Fic and idea transfer
So I have an account at wordpress.com. As more people seem to be reading over here than there, I'm killing that account. So, below follows everything that was posted there that I feel is worth keeping. Don't remember for certain what was already posted here, so there may be some reposting.
Here's everything I felt was worth it.
http://politicalhumor.about.com/library/multimedia/gop_911_remix.mov
Experimental pieces that may be later used in LiveJournal’s au100. Mostly written to get the idea out of my head before sleeping.
Forced to live forever at any age, and memories (not) frozen at that age
Version 1: Only you, unlimited memories
Version 2: Only you, memories can stop at chosen age
Version 3: Worldwide, can choose age to regress to
Version 4: Worldwide, have to decide when at chosen age
. . . I really need to check my email more often. Another LJ Writer’s Block entry has inspired another series of bunnies.
Die to see the afterlife with confirmation of returning to life afterwards
Version 1: die, come back, live happily ever after
Version 2: die, come back, don't live happily ever after
Version 3" die, come back in different body, live happily ever after
Version 4: die, come back in different body, don't live happily ever after
Version 5: die, come back as different species, live happily ever after
Version 6: die, come back as different species, don't live happily ever after
Version 7: die, come back as possessing spirit, pass on
Version 8: die, come back as possessing spirit, don't pass on
More added as ideas come.
Let There Be Guns by The Arrogant Worms is Saguru!muse's crack-song. No Surprise by Chris Daughtry is his cheerful!happyending!song due to a lyrics rewrite.
MATURE CONTENT BELOW. DO NOT READ IF UNDER 18.
Brain-breakings of a sexual nature: In the original cartoon Speed Racer's theme song, replace the word "racer" with "raper". Fits scarily well. Blame for this fact rests entirely on a RL friend (you know who you are), and is the main reason I'm not going to ever watch anything Speed Racer-related.
MATURE CONTENT ABOVE. DO NOT READ IF UNDER 18.
Glee over the awesome piano music of David Sides, found at YouTube.
Summary: The truth behind Pandora’s curse is not what the Organization expected.
Have you ever heard about the Volley Comet that comes closest to Earth every 10,000 years? There is a myth about it saying that when the Volley Comet comes closest to the Earth, take the Holy Gem under the Moon’s shadow and tears will come out . . . That person will become immortal. . . . Simply look at the jewel under the moonshine. If the jewel has the secret power, there will be another jewel inside it glowing red in color. And that is the holy gem . . . Pandora.
-Partial transcript of a conversation between Snake, confirmed jewel thief, and an unnamed man. Ellipses indicate unused portions of the conversation.
*****
Ignorance is all that’s saved me from detection, in this lifetime.
In order for a comet to come near the Earth approximately every 10,000 years (the calculations gave me 9,998.78 years), it would have to have the mass of Earth’s moo, orbit a body with the mass of approximately ten of Earth’s suns, and have a semimajor axis of 1,000 astronomical units. And one of those is approximately 149,598,000 kilometers. Multiply that by 1,000, and double that because the semimajor axis is half the length of the longest part of the ellipse . . . it’s all but impossible. Even if such an orbit was possible, the chances are that the orbit of the comet would be affected by other planets and other bodies along its path.
I’m grateful for this ignorance . . . and at the same time, I’m not. This ignorance is all that allows me to live the life that I do now . . . but this ignorance is preventing me from coming one step closer to ridding myself of this curse. I both love and hate this ignorance, now, because this ignorance is what will determine my destiny, in this lifetime.
I don’t know what to do. To be able to take a break and simply live is not what I’m used to. Since the day I spread the rumors people have been seeking the perceived gift of Pandora.
There’s one thing that the legends don’t mention. If I want to, I can pass the curse on to someone else . . . force someone to live out the remainder of my 10,000 lifetimes (I have yet to live through 63 lifetimes). That would hardly be fair, though. To force someone to live as their friends, family, whole generations die before they do . . . it’s a hell that I prefer to reserve for myself.
The true curse of Pandora is that I can’t just commit suicide 10,000 times and be done with it. I have to die either by someone killing me or by circumstances beyond my control, such as natural causes or slipping and falling off the top of a 30-story building. I’ve tried far too many times for it to be false now. Death never takes for me; it’s just faster when it’s death via suicide.
Notes: Calculations concerning the numbers given were done using this website: http://www.calctool.org/CALC/phys/astronomy/planet_orbit. All other speculation is property of my mind, and is based on what I remember of physics class and my imagination. The lifetime calculations were done presuming that 40 years was the maximum lifespan until the 1100s, at which time they gradually grew to the 80-odd year lifespan of today. As the first mention of the Pandora myth is from the 8th-7th centuries BC (according to Wikipedia), I’m putting the time of the curse at the beginning of the 8th century BC and going from then.
Timeline used to calculate lifetimes: 800 BC-1100 AD = 40-year lifespan, 1100s-1500s = 50-year lifespan, 1500s-1700s = 60-year lifespan, 1700s-1900s = 70-year lifespan, 1900s-present = 80-year lifespan
47.5 + 8 + 3.33 + 2.86 + 1 = 62.69 lifetimes
Summary: When elements of the hit game Supernatural start appearing around his city, Misha Collins knows that things are going to get confusing. It all starts when Sam and Dean Winchester show up at his doorstep looking for Castiel . . . AU.
Disclaimer: I only own the Supernatural-as-a-video-game concept, not the characters.
Notes: Not actually real-person fic. Not intended to be real-person fic. I just used the actor names for the Supernatural characters. UCR is used as the school because I go there and therefore can describe it accurately. Had actual oneshot-style chapter written out, but accidentally deleted it.
Summary: Dean knew that Sam was invisible to the rest of the world. It was his job to keep Sam safe, and if the world didn't notice him, then naturally it would be easier for him to protect Sam, so Dean wasn't worried.
The truth is this: Sam Winchester vanished the night his mother died.
Not vanished as his father and older brother had, though.
It would take a while to realize the truth: that Mary Campbell had been a Hunter long before John Winchester started training Dean. That Mary Campbell had discovered a spell which would allow her to sacrifice herself in place of a loved one, someone with a direct blood tie.
That the night of her death, Mary Campbell screamed to alert her husband and older son to the presence of her would-be murderer rather than out of any sort of pain or fear.
The spell was a powerful one, powered by pure love and sacrifice of a blood relative. It ensured that whoever the spell was put on would only be seen by those who wanted to help him or those who were ambivalent about his status. Those who wanted to actively harm the bespelled person would never be able to find him. It was, as Dean would later jokingly note, a real-life Fidelius Charm.
Mary Winchester had set the spell to be linked to Sam's position in comparison to Dean. As long as Sam and Dean were in the same building, it would be effective. It wouldn't work as well against certain supernatural beings, but it would work against angels and demons.
Since the spell was set to key into the definition of 'good' and 'desiring harm' of John and Dean Winchester, there were some fairly interesting incidents within the first few days after everything was shot to hell. (Not literally, of course).
*****
The police officer first on the scene was rather confused by the fact that the father seemed to be cradling some invisible object. His son clung to the man's sleeve as the pair sat on the roof of a massive black vehicle. The boy blinked, looking up at him.
"I'm Officer Peter Daniels," he offered after a long pause. "What's your name?"
"Dean," the boy answered. "Where's Mommy?"
Before he could stop himself, Peter glanced towards the still-burning house.
"She's still inside - you have to get her out!"
"How old are you, son?"
"Four years old - where's Mommy?"
God, he hates this job.
"Son, your mother . . ."
"Let me tell him." The man's voice is rough with new grief. "Please, just - please."
Peter's worked this section of the suburbs for nearly fifteen years. He knows, unfortunately, how the community isn't all that close, and spares a moment to hope that they'll be better after this.
"I'll give you a few minutes with your son, sir, and then I'll need to take your statements."
*****
*expositionexpositionexplainingplotexpositionyadayadayada*
*****
The remains of the Winchester family were quickly shuffled into protective custody. Officer Peter Daniels explained that they'd been experimenting with some sort of weapon for the military, which had somehow malfunctioned and destroyed the nursery, and unfortunately Mary Winchester with it. The weapon had turned the youngest Winchester son invisible, and for the moment only the father John and the older son Dean could see him until something - he didn't know what - had happened, and suddenly he could see six-month-old Samuel Winchester too. The Winchester was hurried into the Witness Protection program, Peter Daniels to a different part of the country under a new name and new history, and the FBI pretended that supernatural beings weren't real.
*****
Samuel Winchester has been invisible to all but his dad John and his older-by-four-years brother Dean as long as he can remember. He knows it started the night his mother died.
He also knows that the invisibility is only literal for everyone except bullies, the teacher Dean swore was looking at him in a bad way, and Social Services (though how that happened he had no clue).
They moved to Palo Alto, California, two weeks before his brother Dean turned five, less than two months after Sam was six months old. Their father worked from home, but occasionally (once or twice a month) left to go on trips around the country.
Samuel Winchester also knows that he has not been Samuel Winchester since he settled in Palo Alto. He is the youngest member of the Campbell family. The official story is that they moved to Palo Alto to get away from memories of his mother, Mary, who died in a car accident.
*yadayadayadamoreplottystuff*
Fin for now
I know of at least one crossover of this type in existence - ante_luce’s To Boldy Go. That’s not the point, though.
Jazz meets Kirk. Crew runs for cover. Typical.
Prowl meets Spock. (Troublemaking part of) crew runs for cover. Typical.
Youngling!troublemaker!Prowl meets slightlyrebellious!vindicative!possiblysecretprankster!Spock. Crew (Enterprise and Ark) gets the hell AWAY from them. Universally agreed that only thing worse than them is Ratchet + Bones.
And a login for comments thingy on LJ had ‘vulcan’ as a word to make sure I’m human/not-spam-robot. And I found the I’m On A Ship post.
I sincerely think I can die happy now.
After finishing huge epic, of course.
There are many types of trine-bonds. There are the bonds between those fated to live and die together; the bonds between close friends, the bonds between passing acquaintances, the bonds of family. If in a weakened state - as those who are just born, extremely sick, and/or old are - then the breaking of a family bond may pull individuals into the Well of All Sparks (Matrix? Random new place? Decide). The trine-bonds of Spark-bonded chosen trines are strongest, but combined the other bonds will hold steady the Winged linked to a trine.
In other words, if one trinemember dies in battle, the other two Spark-bonded trinemembers die with them. It’s why Seekers always live/fight/laugh/die together - they trine for life.
As such, the general perception of Seekers is that there have to be Seekers in groups of three.
Previous idea that Seekers can be maintained in stasis if a fated trine-member dies = FALSE. As in UNICRONCRAPSOUTRAINBOWS false. (Not true, by the way, except possibly in crack.)
Title: Bright They Were, and Golden-Eyed
Fandom: Pokemon, Detective Conan, Magic Kaito
'Verse: Rose and Cecil
Characters (listed first name, family name): Kaito Kuroba, Aoko Nakamori, Saguru Hakuba, Lance (last name unknown in canon), Pikachu belonging to Ash Ketchum, Rose (OC Dratini), Cecil (OC Dratini).
Rating: PG for content
Summary: It turns out that the uncle of Saguru Hakuba is an important man in a world untouched by the unknowing likes of Kaito and Aoko.
Kaito woke to a jail cell and a handcuff biting into his right wrist.
*That* woke him up faster than the sight of the scaly slimy water-dwelling animals that he hated.
Phantom thief instincts screaming at him, Kaito turned slowly to survey his hand.
Aoko lay crumpled on the only cot in the fairly roomy room. A brief check revealed that she was breathing but currently unconscious, possibly asleep, and unbound in any way. That was good. He himself was handcuffed to the cot.
“Kuroba, good to see you’re awake.” Hakuba-blond-friend-ally-enemy-detective- ”We’re in the same boat, so don’t panic.”
Kaito’s head whipped around before he could stop it. The blond detective was indeed in the jail cell, with the addition of-
“Those are manacles,” Kaito said without really thinking.
The blond glanced up, clearly unamused. “I’d noticed, what with my hands being useless and trapped above my head and all.”
“Any idea who snatched us?”
Golden eyes flicked away from Kaito briefly before returning. “Only guesses, nothing concrete.”
Wait a minute. Hadn’t Hakuba’s eyes been blue before?
And he shifted - looked like he was trying to move his hands before he remembered what happened.
I think he’s lying to me.
“You know who it is, don’t you?”
“Not for certain-”
“It is in all likelihood who you think it is.”
What the FUCK? I didn’t even notice him there!
Wait . . . I did, when I turned to look at Hakuba.
“Did they find all your lockpicks?”
“I’m not exactly in a position to reach them right now,” Hakuba snarked back at the red-haired man, eyes now distinctly blue. “Kuroba might be able to, though - he actually has a hand free.”
Kaito jolted - the blond had been speaking Japanese and used his last name without honorifics. What the hell had changed here?
The red-haired man turned piercing blue eyes on the magician. “He have any experience?”
“I am right here, you know, and yes.” Kaito flicked a lock-pick out. “Lucky I practiced with my left hand.” I’m a magician; Hakuba can hardly draw any conclusions from that. It’ll be safe.
Nearly five minutes after starting, having dropped the pick multiple times, Kaito heard the lock click open. As if it was a signal, Aoko began to stir then. “Kaito?”
“Aoko.” Kaito let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, consciously forcing himself to act like a teenager and not the Kaitou Kid. “You okay?”
“Yes, I - Kaito, where are we?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Kaito answered, rising. “Hakuba?”
“Get me loose and then we’ll talk.”
“Talk while I free you,” Kaito countered.
Hakuba agreed, and spent the time waiting for Kaito to free him bringing Aoko up to date with their situation, finishing as Kaito unlocked the blond’s right hand. He flexed his wrist several times as Kaito set to work on the blond’s left hand. This lock came undone in less than a minute - Kaito figured that such an extreme learning curve was okay given what Hakuba knew of him.
Kaito heard the blond mutter something about steep learning curves, faking it, and his speed, but said nothing, instead pulling the blond to his feet once he had Hakuba’s left wrist also free.
A section of the wall swung open.
Aoko was abruptly yanked behind Kaito, backed into a corner. Hakuba shot across the room, his target plainly the red-haired man.
“Tini?”
Hakuba froze halfway to his target. He turned slowly to look at the speaker, hidden to Kaito due to the section of the wall which swung into the cell. The blond’s eyes widened.
“Rose?” he breathed, face the perfect picture to put in a dictionary next to the definition of astonishment.
“Dratini!” The cry was twinned - two blue-white blurs streaked across the floor towards the blond detective, separating to wind up the blond’s legs.
Incredulous laughter bubbled from Hakuba’s throat. “Rose, Cecil, what are you doing here?”
The two serpentine creatures answered with an excited chorus of “Tini!” “Dra!” and what was best described as soft chirring. Chuckling lightly, Hakuba ran his hands over blue scales one more time before crossing the room to the red-haired man. “Sorry for the delay.”
“It’s completely understandable,” was the warm reply. “Now get us the hell out of here.”
“Will do, sir.” A small smile - because no way in hell was that a smirk - flashed across Hakuba’s face. “Rose, Cecil, could you check out the lock to the cell, please?”
Kaito’s jaw dropped open as Hakuba stepped back half a minute later, lock-picks in both hands, and the red-haired man with him.
“What’s the plan for getting loose? Follow Rose and Cecil back out?”
A series of chirrs greeted the blond.
“No,” the blond answered calmly. “For one thing, there’s places the tunnel is just barely big enough for the twins to fit through, and for another thing, the lock to our cell is easy enough to undo given enough work. If that doesn’t work, then we can heat the cells and then cool them down-”
“-So the metal would shatter and we could get out that way.” The red-haired man grinned. “Genius.”
“So I’ve been told,” was Hakuba’s dry reply. “That’s last resort, though. Let’s break out first, and then we can break the bars if there isn’t enough time.” A brief click - Kaito realized that Hakuba was standing by the cell’s bars. “Better be quiet,” the blond muttered, and pushed the door outward.
The door swung open with only the faintest groan, which seemed far louder due to the silence that had fallen.
“I’ll take six,” Hakuba murmured, eyes on the red-haired man at his side as Kaito and Aoko stepped out. Kaito caught a flash of bobbing red hair before the man sped up to take the lead, Hakuba falling in behind Aoko.
They step down the hall quietly, wary. Kaito followed the steps of the red-haired man precisely, fingers threaded through Aoko’s hand as he led her the same way. He spared a moment to wonder where his card-gun was - he’d used it long before finding out the truth about Kid, as multiple classmates can testify to, and as such it is a safe weapon to keep on him at all times. It was less than three minutes later (a lifetime) that they came around a corner and stopped, another set of cells meeting their vision. These cells were all empty, but the door to the largest one was open. Either someone had been careless, or someone else had recently escaped too.
“Wait here.” Hakuba studied the bars, nodding to himself after a moment’s contemplation. “Cecil, could you . . . ?”
“Dratini!” is the cheerful reply, and the serpent curled around the left side of Hakuba’s body drops to the ground to slide into the cell.
Cecil (ohGodhe’streatingitlikeahumanbeing) returned within moments of disappearing from their sight, head poking up from behind a rock. “Dra. Ti. Ni!”
Again Hakuba and the (still unnamed) red-haired man exchanged a glance before Hakuba entered the cell, headed for what Kaito was reluctantly calling Cecil (it showed signs of intelligence, after all, and was certainly communicating with Hakuba. -Dear kami, he was insane.). A low curse drifted back to meet them, and Hakuba returned carrying a yellow bundle of fur wearing a red-and-white baseball cap.
“He’s here,” the blond murmured, stopping by the red-haired man. “And where one is . . .”
“The rest will follow.” The red-haired man nodded decisively. “Get them out of here, Saguru. I’ll take care of the others.” A jerk of the head indicated Kaito and Aoko as being the “them” in question.
“Yes, sir.”
Kaito’s jaw dropped. First this affinity for the snake-like creatures, then being addressed by his first name and not going into a murderous rage, and now he was addressing this man as sir?
“No.”
And just who were they talking about, anyway?
Two sets of golden eyes turned on the magician.
“No?” The red-haired man’s voice dropped dangerously low.
Hakuba sighed. “Kuroba, don’t you dare-“
“Unlike you, Hakuba-kun, I don’t just blindly follow the lead of some guy I don’t even know-”
Kaito had seen the flash of realization when the magician had added the honorific rather pointedly, but that was gone now, replaced by cool determination.
That didn’t matter quite as much, though, because Hakuba had just cut him off.
“This is my uncle.”
“You’re related?” Kaito glanced between the two foreigners, as did Aoko.
“I’m his mother’s older brother,” the newly named uncle answered. “Now stop asking questions - do you want to get caught?”
Kaito shook his head, mouth snapping shut, and stopped at that moment to wonder why he’d obeyed without questioning the man. A moment’s thought provided him with the answer that the part of him he’d dubbed the phantom thief rebelled sharply against being trapped.
“Good,” the man said shortly. The next words to emerge from the man’s mouth were in the strange dialect that Kaito didn’t recognize, and were therefore directed towards Hakuba, since the blond was the only other person present who could understand them. After a brief conversation, Hakuba nodded at his uncle, and the small group set off through the halls again. Hakuba sped up slightly, drawing even with Aoko, and spoke with her quietly. When Aoko nodded, he draped his left-hand serpent - Cecil - around her shoulders. The other one - Rose - settled more securely about Hakuba’s neck. The blond carried the limp yellow form with his left arm, the baseball cap draped over its head.
Kaito eventually remembered where he recognized the yellow mouse from.
Pokemon.
Pointy black-tipped ears, red cheeks, two brown stripes on its back, and a lightning-bolt tail, the base of which was also brown, led to the furry yellow mouse being a Pikachu. And from what he remembered of the series, the hat belonged to the Pikachu’s trainer, Sa-something. Kaito’s interest in the series had waned some time after they’d introduced yet another set of Pokemon, and then his father’s death had set him firmly towards being obsessed with magic and not with games.
It had been a close thing, though - Kaito was fairly certain that he still had a collection of the cards from the card game somewhere, along with a set of figurines.
With Aoko all but recovered and half-playing with Rose as they walked, Kaito decided that it would be a good time to bring up his conclusion.
“I didn’t know you were a Pokemon trainer, Hakuba-kun.”
“I’m not.” Something alien was in the blond’s reply, and it took Kaito a moment to categorize it as a biting frost. Hakuba’s face flashed with disgust and half-hidden fury for an instant before it returned to its usual calm expression. “None of the Dragon-keepers are trainers except in name, and in name only.”
Kaito blinked. “But I thought . . . what’s so bad about being a trainer?”
“Too many mistreat their Pokemon.” Hakuba’s voice was low, rough with intensity. “Too many consider their Pokemon tools, easily used and discarded. Rare are the Trainers who hold the Pokemon in high regard, and rarer still are the ones who treat them as friends.”
“But-”
“Pokemon are sentient creatures. They are born, they can die, they have families, clans, friendships, enemies. They can make friends, fall in love, be pulled apart by dispute. They communicate with each other, and can understand what humans say and communicate with us given enough time.
Notes: Extraho is the Latin for dragon as translated from this website: http://www.translation-guide.com/free_online_translators.php?from=English&to=Latin. I simply used the first one since it seemed the closest to a last name.
Wataru is the Japanese name for Lance, for those who don’t know.
Saguru wouldn’t have used Cecil as a name except that when he got the Dratini twins, he thought they were both girls, and so named them Rose and Cecelia. When he found out, “Cecilia” already responded to the name, so he had to use Cecil instead because it was close enough that he would answer.
All the stuff about the succession to Dragon Master is my property. Saguru’s fifth due to several unnamed OC cousins who will probably never show up in fic.
Honestly, 1984′verse. One chapter - ONE FREAKING CHAPTER - which I already had mostly written is not going to help me. What would help is spawning as according to Chapter Three and the rest of the timeline IN ORDER, which you should know exists by now.
Star Trek AU . . . first of all, all future Star Trek ideas need to decide on a species, and I’ll thank you not to be tribbles. Second of all, Missile’verse (until you rename yourself), I need a little more than just that one concept, or else you’ll be posted elsewhere and dismissed.
1984′verse has declared that all Transformers ideas are actually lion cubs, to prevent future confusion, so . . . cub-bunny focusing on troublemaker!Prowl and Spock, you need to focus or else you’ll be sent to the Bunny Farm with a full farewell.
Supernatural hellhound puppies, thanks for the snippets. You’ll have to remain oneshots until I get through chapter 8 of the1984′verse kittens, at least.
New Dratini-hawk hybrid . . . welcome to the madness. Thank you for the plot. Unfortunately, you will be remaining a oneshot until I finish with 1984′verse, as I told the hellhound pups above. Please get in line - they don’t intend to kill you.
Legacy/Curse’verse sequel, thank you for cooperating. Once I have time available, I’d appreciate getting the next section of plot. Just . . . please. Rewrite to be non-canon for that verse or wait until I’ve actually WRITTEN MLFC. Speaking of which, you need to get in line, fledglings, but you have priority over everyone else once the next several chapters of 1984′verse are done.
Everyone, it’s best if you cooperate. Cooperating means you get your turn faster, therefore resulting in more happy people sooner. As always, new ideas go to the front of the line until sated (meaning ONLY one chapter or concept-writing) and then go to join the queue.
Many thanks for your cooperation.
Sincerely,
kaitou_pandora
P.S. Dratini-fledgling . . . honestly? Barging into my head like that won’t help your case much. I’ll type you up, work on you today and tomorrow, and then it’s to the back of the line for you. Final say.
Title: None at the moment
Fandom: Supernatural, crossover with Transformers (2007 and 2009)
'Verse: None at the moment
Characters: Reginald Simmons, Seymour Simmons (both separate from each other - they're twins), Simmons' father, OCs,
Rating:
Warnings:
Summary: Inspired when going through sakon76’s LJ to reread fanfic.
Disclaimer: I own none of this.
Notes: Set between movies 1 and 2 of the Transformers series, and any time canon for Supernatural, though preferably before season 5. Draws from both live-action movies of Transformers. Originally posted in 4 parts; breaks will be labeled
Part One
Reginald Simmons has always been fascinated with fire. His preoccupation with flame stems in some way from his mother’s mysterious death when he was six months old. His father claimed that he saw her burning on the ceiling, blood dripping down from a wound in her stomach - but Reginald never really paid much attention to it, deciding that his father had somehow been driven insane via grief.
He believed it, and so did his twin Seymour, until the night they found out that the Closet Monster was real.
Their father burst in and blasted it with his shotgun before ordering them to pack.
The remainder of the Simmons family left their temporary home before it was dawn.
They moved around the country some. Their father left them with friends as often as he could, but occasionally had to take them with him on what he was beginning to call hunts. He never tried to force them into hunting until they showed an interest. Seymour was far more action-oriented, and learned how to shoot every gun in their father’s growing arsenal by the time he was ten. Reginald, who had always been more fascinated with the scientific aspect of the hunt, did the research, looked up cells, and, when demons began showing up, found several exorcisms that they could use.
Reginald graduated on time, as did Seymour. Reginald went to university, pointing out that the larger libraries would give them access to more materials useful for finding more supernatural entities to fight when his twin and father protested. They eventually agreed, albeit grudgingly, and he went off to double-major in history and urban legends of the world (which he did as a custom major).
He was halfway through his schooling when Sector Seven contacted him.
*****
As it turned out, he was perfect for the job. Whenever descriptions of odd things came along, he was assigned to go check it out to tell the difference between supernatural entities and the real alien threat (aliens! GIANT aliens! GIANT alien ROBOTS! It was every true geek’s dream come true.)
Part Two
Disclaimer: I own only the crazy idea which spawned this and Maria Vasquez. Read below for further clarification.
The day he found out that his family had been involved with the giant alien robots (NBEs, he was learning to call them - non-biological extraterrestrials) he fumed briefly before deciding that finding out that that supernatural entities were real was more overwhelming then his father’s duty to protect the world from the giant al- NBEs, especially given that the supernatural world had a more immediate impact on his life (i.e. killed the man’s wife).
Time passed. Reg settled into his job comfortably, headed the research division when he wasn’t out hunting down suspected NBE locations and eliminating the supernatural. There were hints of NBEs who had already been on planet for a long time (meaning long before Sector Seven had been started - probably from around the time the world was emerging from the Ice Age, if not farther back). His life narrowed to only the Sector and the few times he came into contact with his family. His father and his twin hadn’t found any more traces of his mother’s killer beyond occasional hints of mysterious deaths of mothers of newborn babies.
He was slowly but steadily falling in love with a fellow researcher. Her name was Maria. Her parents had been from Spain, but they’d migrated to the US, and she’d grown up learning both Spanish and English. There was the barest trace of an accent when she spoke, not that Reg could really bring himself to care (honestly, he probably wouldn’t have cared if she spoke Chinese as long as they both were talking about the same thing). They were the same age, unlikely to marry outside of Sector because there wasn’t enough of a lack of genetic variation to outweigh the security needs, and so Maria Vasquez and Seymour Reginald Simmons were married a year after they’d started seeing each other formally.
*****
Life with the Sector was better than it ever had been. They were pulling even more technology from the Ice Man every day, adapting it to what mankind could safely use at the moment.
Part Three
Thomas Banachek, head of the Advanced Research Division (or at least the part that focused more on researching the structure and technology of the Ice Man/NBE-1), whose office was on the side of the Dam opposite that of one Reginald Simmons, heard faint echoes of screaming and for a moment stared in shock. Then, the radio at the side of his desk buzzed with an incoming message, so he hit the button in hopes of finding out what the situation was.
“Banachek - what’s going on out there?”
“Tomit’sRegyou’rethefirstI’vetoldMaria’spregnantandshe thinksitmightbetwinsandI’mgoingtohangupnowbye!”
(His father remarried; his new wife had a deli shop somewhere. Reg never went to the wedding, but sent a sizable monetary gift.)
“Reggie?”
Click.
After a brief silence, Thomas merely sighed and turned back to work.
He’d offer his congratulations to the new father later.
*****
Julie and Rachel Simmons were born healthy, well, and on schedule. Reg fairly glowed for the first five months after they were born, proudly showing off the latest photographs of the girls who had already become known as the Simmons twins. The first call he made to his father and brother revealed that his father was planning to retire from hunting and that his brother had been injured on a hunt - he now had a broken leg - but that the doctors expected him to make a full recovery.
The night of the twins’ six-month birthday, his life came crashing down again.
Reg had not forgotten the stories of his mother’s death, and wisely took all the precautions that he could - salted the doorways, windows, and vents, particularly in the twins’ room, drew a Devil’s Trap on the floor of the nursery (hidden beneath a rug by the baby bassinet, drew another Devil’s Trap by the door to their bedroom, convinced Maria to move the twins to their room the week before, during, and after the twins were six months old (his excuse was that it was easier to take care of the twins that way - he was definitely not going to spoil the truth of his paranoia to his new wife), and, after she went to sleep, manacled one of her arms to him, knowing that he’d always been a lighter sleeper than she had been and therefore able to unlock the manacle if they needed to take care of the twins at night.
In the course of all the careful planning, Reg had failed to take into account one small fact:
Maria Vasquez knew how to pick locks and always kept a lock-pick on her person at all times.
He woke to panic, the twins’ crying muted by distance and walls, and the realization that Maria’s side of the handcuffs lay in bed with him.
Instantly he was out of bed, running through almost-forgotten exorcisms through his head as he grabbed the gun he’d kept stashed under his pillow (that paranoia had been excused due to the nature of his job) and sprinted down the hall.
He found the twins crying in their bed, Maria nowhere in sight, and an odd red stain on the cover.
He recognized the look of fresh blood.
Far too afraid for this type of scenario, he looked up at the ceiling.
The still-living form of his wife stared down at him, eyes wide, chest barely moving, blood spreading from the wound on her stomach and dripping onto his face even as he stared up. The ceiling erupted into flames around her even as he shook his head sharply. Reg had no choice but to grab the twins and run for their lives.
It was every nightmare he’d ever had come to life.
Part Four
Disclaimer: see previous chapters. Note: Maria Vasquez is not intended to be any reflection on Maria Gonzales from the Ghosts of Yesterday novelization.
Reg withdrew to the Hoover base to raise the twins. Being head of the research division allowed him to take care of the twins and do his job at the same time; he’d long since mastered multitasking. Hunting was too dangerous now - he did not want to leave his girls motherless and fatherless. At any rate, he had been training others to hunt so that they could further eliminate threats to national security, and searching out potential NBE locations was safe, but dull, and would require him separating from his girls. That was something he wanted to avoid.
Knowing that fleeing from fire had not brought him the desired results - that he would be able to flee the thing which set him on the path to his present life - Reginald decided that he would take a different tactic:
If you can’t beat them, join them.
This necessitated becoming intimately acquainted with fire - how it worked, what burned faster than others, the smell of smoke, what could be used to start a fire. He taught his daughters to respect fire - respect it, for respect and fear could come in the same package. He dove deeper into the research aspect of his job, created new weapons and gave suggestions for what new weapons could be. He raised his daughters not to be afraid of the dark, taught them how to pack rock salt into cartridges, to lay down salt lines for protection, to never break the lines, to identify what it was that they might end up fighting, and to exorcise demons. New information was coming in through the meticulous network he’d cultivated, information of hunters focused towards hunting a being with yellow eyes.
A yellow-eyed demon.
Once that first information came through, he sent out for checking the information in question, verifying it with at least ten different sources. And what he found changed his world yet again:
John Winchester, father of Sam and Dean Winchester. The Winchester brothers were already quickly becoming infamous, despite the fact that the youngest - Sam - was starting college. He was doing well on his own, too - took care of several poltergeists situated in Palo Alto, California, even as his father and brother worked on their own hunts across the country.
The Winchester wife/mother, Mary, had died when the younger son, Sam, was six months old; died in flame and fire, and John Winchester had reported seeing a shadowy figure with eerie yellow eyes.
So the yellow-eyed figure was a demon, as it turned out. All that remained, then, was finding a method of tracking its movements and then destroying the demon.
The problem was in finding a method of killing that didn’t merely expel the demon from its host.
Years passed, though, with no progress. The techs spread rumors that all the computers were going to crash and declare the date to be 1900 instead of 2000. His girls aged, entered middle school, got to high school, entered college to experience the outside world. Reg found out that his father had been managing Sector operations when he was notified that his half-sister was now unofficial head of the Sector.
Then, in 2007, his world changed yet again.
They’d intercepted a phone call which set off all the flags - a yellow Chevy Camaro, ancient beater, followed its owner around without any visible signs of a human driver, the kid owner insisting that it just ’stood up’. Triumphant, Reginald led the team to Nevada to intercept what they’d dubbed NBE-3 after its landfall some years before and the fiasco with mimicking the Cube’s frequencies.
The night had started out so well . . . but then everything got shot to hell.
NBE-1 was hostile, of course. They’d assumed that all the NBEs would also be hostile, and prepared accordingly.
They’d forgotten about the Ghost-1 mission. The mission which had warned them that more NBEs existed . . . and that there were also good NBEs to go with the bad ones.
(Once everything was over, Reg would look at his life, consider the saying that “to assume makes an ass out of you and me”, and laugh long and hard.)
Despite the initial hitches in taking the humans in question into custody and encountering more NBEs (becoming rather intimately acquainted with the foot of one in his case), they got the humans to the Hoover base. The kid’s parents were sent to a separate room, and the kid and his (hot and so similar to Maria) girlfriend with the military unit who’d fought the NBEs overseas plus the SecDef and the human hackers who’d broken the NBE code all went to see the Ice Man.
Then the little smartass tore his life’s dream apart.
His girls were grown and living in Mission City, just twenty-two miles from the Hoover base, and still occasionally taking trips to see him and hunt down possible locations of their grandmother’s killer. The army captain in charge of the strike unit insisted on taking the Cube to Mission City. He wasn’t stupid; he could do the math. Mission City would have enough buildings to provide decent cover . . . but it would also inevitably lead to civilian casualities.
His girls’ lives would be in danger.
He threw himself into helping the SecDef, recalling the radio he’d nicknamed Maxwell long before, knowing that it worked on shortwave frequencies and still had a chance of reaching a military base. He’d cannibalized the microphone long before, though, and all but forgotten the radio set.
The realization that there was no microphone set his world spinning.
With no military backup, the Sector strike teams would be as good as dead against the NBEs if the others were as well-armored and well-armed as the Ice Man (Megatron) was.
His girls would die.
Reg had never been particularly given over to metaphor, but the chill which ran through his body was rather like being dunked in a tub filled with ice water. (The sad thing was that he knew what it felt like from experience.)
He had never been gladder to hear the blonde speak when she suggested hotwiring the computer to submit Morse Code. The relief which washed over him was enough to outweigh his annoyance at the fat guy for yelling at him to get a screwdriver.
There was still hope. His girls would be safe yet.
Then the little NBE attacked them.
They blockaded the doors quickly. The SecDef went for the ancient shotguns quickly, throwing one at the blonde because the fat guy was in the process of linking the computer to Maxwell. Remembering one of his early requests, Reg ran for the weapon he’d named for his mother.
Fire poured out of the flamethrower as he screamed at the little robot. He was not going to lose his girls - they were all he had left of Maria. He prayed all the while that his actions would make a difference - even with military support, it was stupid to expect that there wouldn’t be civilian casualties, and his girls had been raised knowing about the Sector and his work. They’d be on the scene of the attack as fast as they could, to help take down the NBEs (Decepticons, he had to remember, the Decepticons) and to pull the wounded away where they could.
His girls would survive his death, if he failed.
After everything he’d been through, his life’s dreams shattered repeatedly, he wouldn’t survive theirs.
He prayed to God that his girls would survive. They had to survive. They had to live.
After everything he’d been through, all the good he’d done, despite running from his past, he didn’t particularly care if he died.
His life no longer mattered.
His girls’ lives did.
And that was what counted.
Fin
Author’s Notes
. . . What the hell, headspace. This was supposed to be crack, not angst. And now you want to be a threeshot?
Fine. Just . . . give me some time to write RK/TF crack to recover and I’ll be fine, please.
Notes: For 1984 AU Earth I - Freedom and Discovery. Autobots/Bumblebee (Jazz possible because Bumblebee has sensor panels and sensor panels = Praxian) arriving on Earth pre-2007; Decepticons too.
Luck spared them intial discovery.
Luck gave them enough time to warn their companions on Earth.
It was day for the United States of America when the Autobot scout landed. As a result, the seeker moon-base had been on the other side of the planet, and so the Autobots hadn’t sensed or even seen the Seekers, since the Seeker settlements were on the side of the mooon facing the Earth.
The Seekers ahd sensed the Autobots long before they had reached the Earth-system’s asteroid belt, and also consequently sensed the Decepticon presence.
Though both sides had been crippled by the Stand of the Winged, the Decepticons had been more heavily affected, since the Decepticons had relied heavily on their air fleet to give them an edge in the air and the Decepticon Air Fleet had been comprised almost completely of Vossian fliers.
Random thought spawned by rewatching Detective Conan. Minor spoilers below, though the first paragraph should be known by everyone in-fandom given the premise of the series.
Episode 1, when Ran goes to chase Shinichi after the roller coaster murder, Ran’s shoelace breaks. The way it’s portrayed in the anime is somewhat illogical, though - I doubt that the laces of someone’s shoe would just break and take the bow off completely. To me, it looks like it Ran’s shoes have to have been tampered with in order to break like that at just the right time.
So, either the whole of Detective Conan after Shinichi wakes up a kid is a dream, or someone within the BO predicted that he would shrink and made sure that the two BO agents would be there at the right time to poison Shinichi. Shiho/Ai did it already, after all
Belated, yes, and done by other people already, but still true.
And also, in Episode 2 of the anime . . . precisely how does Shinichi know about the hair growing out of the mole on Agasa’s butt? Is it because of a crack!OTP made canon of Agasa/Shinichi?
Not Cybertronians as cyborgs, per se, but . . . more an adaptation of an idea which is highly likely to pop up in the 1984 AU. AU idea, though it could be AR depending on your interpretation of it.
Transformers is a highly marketable franchise. With the development of the new technology fusion hardware, people can now dive into a vivid virtual world where world politics play out on a relatively smaller scale: the war between the Autobots and the Decepticons on Cybertron. It’s not a clear-and-cut war, though - every faction has its own nuances.
There are Autobots who would kill their own comrades without hesitation in clear violation of the main Autobot cause ( to advance what they see as being the higher goal: the end of the war and the restoration of Cybertron.
There are the Decepticons who only joined the Decepticon movement because the Decepticons were the only ones who wouldn’t throw them out on principle.
And there are the Neutrals who are rejected by both sides, don’t wish to fight, or simply want to be able to profit off of the war by playing both sides against each other.
Samuel James Witwicky plays as Autobot scout Bumblebee. Mikaela Banes is the Autobot’s Chief Medical Officer, Ratchet. William Lennox is the trigger-happy weapons specialist, Ironhide (and something of a minor pyromaniac). Glen Whitman and Maggie Madsen are Eject and Rewind, symbiotic Cassette-children of Blaster, who is played by Seymour Reginald Simmons (and under no circumstances does he wish to be called ‘Seymour’. Call him Reggie, or Reginald if you must, outside of anything short of meeting the President.) The leader of the Autobots, Sentinel Prime, is played by an unknown person. The Prime’s second-in-command, Prowl, is played by Raoul O’Brien, and the Prime’s third-in-command and first lieutenant Jazz is played by Robert Epps.
Brain unfortunately didn’t get much further than that.
Note to self: making 2009 canon. Have Arcee/Chromia/Moonracer motorcycle group be trine? Acting more like a single entity than three separate Sparks b/c they like it.
Note 2: Finish reading RotF novelization - decide on Simmons’ first name!
Note 3: Brain, ew. No. Yes, it would be cool, but Bee/Dean/Sam/Mikaela is crack of epic proportions. Friend-fic would work fine, though.
Here's everything I felt was worth it.
http://politicalhumor.about.com/library/multimedia/gop_911_remix.mov
Experimental pieces that may be later used in LiveJournal’s au100. Mostly written to get the idea out of my head before sleeping.
Forced to live forever at any age, and memories (not) frozen at that age
Version 1: Only you, unlimited memories
Version 2: Only you, memories can stop at chosen age
Version 3: Worldwide, can choose age to regress to
Version 4: Worldwide, have to decide when at chosen age
. . . I really need to check my email more often. Another LJ Writer’s Block entry has inspired another series of bunnies.
Die to see the afterlife with confirmation of returning to life afterwards
Version 1: die, come back, live happily ever after
Version 2: die, come back, don't live happily ever after
Version 3" die, come back in different body, live happily ever after
Version 4: die, come back in different body, don't live happily ever after
Version 5: die, come back as different species, live happily ever after
Version 6: die, come back as different species, don't live happily ever after
Version 7: die, come back as possessing spirit, pass on
Version 8: die, come back as possessing spirit, don't pass on
More added as ideas come.
Let There Be Guns by The Arrogant Worms is Saguru!muse's crack-song. No Surprise by Chris Daughtry is his cheerful!happyending!song due to a lyrics rewrite.
MATURE CONTENT BELOW. DO NOT READ IF UNDER 18.
Brain-breakings of a sexual nature: In the original cartoon Speed Racer's theme song, replace the word "racer" with "raper". Fits scarily well. Blame for this fact rests entirely on a RL friend (you know who you are), and is the main reason I'm not going to ever watch anything Speed Racer-related.
MATURE CONTENT ABOVE. DO NOT READ IF UNDER 18.
Glee over the awesome piano music of David Sides, found at YouTube.
Summary: The truth behind Pandora’s curse is not what the Organization expected.
Have you ever heard about the Volley Comet that comes closest to Earth every 10,000 years? There is a myth about it saying that when the Volley Comet comes closest to the Earth, take the Holy Gem under the Moon’s shadow and tears will come out . . . That person will become immortal. . . . Simply look at the jewel under the moonshine. If the jewel has the secret power, there will be another jewel inside it glowing red in color. And that is the holy gem . . . Pandora.
-Partial transcript of a conversation between Snake, confirmed jewel thief, and an unnamed man. Ellipses indicate unused portions of the conversation.
*****
Ignorance is all that’s saved me from detection, in this lifetime.
In order for a comet to come near the Earth approximately every 10,000 years (the calculations gave me 9,998.78 years), it would have to have the mass of Earth’s moo, orbit a body with the mass of approximately ten of Earth’s suns, and have a semimajor axis of 1,000 astronomical units. And one of those is approximately 149,598,000 kilometers. Multiply that by 1,000, and double that because the semimajor axis is half the length of the longest part of the ellipse . . . it’s all but impossible. Even if such an orbit was possible, the chances are that the orbit of the comet would be affected by other planets and other bodies along its path.
I’m grateful for this ignorance . . . and at the same time, I’m not. This ignorance is all that allows me to live the life that I do now . . . but this ignorance is preventing me from coming one step closer to ridding myself of this curse. I both love and hate this ignorance, now, because this ignorance is what will determine my destiny, in this lifetime.
I don’t know what to do. To be able to take a break and simply live is not what I’m used to. Since the day I spread the rumors people have been seeking the perceived gift of Pandora.
There’s one thing that the legends don’t mention. If I want to, I can pass the curse on to someone else . . . force someone to live out the remainder of my 10,000 lifetimes (I have yet to live through 63 lifetimes). That would hardly be fair, though. To force someone to live as their friends, family, whole generations die before they do . . . it’s a hell that I prefer to reserve for myself.
The true curse of Pandora is that I can’t just commit suicide 10,000 times and be done with it. I have to die either by someone killing me or by circumstances beyond my control, such as natural causes or slipping and falling off the top of a 30-story building. I’ve tried far too many times for it to be false now. Death never takes for me; it’s just faster when it’s death via suicide.
Notes: Calculations concerning the numbers given were done using this website: http://www.calctool.org/CALC/phys/astronomy/planet_orbit. All other speculation is property of my mind, and is based on what I remember of physics class and my imagination. The lifetime calculations were done presuming that 40 years was the maximum lifespan until the 1100s, at which time they gradually grew to the 80-odd year lifespan of today. As the first mention of the Pandora myth is from the 8th-7th centuries BC (according to Wikipedia), I’m putting the time of the curse at the beginning of the 8th century BC and going from then.
Timeline used to calculate lifetimes: 800 BC-1100 AD = 40-year lifespan, 1100s-1500s = 50-year lifespan, 1500s-1700s = 60-year lifespan, 1700s-1900s = 70-year lifespan, 1900s-present = 80-year lifespan
47.5 + 8 + 3.33 + 2.86 + 1 = 62.69 lifetimes
Summary: When elements of the hit game Supernatural start appearing around his city, Misha Collins knows that things are going to get confusing. It all starts when Sam and Dean Winchester show up at his doorstep looking for Castiel . . . AU.
Disclaimer: I only own the Supernatural-as-a-video-game concept, not the characters.
Notes: Not actually real-person fic. Not intended to be real-person fic. I just used the actor names for the Supernatural characters. UCR is used as the school because I go there and therefore can describe it accurately. Had actual oneshot-style chapter written out, but accidentally deleted it.
Summary: Dean knew that Sam was invisible to the rest of the world. It was his job to keep Sam safe, and if the world didn't notice him, then naturally it would be easier for him to protect Sam, so Dean wasn't worried.
The truth is this: Sam Winchester vanished the night his mother died.
Not vanished as his father and older brother had, though.
It would take a while to realize the truth: that Mary Campbell had been a Hunter long before John Winchester started training Dean. That Mary Campbell had discovered a spell which would allow her to sacrifice herself in place of a loved one, someone with a direct blood tie.
That the night of her death, Mary Campbell screamed to alert her husband and older son to the presence of her would-be murderer rather than out of any sort of pain or fear.
The spell was a powerful one, powered by pure love and sacrifice of a blood relative. It ensured that whoever the spell was put on would only be seen by those who wanted to help him or those who were ambivalent about his status. Those who wanted to actively harm the bespelled person would never be able to find him. It was, as Dean would later jokingly note, a real-life Fidelius Charm.
Mary Winchester had set the spell to be linked to Sam's position in comparison to Dean. As long as Sam and Dean were in the same building, it would be effective. It wouldn't work as well against certain supernatural beings, but it would work against angels and demons.
Since the spell was set to key into the definition of 'good' and 'desiring harm' of John and Dean Winchester, there were some fairly interesting incidents within the first few days after everything was shot to hell. (Not literally, of course).
*****
The police officer first on the scene was rather confused by the fact that the father seemed to be cradling some invisible object. His son clung to the man's sleeve as the pair sat on the roof of a massive black vehicle. The boy blinked, looking up at him.
"I'm Officer Peter Daniels," he offered after a long pause. "What's your name?"
"Dean," the boy answered. "Where's Mommy?"
Before he could stop himself, Peter glanced towards the still-burning house.
"She's still inside - you have to get her out!"
"How old are you, son?"
"Four years old - where's Mommy?"
God, he hates this job.
"Son, your mother . . ."
"Let me tell him." The man's voice is rough with new grief. "Please, just - please."
Peter's worked this section of the suburbs for nearly fifteen years. He knows, unfortunately, how the community isn't all that close, and spares a moment to hope that they'll be better after this.
"I'll give you a few minutes with your son, sir, and then I'll need to take your statements."
*****
*expositionexpositionexplainingplotexpositionyadayadayada*
*****
The remains of the Winchester family were quickly shuffled into protective custody. Officer Peter Daniels explained that they'd been experimenting with some sort of weapon for the military, which had somehow malfunctioned and destroyed the nursery, and unfortunately Mary Winchester with it. The weapon had turned the youngest Winchester son invisible, and for the moment only the father John and the older son Dean could see him until something - he didn't know what - had happened, and suddenly he could see six-month-old Samuel Winchester too. The Winchester was hurried into the Witness Protection program, Peter Daniels to a different part of the country under a new name and new history, and the FBI pretended that supernatural beings weren't real.
*****
Samuel Winchester has been invisible to all but his dad John and his older-by-four-years brother Dean as long as he can remember. He knows it started the night his mother died.
He also knows that the invisibility is only literal for everyone except bullies, the teacher Dean swore was looking at him in a bad way, and Social Services (though how that happened he had no clue).
They moved to Palo Alto, California, two weeks before his brother Dean turned five, less than two months after Sam was six months old. Their father worked from home, but occasionally (once or twice a month) left to go on trips around the country.
Samuel Winchester also knows that he has not been Samuel Winchester since he settled in Palo Alto. He is the youngest member of the Campbell family. The official story is that they moved to Palo Alto to get away from memories of his mother, Mary, who died in a car accident.
*yadayadayadamoreplottystuff*
Fin for now
I know of at least one crossover of this type in existence - ante_luce’s To Boldy Go. That’s not the point, though.
Jazz meets Kirk. Crew runs for cover. Typical.
Prowl meets Spock. (Troublemaking part of) crew runs for cover. Typical.
Youngling!troublemaker!Prowl meets slightlyrebellious!vindicative!possiblysecretprankster!Spock. Crew (Enterprise and Ark) gets the hell AWAY from them. Universally agreed that only thing worse than them is Ratchet + Bones.
And a login for comments thingy on LJ had ‘vulcan’ as a word to make sure I’m human/not-spam-robot. And I found the I’m On A Ship post.
I sincerely think I can die happy now.
After finishing huge epic, of course.
There are many types of trine-bonds. There are the bonds between those fated to live and die together; the bonds between close friends, the bonds between passing acquaintances, the bonds of family. If in a weakened state - as those who are just born, extremely sick, and/or old are - then the breaking of a family bond may pull individuals into the Well of All Sparks (Matrix? Random new place? Decide). The trine-bonds of Spark-bonded chosen trines are strongest, but combined the other bonds will hold steady the Winged linked to a trine.
In other words, if one trinemember dies in battle, the other two Spark-bonded trinemembers die with them. It’s why Seekers always live/fight/laugh/die together - they trine for life.
As such, the general perception of Seekers is that there have to be Seekers in groups of three.
Previous idea that Seekers can be maintained in stasis if a fated trine-member dies = FALSE. As in UNICRONCRAPSOUTRAINBOWS false. (Not true, by the way, except possibly in crack.)
Title: Bright They Were, and Golden-Eyed
Fandom: Pokemon, Detective Conan, Magic Kaito
'Verse: Rose and Cecil
Characters (listed first name, family name): Kaito Kuroba, Aoko Nakamori, Saguru Hakuba, Lance (last name unknown in canon), Pikachu belonging to Ash Ketchum, Rose (OC Dratini), Cecil (OC Dratini).
Rating: PG for content
Summary: It turns out that the uncle of Saguru Hakuba is an important man in a world untouched by the unknowing likes of Kaito and Aoko.
Kaito woke to a jail cell and a handcuff biting into his right wrist.
*That* woke him up faster than the sight of the scaly slimy water-dwelling animals that he hated.
Phantom thief instincts screaming at him, Kaito turned slowly to survey his hand.
Aoko lay crumpled on the only cot in the fairly roomy room. A brief check revealed that she was breathing but currently unconscious, possibly asleep, and unbound in any way. That was good. He himself was handcuffed to the cot.
“Kuroba, good to see you’re awake.” Hakuba-blond-friend-ally-enemy-detective- ”We’re in the same boat, so don’t panic.”
Kaito’s head whipped around before he could stop it. The blond detective was indeed in the jail cell, with the addition of-
“Those are manacles,” Kaito said without really thinking.
The blond glanced up, clearly unamused. “I’d noticed, what with my hands being useless and trapped above my head and all.”
“Any idea who snatched us?”
Golden eyes flicked away from Kaito briefly before returning. “Only guesses, nothing concrete.”
Wait a minute. Hadn’t Hakuba’s eyes been blue before?
And he shifted - looked like he was trying to move his hands before he remembered what happened.
I think he’s lying to me.
“You know who it is, don’t you?”
“Not for certain-”
“It is in all likelihood who you think it is.”
What the FUCK? I didn’t even notice him there!
Wait . . . I did, when I turned to look at Hakuba.
“Did they find all your lockpicks?”
“I’m not exactly in a position to reach them right now,” Hakuba snarked back at the red-haired man, eyes now distinctly blue. “Kuroba might be able to, though - he actually has a hand free.”
Kaito jolted - the blond had been speaking Japanese and used his last name without honorifics. What the hell had changed here?
The red-haired man turned piercing blue eyes on the magician. “He have any experience?”
“I am right here, you know, and yes.” Kaito flicked a lock-pick out. “Lucky I practiced with my left hand.” I’m a magician; Hakuba can hardly draw any conclusions from that. It’ll be safe.
Nearly five minutes after starting, having dropped the pick multiple times, Kaito heard the lock click open. As if it was a signal, Aoko began to stir then. “Kaito?”
“Aoko.” Kaito let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, consciously forcing himself to act like a teenager and not the Kaitou Kid. “You okay?”
“Yes, I - Kaito, where are we?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Kaito answered, rising. “Hakuba?”
“Get me loose and then we’ll talk.”
“Talk while I free you,” Kaito countered.
Hakuba agreed, and spent the time waiting for Kaito to free him bringing Aoko up to date with their situation, finishing as Kaito unlocked the blond’s right hand. He flexed his wrist several times as Kaito set to work on the blond’s left hand. This lock came undone in less than a minute - Kaito figured that such an extreme learning curve was okay given what Hakuba knew of him.
Kaito heard the blond mutter something about steep learning curves, faking it, and his speed, but said nothing, instead pulling the blond to his feet once he had Hakuba’s left wrist also free.
A section of the wall swung open.
Aoko was abruptly yanked behind Kaito, backed into a corner. Hakuba shot across the room, his target plainly the red-haired man.
“Tini?”
Hakuba froze halfway to his target. He turned slowly to look at the speaker, hidden to Kaito due to the section of the wall which swung into the cell. The blond’s eyes widened.
“Rose?” he breathed, face the perfect picture to put in a dictionary next to the definition of astonishment.
“Dratini!” The cry was twinned - two blue-white blurs streaked across the floor towards the blond detective, separating to wind up the blond’s legs.
Incredulous laughter bubbled from Hakuba’s throat. “Rose, Cecil, what are you doing here?”
The two serpentine creatures answered with an excited chorus of “Tini!” “Dra!” and what was best described as soft chirring. Chuckling lightly, Hakuba ran his hands over blue scales one more time before crossing the room to the red-haired man. “Sorry for the delay.”
“It’s completely understandable,” was the warm reply. “Now get us the hell out of here.”
“Will do, sir.” A small smile - because no way in hell was that a smirk - flashed across Hakuba’s face. “Rose, Cecil, could you check out the lock to the cell, please?”
Kaito’s jaw dropped open as Hakuba stepped back half a minute later, lock-picks in both hands, and the red-haired man with him.
“What’s the plan for getting loose? Follow Rose and Cecil back out?”
A series of chirrs greeted the blond.
“No,” the blond answered calmly. “For one thing, there’s places the tunnel is just barely big enough for the twins to fit through, and for another thing, the lock to our cell is easy enough to undo given enough work. If that doesn’t work, then we can heat the cells and then cool them down-”
“-So the metal would shatter and we could get out that way.” The red-haired man grinned. “Genius.”
“So I’ve been told,” was Hakuba’s dry reply. “That’s last resort, though. Let’s break out first, and then we can break the bars if there isn’t enough time.” A brief click - Kaito realized that Hakuba was standing by the cell’s bars. “Better be quiet,” the blond muttered, and pushed the door outward.
The door swung open with only the faintest groan, which seemed far louder due to the silence that had fallen.
“I’ll take six,” Hakuba murmured, eyes on the red-haired man at his side as Kaito and Aoko stepped out. Kaito caught a flash of bobbing red hair before the man sped up to take the lead, Hakuba falling in behind Aoko.
They step down the hall quietly, wary. Kaito followed the steps of the red-haired man precisely, fingers threaded through Aoko’s hand as he led her the same way. He spared a moment to wonder where his card-gun was - he’d used it long before finding out the truth about Kid, as multiple classmates can testify to, and as such it is a safe weapon to keep on him at all times. It was less than three minutes later (a lifetime) that they came around a corner and stopped, another set of cells meeting their vision. These cells were all empty, but the door to the largest one was open. Either someone had been careless, or someone else had recently escaped too.
“Wait here.” Hakuba studied the bars, nodding to himself after a moment’s contemplation. “Cecil, could you . . . ?”
“Dratini!” is the cheerful reply, and the serpent curled around the left side of Hakuba’s body drops to the ground to slide into the cell.
Cecil (ohGodhe’streatingitlikeahumanbeing) returned within moments of disappearing from their sight, head poking up from behind a rock. “Dra. Ti. Ni!”
Again Hakuba and the (still unnamed) red-haired man exchanged a glance before Hakuba entered the cell, headed for what Kaito was reluctantly calling Cecil (it showed signs of intelligence, after all, and was certainly communicating with Hakuba. -Dear kami, he was insane.). A low curse drifted back to meet them, and Hakuba returned carrying a yellow bundle of fur wearing a red-and-white baseball cap.
“He’s here,” the blond murmured, stopping by the red-haired man. “And where one is . . .”
“The rest will follow.” The red-haired man nodded decisively. “Get them out of here, Saguru. I’ll take care of the others.” A jerk of the head indicated Kaito and Aoko as being the “them” in question.
“Yes, sir.”
Kaito’s jaw dropped. First this affinity for the snake-like creatures, then being addressed by his first name and not going into a murderous rage, and now he was addressing this man as sir?
“No.”
And just who were they talking about, anyway?
Two sets of golden eyes turned on the magician.
“No?” The red-haired man’s voice dropped dangerously low.
Hakuba sighed. “Kuroba, don’t you dare-“
“Unlike you, Hakuba-kun, I don’t just blindly follow the lead of some guy I don’t even know-”
Kaito had seen the flash of realization when the magician had added the honorific rather pointedly, but that was gone now, replaced by cool determination.
That didn’t matter quite as much, though, because Hakuba had just cut him off.
“This is my uncle.”
“You’re related?” Kaito glanced between the two foreigners, as did Aoko.
“I’m his mother’s older brother,” the newly named uncle answered. “Now stop asking questions - do you want to get caught?”
Kaito shook his head, mouth snapping shut, and stopped at that moment to wonder why he’d obeyed without questioning the man. A moment’s thought provided him with the answer that the part of him he’d dubbed the phantom thief rebelled sharply against being trapped.
“Good,” the man said shortly. The next words to emerge from the man’s mouth were in the strange dialect that Kaito didn’t recognize, and were therefore directed towards Hakuba, since the blond was the only other person present who could understand them. After a brief conversation, Hakuba nodded at his uncle, and the small group set off through the halls again. Hakuba sped up slightly, drawing even with Aoko, and spoke with her quietly. When Aoko nodded, he draped his left-hand serpent - Cecil - around her shoulders. The other one - Rose - settled more securely about Hakuba’s neck. The blond carried the limp yellow form with his left arm, the baseball cap draped over its head.
Kaito eventually remembered where he recognized the yellow mouse from.
Pokemon.
Pointy black-tipped ears, red cheeks, two brown stripes on its back, and a lightning-bolt tail, the base of which was also brown, led to the furry yellow mouse being a Pikachu. And from what he remembered of the series, the hat belonged to the Pikachu’s trainer, Sa-something. Kaito’s interest in the series had waned some time after they’d introduced yet another set of Pokemon, and then his father’s death had set him firmly towards being obsessed with magic and not with games.
It had been a close thing, though - Kaito was fairly certain that he still had a collection of the cards from the card game somewhere, along with a set of figurines.
With Aoko all but recovered and half-playing with Rose as they walked, Kaito decided that it would be a good time to bring up his conclusion.
“I didn’t know you were a Pokemon trainer, Hakuba-kun.”
“I’m not.” Something alien was in the blond’s reply, and it took Kaito a moment to categorize it as a biting frost. Hakuba’s face flashed with disgust and half-hidden fury for an instant before it returned to its usual calm expression. “None of the Dragon-keepers are trainers except in name, and in name only.”
Kaito blinked. “But I thought . . . what’s so bad about being a trainer?”
“Too many mistreat their Pokemon.” Hakuba’s voice was low, rough with intensity. “Too many consider their Pokemon tools, easily used and discarded. Rare are the Trainers who hold the Pokemon in high regard, and rarer still are the ones who treat them as friends.”
“But-”
“Pokemon are sentient creatures. They are born, they can die, they have families, clans, friendships, enemies. They can make friends, fall in love, be pulled apart by dispute. They communicate with each other, and can understand what humans say and communicate with us given enough time.
Notes: Extraho is the Latin for dragon as translated from this website: http://www.translation-guide.com/free_online_translators.php?from=English&to=Latin. I simply used the first one since it seemed the closest to a last name.
Wataru is the Japanese name for Lance, for those who don’t know.
Saguru wouldn’t have used Cecil as a name except that when he got the Dratini twins, he thought they were both girls, and so named them Rose and Cecelia. When he found out, “Cecilia” already responded to the name, so he had to use Cecil instead because it was close enough that he would answer.
All the stuff about the succession to Dragon Master is my property. Saguru’s fifth due to several unnamed OC cousins who will probably never show up in fic.
Honestly, 1984′verse. One chapter - ONE FREAKING CHAPTER - which I already had mostly written is not going to help me. What would help is spawning as according to Chapter Three and the rest of the timeline IN ORDER, which you should know exists by now.
Star Trek AU . . . first of all, all future Star Trek ideas need to decide on a species, and I’ll thank you not to be tribbles. Second of all, Missile’verse (until you rename yourself), I need a little more than just that one concept, or else you’ll be posted elsewhere and dismissed.
1984′verse has declared that all Transformers ideas are actually lion cubs, to prevent future confusion, so . . . cub-bunny focusing on troublemaker!Prowl and Spock, you need to focus or else you’ll be sent to the Bunny Farm with a full farewell.
Supernatural hellhound puppies, thanks for the snippets. You’ll have to remain oneshots until I get through chapter 8 of the1984′verse kittens, at least.
New Dratini-hawk hybrid . . . welcome to the madness. Thank you for the plot. Unfortunately, you will be remaining a oneshot until I finish with 1984′verse, as I told the hellhound pups above. Please get in line - they don’t intend to kill you.
Legacy/Curse’verse sequel, thank you for cooperating. Once I have time available, I’d appreciate getting the next section of plot. Just . . . please. Rewrite to be non-canon for that verse or wait until I’ve actually WRITTEN MLFC. Speaking of which, you need to get in line, fledglings, but you have priority over everyone else once the next several chapters of 1984′verse are done.
Everyone, it’s best if you cooperate. Cooperating means you get your turn faster, therefore resulting in more happy people sooner. As always, new ideas go to the front of the line until sated (meaning ONLY one chapter or concept-writing) and then go to join the queue.
Many thanks for your cooperation.
Sincerely,
kaitou_pandora
P.S. Dratini-fledgling . . . honestly? Barging into my head like that won’t help your case much. I’ll type you up, work on you today and tomorrow, and then it’s to the back of the line for you. Final say.
Title: None at the moment
Fandom: Supernatural, crossover with Transformers (2007 and 2009)
'Verse: None at the moment
Characters: Reginald Simmons, Seymour Simmons (both separate from each other - they're twins), Simmons' father, OCs,
Rating:
Warnings:
Summary: Inspired when going through sakon76’s LJ to reread fanfic.
Disclaimer: I own none of this.
Notes: Set between movies 1 and 2 of the Transformers series, and any time canon for Supernatural, though preferably before season 5. Draws from both live-action movies of Transformers. Originally posted in 4 parts; breaks will be labeled
Part One
Reginald Simmons has always been fascinated with fire. His preoccupation with flame stems in some way from his mother’s mysterious death when he was six months old. His father claimed that he saw her burning on the ceiling, blood dripping down from a wound in her stomach - but Reginald never really paid much attention to it, deciding that his father had somehow been driven insane via grief.
He believed it, and so did his twin Seymour, until the night they found out that the Closet Monster was real.
Their father burst in and blasted it with his shotgun before ordering them to pack.
The remainder of the Simmons family left their temporary home before it was dawn.
They moved around the country some. Their father left them with friends as often as he could, but occasionally had to take them with him on what he was beginning to call hunts. He never tried to force them into hunting until they showed an interest. Seymour was far more action-oriented, and learned how to shoot every gun in their father’s growing arsenal by the time he was ten. Reginald, who had always been more fascinated with the scientific aspect of the hunt, did the research, looked up cells, and, when demons began showing up, found several exorcisms that they could use.
Reginald graduated on time, as did Seymour. Reginald went to university, pointing out that the larger libraries would give them access to more materials useful for finding more supernatural entities to fight when his twin and father protested. They eventually agreed, albeit grudgingly, and he went off to double-major in history and urban legends of the world (which he did as a custom major).
He was halfway through his schooling when Sector Seven contacted him.
*****
As it turned out, he was perfect for the job. Whenever descriptions of odd things came along, he was assigned to go check it out to tell the difference between supernatural entities and the real alien threat (aliens! GIANT aliens! GIANT alien ROBOTS! It was every true geek’s dream come true.)
Part Two
Disclaimer: I own only the crazy idea which spawned this and Maria Vasquez. Read below for further clarification.
The day he found out that his family had been involved with the giant alien robots (NBEs, he was learning to call them - non-biological extraterrestrials) he fumed briefly before deciding that finding out that that supernatural entities were real was more overwhelming then his father’s duty to protect the world from the giant al- NBEs, especially given that the supernatural world had a more immediate impact on his life (i.e. killed the man’s wife).
Time passed. Reg settled into his job comfortably, headed the research division when he wasn’t out hunting down suspected NBE locations and eliminating the supernatural. There were hints of NBEs who had already been on planet for a long time (meaning long before Sector Seven had been started - probably from around the time the world was emerging from the Ice Age, if not farther back). His life narrowed to only the Sector and the few times he came into contact with his family. His father and his twin hadn’t found any more traces of his mother’s killer beyond occasional hints of mysterious deaths of mothers of newborn babies.
He was slowly but steadily falling in love with a fellow researcher. Her name was Maria. Her parents had been from Spain, but they’d migrated to the US, and she’d grown up learning both Spanish and English. There was the barest trace of an accent when she spoke, not that Reg could really bring himself to care (honestly, he probably wouldn’t have cared if she spoke Chinese as long as they both were talking about the same thing). They were the same age, unlikely to marry outside of Sector because there wasn’t enough of a lack of genetic variation to outweigh the security needs, and so Maria Vasquez and Seymour Reginald Simmons were married a year after they’d started seeing each other formally.
*****
Life with the Sector was better than it ever had been. They were pulling even more technology from the Ice Man every day, adapting it to what mankind could safely use at the moment.
Part Three
Thomas Banachek, head of the Advanced Research Division (or at least the part that focused more on researching the structure and technology of the Ice Man/NBE-1), whose office was on the side of the Dam opposite that of one Reginald Simmons, heard faint echoes of screaming and for a moment stared in shock. Then, the radio at the side of his desk buzzed with an incoming message, so he hit the button in hopes of finding out what the situation was.
“Banachek - what’s going on out there?”
“Tomit’sRegyou’rethefirstI’vetoldMaria’spregnantandshe thinksitmightbetwinsandI’mgoingtohangupnowbye!”
(His father remarried; his new wife had a deli shop somewhere. Reg never went to the wedding, but sent a sizable monetary gift.)
“Reggie?”
Click.
After a brief silence, Thomas merely sighed and turned back to work.
He’d offer his congratulations to the new father later.
*****
Julie and Rachel Simmons were born healthy, well, and on schedule. Reg fairly glowed for the first five months after they were born, proudly showing off the latest photographs of the girls who had already become known as the Simmons twins. The first call he made to his father and brother revealed that his father was planning to retire from hunting and that his brother had been injured on a hunt - he now had a broken leg - but that the doctors expected him to make a full recovery.
The night of the twins’ six-month birthday, his life came crashing down again.
Reg had not forgotten the stories of his mother’s death, and wisely took all the precautions that he could - salted the doorways, windows, and vents, particularly in the twins’ room, drew a Devil’s Trap on the floor of the nursery (hidden beneath a rug by the baby bassinet, drew another Devil’s Trap by the door to their bedroom, convinced Maria to move the twins to their room the week before, during, and after the twins were six months old (his excuse was that it was easier to take care of the twins that way - he was definitely not going to spoil the truth of his paranoia to his new wife), and, after she went to sleep, manacled one of her arms to him, knowing that he’d always been a lighter sleeper than she had been and therefore able to unlock the manacle if they needed to take care of the twins at night.
In the course of all the careful planning, Reg had failed to take into account one small fact:
Maria Vasquez knew how to pick locks and always kept a lock-pick on her person at all times.
He woke to panic, the twins’ crying muted by distance and walls, and the realization that Maria’s side of the handcuffs lay in bed with him.
Instantly he was out of bed, running through almost-forgotten exorcisms through his head as he grabbed the gun he’d kept stashed under his pillow (that paranoia had been excused due to the nature of his job) and sprinted down the hall.
He found the twins crying in their bed, Maria nowhere in sight, and an odd red stain on the cover.
He recognized the look of fresh blood.
Far too afraid for this type of scenario, he looked up at the ceiling.
The still-living form of his wife stared down at him, eyes wide, chest barely moving, blood spreading from the wound on her stomach and dripping onto his face even as he stared up. The ceiling erupted into flames around her even as he shook his head sharply. Reg had no choice but to grab the twins and run for their lives.
It was every nightmare he’d ever had come to life.
Part Four
Disclaimer: see previous chapters. Note: Maria Vasquez is not intended to be any reflection on Maria Gonzales from the Ghosts of Yesterday novelization.
Reg withdrew to the Hoover base to raise the twins. Being head of the research division allowed him to take care of the twins and do his job at the same time; he’d long since mastered multitasking. Hunting was too dangerous now - he did not want to leave his girls motherless and fatherless. At any rate, he had been training others to hunt so that they could further eliminate threats to national security, and searching out potential NBE locations was safe, but dull, and would require him separating from his girls. That was something he wanted to avoid.
Knowing that fleeing from fire had not brought him the desired results - that he would be able to flee the thing which set him on the path to his present life - Reginald decided that he would take a different tactic:
If you can’t beat them, join them.
This necessitated becoming intimately acquainted with fire - how it worked, what burned faster than others, the smell of smoke, what could be used to start a fire. He taught his daughters to respect fire - respect it, for respect and fear could come in the same package. He dove deeper into the research aspect of his job, created new weapons and gave suggestions for what new weapons could be. He raised his daughters not to be afraid of the dark, taught them how to pack rock salt into cartridges, to lay down salt lines for protection, to never break the lines, to identify what it was that they might end up fighting, and to exorcise demons. New information was coming in through the meticulous network he’d cultivated, information of hunters focused towards hunting a being with yellow eyes.
A yellow-eyed demon.
Once that first information came through, he sent out for checking the information in question, verifying it with at least ten different sources. And what he found changed his world yet again:
John Winchester, father of Sam and Dean Winchester. The Winchester brothers were already quickly becoming infamous, despite the fact that the youngest - Sam - was starting college. He was doing well on his own, too - took care of several poltergeists situated in Palo Alto, California, even as his father and brother worked on their own hunts across the country.
The Winchester wife/mother, Mary, had died when the younger son, Sam, was six months old; died in flame and fire, and John Winchester had reported seeing a shadowy figure with eerie yellow eyes.
So the yellow-eyed figure was a demon, as it turned out. All that remained, then, was finding a method of tracking its movements and then destroying the demon.
The problem was in finding a method of killing that didn’t merely expel the demon from its host.
Years passed, though, with no progress. The techs spread rumors that all the computers were going to crash and declare the date to be 1900 instead of 2000. His girls aged, entered middle school, got to high school, entered college to experience the outside world. Reg found out that his father had been managing Sector operations when he was notified that his half-sister was now unofficial head of the Sector.
Then, in 2007, his world changed yet again.
They’d intercepted a phone call which set off all the flags - a yellow Chevy Camaro, ancient beater, followed its owner around without any visible signs of a human driver, the kid owner insisting that it just ’stood up’. Triumphant, Reginald led the team to Nevada to intercept what they’d dubbed NBE-3 after its landfall some years before and the fiasco with mimicking the Cube’s frequencies.
The night had started out so well . . . but then everything got shot to hell.
NBE-1 was hostile, of course. They’d assumed that all the NBEs would also be hostile, and prepared accordingly.
They’d forgotten about the Ghost-1 mission. The mission which had warned them that more NBEs existed . . . and that there were also good NBEs to go with the bad ones.
(Once everything was over, Reg would look at his life, consider the saying that “to assume makes an ass out of you and me”, and laugh long and hard.)
Despite the initial hitches in taking the humans in question into custody and encountering more NBEs (becoming rather intimately acquainted with the foot of one in his case), they got the humans to the Hoover base. The kid’s parents were sent to a separate room, and the kid and his (hot and so similar to Maria) girlfriend with the military unit who’d fought the NBEs overseas plus the SecDef and the human hackers who’d broken the NBE code all went to see the Ice Man.
Then the little smartass tore his life’s dream apart.
His girls were grown and living in Mission City, just twenty-two miles from the Hoover base, and still occasionally taking trips to see him and hunt down possible locations of their grandmother’s killer. The army captain in charge of the strike unit insisted on taking the Cube to Mission City. He wasn’t stupid; he could do the math. Mission City would have enough buildings to provide decent cover . . . but it would also inevitably lead to civilian casualities.
His girls’ lives would be in danger.
He threw himself into helping the SecDef, recalling the radio he’d nicknamed Maxwell long before, knowing that it worked on shortwave frequencies and still had a chance of reaching a military base. He’d cannibalized the microphone long before, though, and all but forgotten the radio set.
The realization that there was no microphone set his world spinning.
With no military backup, the Sector strike teams would be as good as dead against the NBEs if the others were as well-armored and well-armed as the Ice Man (Megatron) was.
His girls would die.
Reg had never been particularly given over to metaphor, but the chill which ran through his body was rather like being dunked in a tub filled with ice water. (The sad thing was that he knew what it felt like from experience.)
He had never been gladder to hear the blonde speak when she suggested hotwiring the computer to submit Morse Code. The relief which washed over him was enough to outweigh his annoyance at the fat guy for yelling at him to get a screwdriver.
There was still hope. His girls would be safe yet.
Then the little NBE attacked them.
They blockaded the doors quickly. The SecDef went for the ancient shotguns quickly, throwing one at the blonde because the fat guy was in the process of linking the computer to Maxwell. Remembering one of his early requests, Reg ran for the weapon he’d named for his mother.
Fire poured out of the flamethrower as he screamed at the little robot. He was not going to lose his girls - they were all he had left of Maria. He prayed all the while that his actions would make a difference - even with military support, it was stupid to expect that there wouldn’t be civilian casualties, and his girls had been raised knowing about the Sector and his work. They’d be on the scene of the attack as fast as they could, to help take down the NBEs (Decepticons, he had to remember, the Decepticons) and to pull the wounded away where they could.
His girls would survive his death, if he failed.
After everything he’d been through, his life’s dreams shattered repeatedly, he wouldn’t survive theirs.
He prayed to God that his girls would survive. They had to survive. They had to live.
After everything he’d been through, all the good he’d done, despite running from his past, he didn’t particularly care if he died.
His life no longer mattered.
His girls’ lives did.
And that was what counted.
Fin
Author’s Notes
. . . What the hell, headspace. This was supposed to be crack, not angst. And now you want to be a threeshot?
Fine. Just . . . give me some time to write RK/TF crack to recover and I’ll be fine, please.
Notes: For 1984 AU Earth I - Freedom and Discovery. Autobots/Bumblebee (Jazz possible because Bumblebee has sensor panels and sensor panels = Praxian) arriving on Earth pre-2007; Decepticons too.
Luck spared them intial discovery.
Luck gave them enough time to warn their companions on Earth.
It was day for the United States of America when the Autobot scout landed. As a result, the seeker moon-base had been on the other side of the planet, and so the Autobots hadn’t sensed or even seen the Seekers, since the Seeker settlements were on the side of the mooon facing the Earth.
The Seekers ahd sensed the Autobots long before they had reached the Earth-system’s asteroid belt, and also consequently sensed the Decepticon presence.
Though both sides had been crippled by the Stand of the Winged, the Decepticons had been more heavily affected, since the Decepticons had relied heavily on their air fleet to give them an edge in the air and the Decepticon Air Fleet had been comprised almost completely of Vossian fliers.
Random thought spawned by rewatching Detective Conan. Minor spoilers below, though the first paragraph should be known by everyone in-fandom given the premise of the series.
Episode 1, when Ran goes to chase Shinichi after the roller coaster murder, Ran’s shoelace breaks. The way it’s portrayed in the anime is somewhat illogical, though - I doubt that the laces of someone’s shoe would just break and take the bow off completely. To me, it looks like it Ran’s shoes have to have been tampered with in order to break like that at just the right time.
So, either the whole of Detective Conan after Shinichi wakes up a kid is a dream, or someone within the BO predicted that he would shrink and made sure that the two BO agents would be there at the right time to poison Shinichi. Shiho/Ai did it already, after all
Belated, yes, and done by other people already, but still true.
And also, in Episode 2 of the anime . . . precisely how does Shinichi know about the hair growing out of the mole on Agasa’s butt? Is it because of a crack!OTP made canon of Agasa/Shinichi?
Not Cybertronians as cyborgs, per se, but . . . more an adaptation of an idea which is highly likely to pop up in the 1984 AU. AU idea, though it could be AR depending on your interpretation of it.
Transformers is a highly marketable franchise. With the development of the new technology fusion hardware, people can now dive into a vivid virtual world where world politics play out on a relatively smaller scale: the war between the Autobots and the Decepticons on Cybertron. It’s not a clear-and-cut war, though - every faction has its own nuances.
There are Autobots who would kill their own comrades without hesitation in clear violation of the main Autobot cause ( to advance what they see as being the higher goal: the end of the war and the restoration of Cybertron.
There are the Decepticons who only joined the Decepticon movement because the Decepticons were the only ones who wouldn’t throw them out on principle.
And there are the Neutrals who are rejected by both sides, don’t wish to fight, or simply want to be able to profit off of the war by playing both sides against each other.
Samuel James Witwicky plays as Autobot scout Bumblebee. Mikaela Banes is the Autobot’s Chief Medical Officer, Ratchet. William Lennox is the trigger-happy weapons specialist, Ironhide (and something of a minor pyromaniac). Glen Whitman and Maggie Madsen are Eject and Rewind, symbiotic Cassette-children of Blaster, who is played by Seymour Reginald Simmons (and under no circumstances does he wish to be called ‘Seymour’. Call him Reggie, or Reginald if you must, outside of anything short of meeting the President.) The leader of the Autobots, Sentinel Prime, is played by an unknown person. The Prime’s second-in-command, Prowl, is played by Raoul O’Brien, and the Prime’s third-in-command and first lieutenant Jazz is played by Robert Epps.
Brain unfortunately didn’t get much further than that.
Note to self: making 2009 canon. Have Arcee/Chromia/Moonracer motorcycle group be trine? Acting more like a single entity than three separate Sparks b/c they like it.
Note 2: Finish reading RotF novelization - decide on Simmons’ first name!
Note 3: Brain, ew. No. Yes, it would be cool, but Bee/Dean/Sam/Mikaela is crack of epic proportions. Friend-fic would work fine, though.