want to speculate.

If you write a songfic about 8, which song would you choose?
A songfic about Professor Moriarty. A songfic about Professor Moriarty. A songfic about Professor Moriarty.

Um…maybe “Good ‘n Evil” from Jekyll and Hyde.

If you wrote a 1/6/12 fic, what would the warnings be?
Holmes/Hopkins/Queen Victoria?

…we are not amused.

What might a good pick-up line for 2 to use on 10?
Mrs. Hudson to Mary Morstan…I have no idea. I just can’t picture it.

When was the last time you read a fic about 5?
Gregson? Um, not recently. He was featured as a sockpuppet in a silly!fic, though.

What is 6's super-secret kink?
Hopkins’ super-not-so-secret-kink is that he’s totally into Holmes. :P

Would 11 shag 9? Drunk or sober?
Would Moran shag Irene Adler? Sure. Irene would have to be wasted, though.

If 3 and 7 get together, who tops?
Watson/Mycroft? -brain dies yet again-

Um, probably…okay, no, I just can’t make myself picture it.

"1 and 9 are in a happy relationship until 9 suddenly runs off with 4. 1, broken-hearted, has a hot one-night stand with 11 and a brief, unhappy affair with 12, then follows the wise advice of 5 and finds true love with 3."
What title would you give this fic? Name three people on your friends list who might read it. Name one person who should write it.
Holmes is in a happy relationship with Irene Adler until Irene runs away with Inspector Lestrade. Holmes, broken-hearted, has a hot one-night stand with Colonel Moran and a brief, unhappy affair with Queen Victoria, then follows the wise advice of Inspector Gregson and finds true love with Dr. Watson.

HA IT WAS MEANT TO BE!

-cough-

I mean, I would title it…A Long Way Home. Because…I suck at titles.

I think that nianeyna, romanshoes, and inoru_no_hoshi would read it, and elenac from good ‘ol cox_and_co should write it.

How would you feel if 7/8 was canon?
Mycroft/Moriarty?

Actually…though it would be weird and strange and psychotic, it would be incredibly fascinating.

Great, now I want to write a fic for it. –headdesk-

Do you think 2 is hot? How hot?
Mrs. Hudson, hot? Um, no.

12 sends 8 on a mission. What is it, and does it succeed?
Queen Victoria would send Professor Moriarty to…to…assassinate…someone. Or…smuggle something. Yeah. And it would succeed, but Holmes would track him down and…pwn all. Yeah.

What would 5 most likely be arrested for?
Gregson’s a police inspector. He probably wouldn’t. That aside…maybe…no, he wouldn’t get arrested.

If you had to walk home through a bad neighborhood late at night, would you feel safer in the company of 7 or 8?
Mycroft vs. Moriarty. Hm, lemme think about that for a second. Massive, brilliant, good-hearted albeit obese man vs. criminal mastermind…

Well, while no criminal would dare mess with Moriarty, I know that Mycroft isn’t creating plans to kill me in my sleep, so I’ll go with Mycroft.

Okay, I'm done now. If you want to dare one another to actually write something from the list, be my guest. (And if anyone actually tries to write Mycroft/Moriarty...I'd kind of like to see it, just because I'm trying my best to kill my brain before I'm 20, and all.)

A bit of Christmas cheer!

Mon, 24 Dec 2007 20:09:49 GMT

I have always been terribly fond of Mrs. Hudson. She is the most long-suffering landlady in the history of landladies.

I was also intending to write a bit of fluff for Christmas, in any fandom, really, but events have caught up with me and, well, it didn't turn out quite as planned.

In any case, I wrote a little one-shot for Christmas. It's Holmes slash, from the point of view of Mrs. Hudson. Enjoy.

Title: Bringing In the Eggnog
Rating: A very light PG, for, um, slashy implications.
Warnings: Holmes/Watson. Together. As a romantic pairing. Oh, and this is sadly unbetaed.
Notes: Again, unbetaed, because I wrote it in...about half an hour. I hope you enjoy it, in any case! By the way, I love the idea of Mrs. Hudson being a little old slasher lady. Because...I just do. Also, there's a tiny Oscar Wilde reference in here, because I can.

Naturally, I’ve known about the boys for months now. I daresay ever since they started their little love affair I’ve known; after all, it’s not like they have any idea how to wash their own sheets. Not to mention the fact that my sitting-room is directly beneath Mr. Holmes’ bedroom, and more than once I’ve had to make a hasty retreat to the kitchen; I am very fond of both of them, of course, but there are some things I have no desire to know.

I wonder if either of them realises how lucky they are that I am their landlady. Doubtless Mr Holmes is well aware that my own nephew wears the green carnation, though I do not know if he is fully cognisant of my own knowledge concerning the good doctor and himself.

As it is Christmas-time, and more than once I have clearly interrupted, hm, certain proceedings by entering with the tea, though both of them hide it well, I believe I shall do my best to end their concerns about me. No doubt they have them, after all.

I decorated their shared sitting-room this morning, and was unable to stop myself pinning a bit of mistletoe to the door-frame. If Mr Holmes is still unaware of my knowledge, the presence of the plant will certainly give my little trick away, but I could not resist the temptation.

The pair of them attended the Scotland Yard Christmas festivities this evening, as they have in years past. I have plans to visit my sister for the next few days, though I do not leave until tomorrow morning.

They returned home earlier than I had expected, and I went hastily to the kitchen to retrieve the eggnog I had prepared for the three of us. I made sure that my tray was balanced before starting up the stairs; an unfortunate incident with Mr Holmes, a sudden deduction, and a tray of soup hardly a month after he began his residence at Baker Street had led me to realise that a carefully balanced tray was integral to avoiding extra laundry and minor injury.

When I entered the room, my lodgers were standing near the fire, the Doctor lighting first his pipe, then his friend’s. “Ah, happy Christmas, Mrs Hudson,” said the Doctor, turning to look at me.

“Not quite, Doctor,” I said warmly, setting the tray down and pouring the eggnog, “It is still only Christmas Eve, after all.”

“Not for much longer, Mrs Hudson!” said Mr Holmes, taking the glass I offered him.

“Very true, Mr Holmes,” I said, turning away to conceal my fond smile. Although most of the rest of London sees my lodger only as the Great Detective, I have always seen him as little more than an overgrown child. No doubt the readers of the Strand would be shocked and scandalized to learn this, but truly, anyone who spends any length of time with Mr Holmes, particularly when picking up after him, will notice the resemblance.

I poured myself a glass of eggnog and turned back to the boys, lifting it slightly in a toast. “Happy Christmas,” I said, simply.

“And to you, Mrs Hudson,” said Dr Watson, warmly, clinking his glass against mine. “Holmes? Would you care to make a toast?”

Mr Holmes looked at the doctor for a long moment, before a grin flashed across his face and he said, “To our dear friends Lestrade and Gregson; may their debates never cease to entertain.”

Dr Watson burst out laughing, though I fear the joke was lost on me. I cleared my throat again so that Mr Holmes would remember my presence, and, flicking my eyes to the mistletoe, said, “I do hope you two have a good Christmas Day. I am going to visit my sister for a few days, but I have no doubt you will find a way to spend your time.”

After my statement, I sipped my eggnog until I could keep a suitably innocent expression in place. I smiled gently at the dumbfounded look on Dr Watson’s face and dared enough to give a tiny wink to Mr Holmes, who to my surprise seemed absolutely flabbergasted.

“Happy Christmas,” I said calmly, and left the room. I closed the door behind me and quick as thought, bent to press an ear to the keyhole. While I normally do not stoop to such levels-usually standing just outside the door is enough-I wanted to hear exactly what their reactions would be.

“Holmes,” said Dr Watson, after a long moment, “Holmes, Mrs Hudson-“

“I know, Watson,” said Mr Holmes, sounding just as astonished.

“I have no idea how she-“ said the doctor, in a hushed tone of voice.

After a moment, Mr Holmes released a bark of laughter. “Of course, Watson!” he cried, his voice triumphant, “My bedroom is just above her sitting room-no doubt she has…”

I could imagine the flush on Dr Watson’s face in the next moment, though I was unable to summon up a corresponding image for Mr Holmes.

“Well,” said Dr Watson, after another long silence, “She did say she was going to visit her sister for a few days…”

At this point, I stood up hastily and went down the stairs, quietly. I am as fond of my lodgers as no doubt I would be of my own sons, had I ever borne any. However, there are some things that even a nosy old busybody like myself has no need to hear.

“Happy Christmas, Mr Holmes, Dr Watson,” I murmured under my breath as I went into the kitchen to wash my cup.

A new Holmes Fic

Fri, 07 Dec 2007 06:23:28 GMT

So I was doing my physics homework, and suddenly something went 'click' in my brain, I took out my writing notebook, and scribbled down the following. It's a bit cracky and weird, but I am fond of it. I'll probably crosspost it at cox_and_co at some point. In the meantime, enjoy!

Title: A Sonata in Dialogue

Rating: PG

Summary: Mycroft does what he can, but being a stubborn younger brother, Sherlock has to prove him wrong. Set post-Hiatus.

Cast: Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock Holmes, Dr. John Watson, Mrs. Martha Hudson, and Monsieur Levin, the French, OC valet of Mycroft Holmes.

Warnings: Mild slash, very strange, cracky format.

Notes: I wrote this in about 45 minutes when I was supposed to be preparing my lab notebook. I have no idea why it is entirely dialogue. Nor do I have any idea why I named the parts after sonata movements. Hopefully it works and comes off as whimsical, rather than lame. Enjoy!

Allegro: In Which Sherlock Holmes Gets Extremely Drunk, and Hatches a Plan

“Sherlock, if you weren’t drunk I would not say this, but as it is, I think you need a reminder. The plan you have outlined to me, what there is of it, is a spectacularly bad idea.”

“Mycroft, I am most certainly not drunk, and I defy you to give me three reasons why this won’t work.”

“Brother, I beg to differ. An examination of your left sleeve tells me you made a night of it, and I can only hope you brought your own tankard to that distressingly filthy drinking hole. Additionally, you are swaying slightly, your eyes are bloodshot, and, not least, you reek of spirits. Sherlock, you are the drunkest I have seen you since you were twenty-three years old.”

“Very well, Mycroft-I may be drunk, but give me three good reasons why I shouldn’t go back to Baker Street and tell John Watson I am hopelessly in love with him.”

“If you insist, then-“

“I do.”

“Three reasons, Sherlock. Firstly, as I mentioned before, you reek of liquor. The good doctor is extremely unlikely to take anything you say or do seriously. Secondly, in the unlikely event he does take you seriously, you have no idea how he will react. And thirdly, I am certain you know that relations such as you seem set on having are illegal.”

“Since when have I adhered to any law that didn’t suit me, Mycroft?”

“It is times like these, Sherlock, that I am very forcefully reminded that you are my younger brother.”

“Don’t change the subject, Mycroft! I admit your first point is a compelling one, but I have never heard a worse load of tosh than that sentence which followed your statement of ‘secondly’.”

“Haven’t you?”

“Never! My Watson is true and loyal, and if you doubt he loves me, you-you-“

“Sherlock?”

“Blast.”

“Did you ring, sir?”

“Ah, thank you, Levin. My brother is in a most disgraceful state, as you can see, so if you would kindly return him to 221B Baker Street, I would be in your debt.”

“Certainly, sir.”

“Pardon me, but is there a Dr. John Watson on the premises, madame? I was told to deliver this gentleman into his care.”

“Oh, were you. Do come in, sir; I’ll go fetch him.”

“No need, Mrs. Hudson, I heard my name-good heavens, is that Holmes?”

“The gentleman I am carrying does bear that name, sir.”

“Good lord. Ah-Mrs. Hudson, I am dreadfully sorry, but I’ll need a pot of tea-I’ll take him upstairs. Thank you for your trouble, Mr…”

“Levin, sir. I work for Mr. Holmes.”

“Mr-oh, Mycroft Holmes! Thank you, Mr. Levin, I will take Holmes from here.”

“It was no trouble, sir. I’ll show myself out.”

Adagio: In Which Holmes Awakens From a Drunken Stupor

“Ungh.”

“Holmes, are you awake?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Is there water?”

“Right here, Holmes. What were you thinking?”

“Watson, I must confess that for the first time in decades, I wasn’t. I must further say that-oh Lord. Is there a basin about?”

“Here, Holmes. Here. Tell me later. I have no doubt you are suffering a terrible head.”

“Thank you, Watson-“

“Don’t talk, Holmes. Just wait it out.”

“Is Mr. Holmes awake, Doctor?”

“He is now, Mrs. Hudson. Would you kindly bring up some more tea and a light breakfast?”

“Certainly, Doctor.”

“Holmes, you’ve upset our esteemed landlady.”

“So I gathered.”

“Are you any better?”

“Not really. Must I eat?”

“Yes, Holmes. I insist.”

Minuet: In Which Holmes and Watson Have a Long Conversation, With Occasional Interludes From Mrs. Hudson

“It’s about time, Mr. Holmes.”

“My apologies, Mrs. Hudson, I only just dressed.”

“Your tea, Mr. Holmes. I will return with the scones presently.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hudso-ah.”

“I’m not surprised your head still hurts.”

“She had no call to shut the door that loudly, Watson.”

“Perhaps not.”

“Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, thank you, Holmes.”

“Two sugars and some cream, Watson.”

“Ah, thank you, Holmes. Is something bothering you?”

“All these years and you still surprise me. You grow more astute by the day, Watson.”

“Holmes, you didn’t answer my question.”

“So it would seem-oh. Good afternoon, Mrs. Hudson.”

“Good evening, Doctor Watson. Mr. Holmes.”

“If I’m not mistaken, she is still rather irate.”

“I am willing to swear she is closing that door out of spite.”

“You would be right, Holmes. Mrs. Hudson disapproves of drunkenness, and you have known this for years-you have only yourself to blame.”

“I suppose so.”

“My advice is to apologize tomorrow, when you’re fully sober and she’s had a chance for her temper to cool.”

“She seems hardly inclined to listen.”

“She will later, Holmes. Trust me.”

“You are the one with the knowledge of the fairer sex, Watson-I suppose I shall take that advice.”

“If you had ever been married, Holmes, you would understand.”

“It’s just as well I never was. I have no wish to understand the abstruse workings of the female mind.”

“At last, a mystery even the great Sherlock Holmes admits beyond his powers.”

“Watson.”

“You must admit, it is amusing, Holmes. I have never known you to turn away from a puzzle before.”

“There are some puzzles too arcane for even I to attempt.”

“Fair enough, I suppose.”

“Watson?”

“Yes, Holmes?”

“Holmes, what are you doing?”

“Watson, it recently came to my attention that I am rather desperately in love with you.”

“I beg your pardon, Holmes?”

“Holmes?”

“Mmph.”

Rondo: An Epilogue

“Holmes, it really was most irregular for your brother to drop in for tea. I have never known him to do such a thing in all our years. And what on earth did you mean by, ‘I was right’?”

“Nothing terribly interesting, Watson. Merely a younger brother’s wish to outdo the elder. May I draw your attention to the fact that you have a smudge of jam on the corner of your mouth?”

“Do I? Is it still there?”

“That was the wrong side, my Watson. If you will allow me?”

“Do what you will, Holmes.”

“Tread carefully, Watson-I might interpret that as an offer.”

“My dear Holmes, do you really think it is anything else?”

Fin

I do hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing this. (And is it me, or does Levin bear a peculiar resemblance to Jeeves?) Thanks for taking the time to read it!