Whedonland Fic
Fanfiction Stuff
BIG BANG HERE
Title: My Life In Your Hands
Show: Angel
Original Character: Joey McIntyre
Warnings: Swears and unrequited slash
Word Count: 311
Joey McIntyre knew he was in a bad way. He could feel things moving and shifting inside of him with every breath he took. He had a feeling he would have been dead already if it weren't for the group who'd streamed past him and dragged the girl who'd attacked him to the ground. He could hear the sounds of a fight going on behind him and - well, he wasn't one to hit a girl, but fuck it felt like he was dying here, he wasn't going to complain. This was the last time he tried to pick up a girl in this neighbourhood, and Jarvis was getting a slap for recommending the bar down here.
There was suddenly a guy leaning over him; cute glasses, worried frown, and when he moved Joey could feel him pressing down on the hole the chick had ripped open in his chest like it was a distant thing. Like there was a dozen blankets between the guy's hands and his body. It was fairly freaky, but if the guy was holding his guts in, he wasn't going to complain. He decided then and there that 'the guy' was no way to know the man who might be saving your life.
"What's your name?" he asked tentatively, feeling the roughness in his throat. Resisting the urge to cough, because he could see that not being a fun thing at all, what with the hole in his chest and all.
"Just hold still. Help is on the way," he replied unhelpfully, but in a steady authoritative way that made Joey feel safe. And a gorgeous soft accent to go with those cute glasses too.
"My life's in your hands, man," he managed, forcing himself to breathe shallow breaths and hoping he got another chance to ask his rescuer his name. They were really cute glasses.
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Fic: What Matters
Show: Angel
Primary Characters: Lindsey and Eve (pairing)
Spoilers: Underneath
Challenge: 3 Sentences
Lindsey is resting and Eve knows he probably needs all the rest he can get after escaping a hell dimension, but her curiosity is boiling inside and that's what leads her to ask in a whisper; "What did she look like?" Lindsey pulled away slightly, movements sluggish in an unfamiliar way, to ask with haunted eyes; "Does it matter?" The answer, Eve knows, is 'only if she didn't look like me', but Lindsey's question is answer enough so she pulls him closer into her embrace and answers, "No."
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Fic: I Hate You
Show: Buffy
Primary Characters: Faith/Buffy/Angel
Spoilers: Not really
Warnings: Not my usual OT3
Gift Giving: For midnightisclose from the commentfic prompt by alieneyes
"I've never been into any of that..." she gestures vaguely, "Y'know? Warm fuzzy stuff."
Buffy and Angel share a glance, an absent smile. They know what she means. She means she's not used to this, that she's not sure about what she's doing and that she's worried she's going to get it wrong. They pull her into their embrace and hold her until she finally relaxes.
-
"I don't think we should do this anymore," she grinds out, all frowns and leather and 'don't touch me'.
They both try not to smile - it wouldn't be appropriate. They know what she means. She means she's scared, terrified of this thing between them; that could so easily lead to pain if not controlled, if not handled correctly.
-
She turns around, looks back at them, on her way out of the door again. The glare she throws is full of something dark, it feels harsh as they hold it. "I hate you," she says.
They know what she means.
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Fic: Near The End
Show: Buffy The Original Movie
Primary Character: Merrik (Movie Giles)
Spoilers: The backstory for the film (such as they were)
Warning: Angst
AN: Title from the Woody Allen quote: "Eternity is really long, especially near the end"
Merrik was terribly, numbingly tired.
It had always been the case with his job that there was no way to know how long he would get between the death of the Slayer under his care and the death of the next, the ever so short time in which he had the opportunity to train up his next charge for the responsibility that would be entrusted to her. There was recorded, every couple of centuries, a spiralling decay where a Slayer had died young and the next had not enough time to learn the essential arts and so died even younger. During such times the Watchers were forced to seek out the potentials long before their time, often taking them from their families to hide the training that they must endure.
Christina had died far too young despite his every efforts, and Merrik was well aware how Anthony was struggling with the current Slayer - eager, but too green really. He knew that this could quickly become one of those situations and so it became even more essential that he find the new potential as soon as possible.
But five lives had been lost under his care, nine Slayers dead in the four decades he had been working on the Council. And he was exhausted of it all.
America was alien, such a loud and neon contrast to all those places that had gone before. He was lost and unsupported as the Council put all their efforts into keeping Rosita alive long enough to break the cycle. And as hard as he tried no rumour or prophesy would pin down the location of the newest potential.
With despair, he contemplated the vastness of America. She was out there somewhere. He had to find her.
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Fic: The Rapture
Show: Buffy/SPN
Primary Characters: Buffy and Dean
Spoilers: If you don't know what didn't happen on 21st of May, you won't know what this is all about...
Warnings: No offence is intended to anyone regarding their religious beliefs. However, God is mentioned, as are priests involved in some dark arts.
Gift Giving: For anna_sg1 from the commentfic prompt by megans_writing
"It's the Rapture!" Dean's voice is sharp and strained on the other end of the phoneline, and Buffy can't help but tense at his tone, despite his words.
She retorts immediately with what she's been telling everyone else. With what Giles told her the first time she asked him about the rumours going around. "That's some pseudo-religious clap-trap, Dean. It's a math formula that's been randomly assigned to the Bible. To the nth translation of the Bible."
"Buffy... The shit just got real, and I need you out here." Dean's voice has a hesitant sigh in it.
"You know I'm needed here in Sunnydale, Dean," Buffy shot back, perhaps a little sharper than was necessary. This was an old argument, and Buffy's talent weren't there to do a hunter's job. She was there for the big stuff. "Where are you? What's going on?"
"Some priest in Minnesota got wind that the Church wasn't taking the Rapture seriously, so he got involved in some black stuff. They're using the fact that so many people believe it to power the event itself. Thing is it's mostly America... It looks like the after effects are going to be fairly localised. It'll probably wipe the population of the Bible belt off the map. Maybe a couple of other more religious areas..."
"When you say wiped...?" Buffy pressed, tentatively. No matter how firm she was, she always ended up getting dragged into these things.
"This ain't powered by God, Buffy," Dean replied. "They're just gonna be dead."
"How long do I have to get there?"
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Fic: I Am Become
Show: Dollhouse
Primary Characters: Topher and Adelle
Spoilers: Epitaph I
Warnings: Angst, altered mental states
He's broken down, taken apart, destroyed. Adelle watches him, cares for him, keeps him safe. But she doesn't know how to fix what's been done to him, or even if she should. While the memory of what's going on outside of their safe haven upsets this new man Topher has made of himself, she can't help but think the reality to a mind capable of understanding it would surely destroy the man all over again.
It's been a long time since she saw that sharp intelligence she had once nurtured behind his eyes. He uses his books to build forts around himself now, and he is uncomfortable when faced with technology. He can't look at the chair without flying into fits of pique. She stopped trying to bring him to their shared meals when he started estimating their life spans based on lists of arbitrary values.
She wonders if he still dreams of the human mind. Whether he is still capable of fixing what he has - however abstractly - caused to be broken. He seems to be working on the problem, new papers appearing around him, all hand-written, but then when she talks to him she can't see how he could possible still hold that level of focus and comprehension.
Adelle holds him close, reassures her young destroyer of worlds that everything will be alright, and despairs.
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Fic: Sharing
Show: Leverage
Pairing/Characters: Sophie/Nate/Eliot (Less than perfect verse)
Spoilers: The San Lorenzo Job
Warnings: Fluff
Gift Giving: Sheryden <3
Sophie was smiling uncontrollably as Nate led her onwards through the tiny capital. She kept her face averted from every person they passed, but couldn't help but feel the buzz of having pulled off a Heroic Martyr's Death for the second time in her life (and it was so much more fun when she had a really good team around her and she didn't *actually* get shot).
She was expecting Nate to pick out a quiet bar, but it quickly became obvious as they walked through the streets, picking up the pace as their own excitement drew them forwards, that no bar was quiet tonight. Everybody wanted to be out sharing the bitter-sweet celebration, amongst their countrymen. The bars had people spilling out into the street, revelry mixed with mourning.
Nate pulled her past a large crowd and they stepped into their hotel, breathing in the cooler air and sharing a wild grin at the chaos they had caused. What power they had, the five of them, to change lives. To change *worlds*.
They walked hand in hand, calmer now despite the heady rush, into the tiny hotel bar. It was empty but for the waiter and one other - familiar from behind, long hair loose and doing nothing to disguise the slump to his shoulders. Whether for exhaustion or something else...
Nate looked back at her and they shared some kind of understanding in their gut. Nate went to the bar, Sophie went to join Eliot at his corner table - his back to the room in an uncharacteristic show of carelessness. She couldn't remember when she'd last seen him put his back to an unsecured room.
He jerked back when she sat down in front of him, further proving he had no idea what was going on in the room around him. Perhaps Moreau was that one target he had always seen painted on his back and now that Moreau was gone he felt safe. Somehow Sophie doubted that. Moreau was far from the last skeleton in Eliot's wardrobe.
Eliot was half way out of his chair, leaving, when Nate came up beside him and put the drinks down on the table. A beer, a glass of wine and a whisky on the rocks. Eliot started shaking his head, but he didn't take his eyes off the peace offering, beads of condensation forming on the side of the glass.
"Sit down," Nate said. And he did.
-
Sophie woke only briefly as Eliot sighed softly into her hair, giving up on trying to sleep with them and rolling out of the hotel bed. She turned to watch him dress, caught his hand as he stood - only a little clumsy with drink - and kissed his knuckles lightly. His smile was blinding, and he knelt to kiss her gently, sharing a smile with Nate over her shoulder.
"Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you." And then he disappeared into the night.
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Fic: Road Trip
Show: X-Men: First Class (complete with film spoilers)
Primary Characters: Charles and Erik
Spoilers: Movie
Warnings: Pre-slash if you want to read it that way
Gift Giving: For ellievanna from the commentfic prompt by ivotedforsaxon
At first it's oddly strained between the two of them. The car is a smaller space than they have so far encountered alone together and there is a tension here that has never really been resolved. Each others motivations are unclear, only that for this brief moment in time they are seeking, reaching for the same goal.
There are others out there. For Charles it has been a long known fact, with Raven at his side he has never had to doubt his own sanity, or his own evolution. For Erik this is a newer development. The man at his side has the ability to read his mind, and he fears that everything inside of him; the rage that powers him, the hatred that sustains him; will mark him as untrustworthy in this... innocent's eyes.
He never thought himself old, but beside him Charles seems so young.
Charles is driving, and in his carefree way he asks Erik what type of music he likes. Whether he has heard of the Beatles and what he thinks of American Country music.
It's bizarre, and alien. Erik hasn't had a casual conversation like this for many years. He's never found anyone he was comfortable talking to in such a way. It seems wrong to trust the one man who has the capability of exposing every facet of his person, and yet he is sat beside him in a car, casual and relaxed. He doesn't remember when the tension went away, but he finds himself sharing a memory of hearing Simon and Garfunkel's The Sounds Of Silence for the first time on the radio and how he had cried in public and been reassured to look around him and see he wasn't the only one.
He has heard the Americans reminiscing of road trips before now, snippets of overheard conversation in crowded bars. Perhaps that wasn't like this - travelling out into the world to find those representatives of mankinds' next stage of evolution - but suddenly Erik realises what kind of companionship can be brought about by such close quarters.
Charles was discussing the time Raven had gone into New York with him, her disguised as some young actress whose name Erik didn't recognise. Letting the Professor's voice wash over him, Erik sat back to enjoy the ride.
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Fic: Sun
Show: Doctor Who (9th)
Primary Characters: 9/Rose/Jack
Spoilers: None, other than Jack travelling in the TARDIS
Warnings: Angst, mentions of Gallifrey for those of an easily depressed deposition
Gift Giving: For kasiopeia from the commentfic prompt by drabblewriter
They know it's going to happen, there's been warnings, portents. They're protected for the fall out, for the cold and the gravitational change. What they're not prepared for is the sudden, gut-wrenching emptiness. Looking up into the sky above them, it is dark. Space is empty. There is no sun.
The doctor tells them some platitude about the sun's psychic presence and how it nurtures and provides and so is consciously linked with support and love, but Rose looks over at Jack and it's clear they're both suffering from this unexpected loss of something they'd never known they had.
They have both travelled in time and space, been away from the sun for months at a time, lived in the TARDIS with no access to natural light... but this is different. This is a planet without a sun. They feel unloved.
Perhaps the Doctor sees how they are suffering from this, and he gathers them up and marches them into the TARDIS. They move sluggishly, even given the change in gravity and the equipment they're wearing to keep them safe given the loss of atmosphere. They move like they are grieving for the sun that wasn't even their own.
He draws them inside and lets them shed their protective equipment and when he is sure they can talk without microphones or communications gear he tells them he's sorry. (It doesn't happen often) That he hadn't considered how they might deal with such a loss. That it's been so long since Gallifrey lost it's own sun... He stumbles over himself. This is a topic that is not mentioned, and Rose and Jack both know that.
They huddle close for a minute, sharing a new grief. Now they all know what it's like to lose a sun. It is terrible. Rose might cry (she'll deny it later, but her mascara gets smudged everywhere) and Jack starts shedding layers and working at theirs, needing to be at least skin-close to their own little circle of loving and nurturing. The Doctor is still more than a little lost in memory, and they tug him into their shared room to remind him that he is still their sun. Still the centre of their little system.
He fills all the holes in them.
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Fic: Regeneration
Show: Doctor Who (9th/10th)
Primary Characters: Rose/Ten (referencing Rose/9)
Spoilers: Takes place directly after the Christmas Invasion
Warnings: Not really
Gift Giving: For craterdweller from the commentfic prompt by truthwritaslies
Rose is sitting there cross-legged and staring at him like he's the most interesting thing in the room. Well, normally he wouldn't be ashamed to call himself the most interesting thing in most rooms, but they're in the TARDIS library. There are always *some* exceptions.
He's taken up residence in the big armchair that didn't fit him last regeneration and doesn't fit him this time around either. He misses how this armchair used to feel. And Jelly Babies, though he's had less of a palate for the once-named Peace Babies after the Time War. They didn't taste the same.
Still, Rose is staring and he's trying not to feel like his legs are too long and his ears too small to be in the same space as her. His Rose.
"Is it... resurrection, or reincarnation?" she asks at last, and it's a stumper that's for sure.
"That depends on your definitions..." he hesitates as she glares at him. Maybe she wanted a simple answer. He wishes he had one. "I don't die, only my body dies. So I guess it's reincarnation - I live on in a new form. Really it's regeneration. I'm not the same me... really."
She looks decidedly uncomfortable at that concept. It occurs to him that Rose has come to trust *that* him, and him being a different... him... Made that trust obsolete.
"Who are you then? If you aren't the same you any more."
"Well..." And that's the question, isn't it. Always. Who are you? "I'm the Doctor."
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Fic: Right Back
Show: Doctor Who (11th)
Primary Characters: Amy (Doctor, Rory)
Spoilers: Not really
Warnings: Fear?
Gift Giving: For sweetone41185 from the commentfic prompt by ivotedforsaxon
Oh she hates them. God, she hates them both. Lying bastard husbands and moronic alien friends. "I'll be right back," she mimics Rory's accent (poorly) under her breath. "We just need to go and get..." she trails off at this point because she can't even begin to pronounce whatever it was the Doctor had declared they needed to go and get to free her from the oversized tangle weed that had enveloped her.
It wasn't that it was hurting her. She was quite comfortable actually, despite the fact she'd been here nearly two hours and it was starting to get dark. But every time she tried to move, tried to untangle herself, the thing constricted around her. Nothing stronger than a hug, but she hadn't been able to get free.
And the Doctor and Rory had gone to get... something... from the TARDIS and god knows what happens any given time you step into the TARDIS. They could be on a different planet by now. She could be in for another thirteen year wait.
The thought sends a frisson of fear down her spine. She considers shouting for help, not that it would do much good if Rory and the Doctor weren't nearby to hear her. She wiggles, gently and then suddenly - hoping to catch the thing unawares. She doesn't.
"Rory?" she tries. "Doctor?"
"Amy! We're on our way!" Rory's voice echos back, and suddenly everything is fine.
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Fic: The Winged Man
Show: Torchwood
Primary Characters: Team (not the original team, but the one in the show)
Spoilers: Not really
Warnings: Not really
Gift Giving: For chosenfire28 from the commentfic prompt by zekkass
They were all surrounding the floorspace they'd set aside to reassemble the skeleton. Owen had questioned why they even needed to work out what the freaking mammoth that had fallen through the rift had eaten for its dinner, but Jack had insisted that knowing the mammoth's last meal would tell them where and when it had come from. They couldn't exactly carbon date it, not with rift travel involved.
Only now they were all here, standing around... well...
"We found a winged man," Ianto said, sounding a little like he'd taken a blow around the head - which he had, the day before, and Owen wasn't going to blame him for tripping on this. "We found a winged man in the mammoth's stomach."
Jack had a shit-eating grin on his face, like he was a kid who'd just gotten the best toy in the world for Christmas. Gwen had found a tape measure and was measuring the skeleton's wing-span. Owen wanted to point out that the skeleton had been imaged and Tosh was working through the digital measurements on her tablet, even as they all stared.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Jack grandstanded, "Meet your short-lived evolutionary cousin, homo falconiformiens."
Owen had questions, and an urge to seek out a childhood worth of X-men comics.
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Fic: Lies
Show: Burn Notice (The Cowboy/Ninja/Pirate/Robot remix)
Primary Characters: Mikey, Fi, Sam, Jesse
Spoilers: For Jesse's existance only
Warnings: Cracky cracky fun fun fun
Gift Giving: For entwashian from the commentfic prompt by rattyjol (who was very polite about the crazy contextless piece of drivel I dropped on the prompt)
"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were lying," Sam observed, a wild grin suiting his wild hair and dusty leathers. He threw his feet, spurs and all, up onto Michael's coffee table and adjusted his gun belt so the barrel wasn't pressing into his leg. Jesse snorted in laughter, pushing his broad-brimmed hat back onto the back of his head and leaning sideways in his chair to squint into the corner he thought Fiona was probably hiding in.
"What do you think, Fi?" he asked, with only the slightest hint of 'argh' (he was getting good at softening up his accent). "Is Michael lying?"
She dropped into the chair opposite the corner he was staring into, dressed all in black but with her head uncovered, face unmasked. She was getting better at blending in too. A bit.
Michael just cocked his head and frowned. "I don't understand," he said flatly. "It's my programming to lie. I was designed for counter intelligence work."
Jesse and Sam erupted into raucous laughter at the statement, and even Fi cracked a smile despite her fingers creeping towards a blade on her belt.
"Oh, Mikey," Sam chuckled, "Don't ever change."
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Meta (aka airy fairy bullshit)
Are the shows still relevant?
Discussion thread: http://whedonland.livejournal.com/176570.html?thread=10665658#t10665658
Undoubtedly. The primary reason I think Buffy and Angel (and to very slightly lesser extent Dollhouse) are still relevant - and always will be - is because they are all huge extended metaphors for the struggle of teenagers and young adults, and in fact all adults in Dollhouse's case, with their own sexuality and intimacy. I've recently had a bit of a meta-dump on my journal about the inherence concept of allegorical sexuality in vampire storytelling, but I think Whedon really played on that.
In Buffy, Angel was a temptation, but always out of reach, effectively immasculated by the curse on him. That made him 'safe' and yet still appealing, with the edge of 'bad boy' risk that his vampirism gave him. As soon as they broke down that barrier he became 'dangerous' - his vampirism took over, and the element of danger became more real. We could link this to a lot of experiences in a lot of peoples' youths where exposing yourself to intimacy made your life a whole lot more tumuluous. Maybe you didn't have to chain your partner up, but you can probably see that connection there.
In Angel there was a whole series of very interesting relationships, all with their own spin on sexuality and intimacy and how they can affect (and I have to admit, primarily break down - Whedon does love to break people down) a relationship. Each one an aspect of intimacy that the general population finds difficult or scary - and always will, as far as I can see. It's the nature of our species.
Dollhouse, on the other hand, is all about losing control over imtimacy, interaction and yourself. You're suddenly seeing from the other side of things, where all responsibility has been removed. This is the stuff adult fantasies are made of. You don't care about what the other person wants, they are an empty cannister to fill with what *you* want, and their needs are irrelevant. The aspect of need takes over. Dollhouse will always be difficult to watch, because it effectively answers the question 'what would happen if I didn't have to worry about what he/she wants?' And it is dark. And it is the kind of thing that the dark places in the world of made of. And again, this isn't something I can ever see changing.
BIG BANG HERE
Title: My Life In Your Hands
Show: Angel
Original Character: Joey McIntyre
Warnings: Swears and unrequited slash
Word Count: 311
Joey McIntyre knew he was in a bad way. He could feel things moving and shifting inside of him with every breath he took. He had a feeling he would have been dead already if it weren't for the group who'd streamed past him and dragged the girl who'd attacked him to the ground. He could hear the sounds of a fight going on behind him and - well, he wasn't one to hit a girl, but fuck it felt like he was dying here, he wasn't going to complain. This was the last time he tried to pick up a girl in this neighbourhood, and Jarvis was getting a slap for recommending the bar down here.
There was suddenly a guy leaning over him; cute glasses, worried frown, and when he moved Joey could feel him pressing down on the hole the chick had ripped open in his chest like it was a distant thing. Like there was a dozen blankets between the guy's hands and his body. It was fairly freaky, but if the guy was holding his guts in, he wasn't going to complain. He decided then and there that 'the guy' was no way to know the man who might be saving your life.
"What's your name?" he asked tentatively, feeling the roughness in his throat. Resisting the urge to cough, because he could see that not being a fun thing at all, what with the hole in his chest and all.
"Just hold still. Help is on the way," he replied unhelpfully, but in a steady authoritative way that made Joey feel safe. And a gorgeous soft accent to go with those cute glasses too.
"My life's in your hands, man," he managed, forcing himself to breathe shallow breaths and hoping he got another chance to ask his rescuer his name. They were really cute glasses.
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Fic: What Matters
Show: Angel
Primary Characters: Lindsey and Eve (pairing)
Spoilers: Underneath
Challenge: 3 Sentences
Lindsey is resting and Eve knows he probably needs all the rest he can get after escaping a hell dimension, but her curiosity is boiling inside and that's what leads her to ask in a whisper; "What did she look like?" Lindsey pulled away slightly, movements sluggish in an unfamiliar way, to ask with haunted eyes; "Does it matter?" The answer, Eve knows, is 'only if she didn't look like me', but Lindsey's question is answer enough so she pulls him closer into her embrace and answers, "No."
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Fic: I Hate You
Show: Buffy
Primary Characters: Faith/Buffy/Angel
Spoilers: Not really
Warnings: Not my usual OT3
Gift Giving: For midnightisclose from the commentfic prompt by alieneyes
"I've never been into any of that..." she gestures vaguely, "Y'know? Warm fuzzy stuff."
Buffy and Angel share a glance, an absent smile. They know what she means. She means she's not used to this, that she's not sure about what she's doing and that she's worried she's going to get it wrong. They pull her into their embrace and hold her until she finally relaxes.
-
"I don't think we should do this anymore," she grinds out, all frowns and leather and 'don't touch me'.
They both try not to smile - it wouldn't be appropriate. They know what she means. She means she's scared, terrified of this thing between them; that could so easily lead to pain if not controlled, if not handled correctly.
-
She turns around, looks back at them, on her way out of the door again. The glare she throws is full of something dark, it feels harsh as they hold it. "I hate you," she says.
They know what she means.
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Fic: Near The End
Show: Buffy The Original Movie
Primary Character: Merrik (Movie Giles)
Spoilers: The backstory for the film (such as they were)
Warning: Angst
AN: Title from the Woody Allen quote: "Eternity is really long, especially near the end"
Merrik was terribly, numbingly tired.
It had always been the case with his job that there was no way to know how long he would get between the death of the Slayer under his care and the death of the next, the ever so short time in which he had the opportunity to train up his next charge for the responsibility that would be entrusted to her. There was recorded, every couple of centuries, a spiralling decay where a Slayer had died young and the next had not enough time to learn the essential arts and so died even younger. During such times the Watchers were forced to seek out the potentials long before their time, often taking them from their families to hide the training that they must endure.
Christina had died far too young despite his every efforts, and Merrik was well aware how Anthony was struggling with the current Slayer - eager, but too green really. He knew that this could quickly become one of those situations and so it became even more essential that he find the new potential as soon as possible.
But five lives had been lost under his care, nine Slayers dead in the four decades he had been working on the Council. And he was exhausted of it all.
America was alien, such a loud and neon contrast to all those places that had gone before. He was lost and unsupported as the Council put all their efforts into keeping Rosita alive long enough to break the cycle. And as hard as he tried no rumour or prophesy would pin down the location of the newest potential.
With despair, he contemplated the vastness of America. She was out there somewhere. He had to find her.
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Fic: The Rapture
Show: Buffy/SPN
Primary Characters: Buffy and Dean
Spoilers: If you don't know what didn't happen on 21st of May, you won't know what this is all about...
Warnings: No offence is intended to anyone regarding their religious beliefs. However, God is mentioned, as are priests involved in some dark arts.
Gift Giving: For anna_sg1 from the commentfic prompt by megans_writing
"It's the Rapture!" Dean's voice is sharp and strained on the other end of the phoneline, and Buffy can't help but tense at his tone, despite his words.
She retorts immediately with what she's been telling everyone else. With what Giles told her the first time she asked him about the rumours going around. "That's some pseudo-religious clap-trap, Dean. It's a math formula that's been randomly assigned to the Bible. To the nth translation of the Bible."
"Buffy... The shit just got real, and I need you out here." Dean's voice has a hesitant sigh in it.
"You know I'm needed here in Sunnydale, Dean," Buffy shot back, perhaps a little sharper than was necessary. This was an old argument, and Buffy's talent weren't there to do a hunter's job. She was there for the big stuff. "Where are you? What's going on?"
"Some priest in Minnesota got wind that the Church wasn't taking the Rapture seriously, so he got involved in some black stuff. They're using the fact that so many people believe it to power the event itself. Thing is it's mostly America... It looks like the after effects are going to be fairly localised. It'll probably wipe the population of the Bible belt off the map. Maybe a couple of other more religious areas..."
"When you say wiped...?" Buffy pressed, tentatively. No matter how firm she was, she always ended up getting dragged into these things.
"This ain't powered by God, Buffy," Dean replied. "They're just gonna be dead."
"How long do I have to get there?"
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Fic: I Am Become
Show: Dollhouse
Primary Characters: Topher and Adelle
Spoilers: Epitaph I
Warnings: Angst, altered mental states
He's broken down, taken apart, destroyed. Adelle watches him, cares for him, keeps him safe. But she doesn't know how to fix what's been done to him, or even if she should. While the memory of what's going on outside of their safe haven upsets this new man Topher has made of himself, she can't help but think the reality to a mind capable of understanding it would surely destroy the man all over again.
It's been a long time since she saw that sharp intelligence she had once nurtured behind his eyes. He uses his books to build forts around himself now, and he is uncomfortable when faced with technology. He can't look at the chair without flying into fits of pique. She stopped trying to bring him to their shared meals when he started estimating their life spans based on lists of arbitrary values.
She wonders if he still dreams of the human mind. Whether he is still capable of fixing what he has - however abstractly - caused to be broken. He seems to be working on the problem, new papers appearing around him, all hand-written, but then when she talks to him she can't see how he could possible still hold that level of focus and comprehension.
Adelle holds him close, reassures her young destroyer of worlds that everything will be alright, and despairs.
=
Fic: Sharing
Show: Leverage
Pairing/Characters: Sophie/Nate/Eliot (Less than perfect verse)
Spoilers: The San Lorenzo Job
Warnings: Fluff
Gift Giving: Sheryden <3
Sophie was smiling uncontrollably as Nate led her onwards through the tiny capital. She kept her face averted from every person they passed, but couldn't help but feel the buzz of having pulled off a Heroic Martyr's Death for the second time in her life (and it was so much more fun when she had a really good team around her and she didn't *actually* get shot).
She was expecting Nate to pick out a quiet bar, but it quickly became obvious as they walked through the streets, picking up the pace as their own excitement drew them forwards, that no bar was quiet tonight. Everybody wanted to be out sharing the bitter-sweet celebration, amongst their countrymen. The bars had people spilling out into the street, revelry mixed with mourning.
Nate pulled her past a large crowd and they stepped into their hotel, breathing in the cooler air and sharing a wild grin at the chaos they had caused. What power they had, the five of them, to change lives. To change *worlds*.
They walked hand in hand, calmer now despite the heady rush, into the tiny hotel bar. It was empty but for the waiter and one other - familiar from behind, long hair loose and doing nothing to disguise the slump to his shoulders. Whether for exhaustion or something else...
Nate looked back at her and they shared some kind of understanding in their gut. Nate went to the bar, Sophie went to join Eliot at his corner table - his back to the room in an uncharacteristic show of carelessness. She couldn't remember when she'd last seen him put his back to an unsecured room.
He jerked back when she sat down in front of him, further proving he had no idea what was going on in the room around him. Perhaps Moreau was that one target he had always seen painted on his back and now that Moreau was gone he felt safe. Somehow Sophie doubted that. Moreau was far from the last skeleton in Eliot's wardrobe.
Eliot was half way out of his chair, leaving, when Nate came up beside him and put the drinks down on the table. A beer, a glass of wine and a whisky on the rocks. Eliot started shaking his head, but he didn't take his eyes off the peace offering, beads of condensation forming on the side of the glass.
"Sit down," Nate said. And he did.
-
Sophie woke only briefly as Eliot sighed softly into her hair, giving up on trying to sleep with them and rolling out of the hotel bed. She turned to watch him dress, caught his hand as he stood - only a little clumsy with drink - and kissed his knuckles lightly. His smile was blinding, and he knelt to kiss her gently, sharing a smile with Nate over her shoulder.
"Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you." And then he disappeared into the night.
=
Fic: Road Trip
Show: X-Men: First Class (complete with film spoilers)
Primary Characters: Charles and Erik
Spoilers: Movie
Warnings: Pre-slash if you want to read it that way
Gift Giving: For ellievanna from the commentfic prompt by ivotedforsaxon
At first it's oddly strained between the two of them. The car is a smaller space than they have so far encountered alone together and there is a tension here that has never really been resolved. Each others motivations are unclear, only that for this brief moment in time they are seeking, reaching for the same goal.
There are others out there. For Charles it has been a long known fact, with Raven at his side he has never had to doubt his own sanity, or his own evolution. For Erik this is a newer development. The man at his side has the ability to read his mind, and he fears that everything inside of him; the rage that powers him, the hatred that sustains him; will mark him as untrustworthy in this... innocent's eyes.
He never thought himself old, but beside him Charles seems so young.
Charles is driving, and in his carefree way he asks Erik what type of music he likes. Whether he has heard of the Beatles and what he thinks of American Country music.
It's bizarre, and alien. Erik hasn't had a casual conversation like this for many years. He's never found anyone he was comfortable talking to in such a way. It seems wrong to trust the one man who has the capability of exposing every facet of his person, and yet he is sat beside him in a car, casual and relaxed. He doesn't remember when the tension went away, but he finds himself sharing a memory of hearing Simon and Garfunkel's The Sounds Of Silence for the first time on the radio and how he had cried in public and been reassured to look around him and see he wasn't the only one.
He has heard the Americans reminiscing of road trips before now, snippets of overheard conversation in crowded bars. Perhaps that wasn't like this - travelling out into the world to find those representatives of mankinds' next stage of evolution - but suddenly Erik realises what kind of companionship can be brought about by such close quarters.
Charles was discussing the time Raven had gone into New York with him, her disguised as some young actress whose name Erik didn't recognise. Letting the Professor's voice wash over him, Erik sat back to enjoy the ride.
=
Fic: Sun
Show: Doctor Who (9th)
Primary Characters: 9/Rose/Jack
Spoilers: None, other than Jack travelling in the TARDIS
Warnings: Angst, mentions of Gallifrey for those of an easily depressed deposition
Gift Giving: For kasiopeia from the commentfic prompt by drabblewriter
They know it's going to happen, there's been warnings, portents. They're protected for the fall out, for the cold and the gravitational change. What they're not prepared for is the sudden, gut-wrenching emptiness. Looking up into the sky above them, it is dark. Space is empty. There is no sun.
The doctor tells them some platitude about the sun's psychic presence and how it nurtures and provides and so is consciously linked with support and love, but Rose looks over at Jack and it's clear they're both suffering from this unexpected loss of something they'd never known they had.
They have both travelled in time and space, been away from the sun for months at a time, lived in the TARDIS with no access to natural light... but this is different. This is a planet without a sun. They feel unloved.
Perhaps the Doctor sees how they are suffering from this, and he gathers them up and marches them into the TARDIS. They move sluggishly, even given the change in gravity and the equipment they're wearing to keep them safe given the loss of atmosphere. They move like they are grieving for the sun that wasn't even their own.
He draws them inside and lets them shed their protective equipment and when he is sure they can talk without microphones or communications gear he tells them he's sorry. (It doesn't happen often) That he hadn't considered how they might deal with such a loss. That it's been so long since Gallifrey lost it's own sun... He stumbles over himself. This is a topic that is not mentioned, and Rose and Jack both know that.
They huddle close for a minute, sharing a new grief. Now they all know what it's like to lose a sun. It is terrible. Rose might cry (she'll deny it later, but her mascara gets smudged everywhere) and Jack starts shedding layers and working at theirs, needing to be at least skin-close to their own little circle of loving and nurturing. The Doctor is still more than a little lost in memory, and they tug him into their shared room to remind him that he is still their sun. Still the centre of their little system.
He fills all the holes in them.
=
Fic: Regeneration
Show: Doctor Who (9th/10th)
Primary Characters: Rose/Ten (referencing Rose/9)
Spoilers: Takes place directly after the Christmas Invasion
Warnings: Not really
Gift Giving: For craterdweller from the commentfic prompt by truthwritaslies
Rose is sitting there cross-legged and staring at him like he's the most interesting thing in the room. Well, normally he wouldn't be ashamed to call himself the most interesting thing in most rooms, but they're in the TARDIS library. There are always *some* exceptions.
He's taken up residence in the big armchair that didn't fit him last regeneration and doesn't fit him this time around either. He misses how this armchair used to feel. And Jelly Babies, though he's had less of a palate for the once-named Peace Babies after the Time War. They didn't taste the same.
Still, Rose is staring and he's trying not to feel like his legs are too long and his ears too small to be in the same space as her. His Rose.
"Is it... resurrection, or reincarnation?" she asks at last, and it's a stumper that's for sure.
"That depends on your definitions..." he hesitates as she glares at him. Maybe she wanted a simple answer. He wishes he had one. "I don't die, only my body dies. So I guess it's reincarnation - I live on in a new form. Really it's regeneration. I'm not the same me... really."
She looks decidedly uncomfortable at that concept. It occurs to him that Rose has come to trust *that* him, and him being a different... him... Made that trust obsolete.
"Who are you then? If you aren't the same you any more."
"Well..." And that's the question, isn't it. Always. Who are you? "I'm the Doctor."
=
Fic: Right Back
Show: Doctor Who (11th)
Primary Characters: Amy (Doctor, Rory)
Spoilers: Not really
Warnings: Fear?
Gift Giving: For sweetone41185 from the commentfic prompt by ivotedforsaxon
Oh she hates them. God, she hates them both. Lying bastard husbands and moronic alien friends. "I'll be right back," she mimics Rory's accent (poorly) under her breath. "We just need to go and get..." she trails off at this point because she can't even begin to pronounce whatever it was the Doctor had declared they needed to go and get to free her from the oversized tangle weed that had enveloped her.
It wasn't that it was hurting her. She was quite comfortable actually, despite the fact she'd been here nearly two hours and it was starting to get dark. But every time she tried to move, tried to untangle herself, the thing constricted around her. Nothing stronger than a hug, but she hadn't been able to get free.
And the Doctor and Rory had gone to get... something... from the TARDIS and god knows what happens any given time you step into the TARDIS. They could be on a different planet by now. She could be in for another thirteen year wait.
The thought sends a frisson of fear down her spine. She considers shouting for help, not that it would do much good if Rory and the Doctor weren't nearby to hear her. She wiggles, gently and then suddenly - hoping to catch the thing unawares. She doesn't.
"Rory?" she tries. "Doctor?"
"Amy! We're on our way!" Rory's voice echos back, and suddenly everything is fine.
=
Fic: The Winged Man
Show: Torchwood
Primary Characters: Team (not the original team, but the one in the show)
Spoilers: Not really
Warnings: Not really
Gift Giving: For chosenfire28 from the commentfic prompt by zekkass
They were all surrounding the floorspace they'd set aside to reassemble the skeleton. Owen had questioned why they even needed to work out what the freaking mammoth that had fallen through the rift had eaten for its dinner, but Jack had insisted that knowing the mammoth's last meal would tell them where and when it had come from. They couldn't exactly carbon date it, not with rift travel involved.
Only now they were all here, standing around... well...
"We found a winged man," Ianto said, sounding a little like he'd taken a blow around the head - which he had, the day before, and Owen wasn't going to blame him for tripping on this. "We found a winged man in the mammoth's stomach."
Jack had a shit-eating grin on his face, like he was a kid who'd just gotten the best toy in the world for Christmas. Gwen had found a tape measure and was measuring the skeleton's wing-span. Owen wanted to point out that the skeleton had been imaged and Tosh was working through the digital measurements on her tablet, even as they all stared.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Jack grandstanded, "Meet your short-lived evolutionary cousin, homo falconiformiens."
Owen had questions, and an urge to seek out a childhood worth of X-men comics.
=
Fic: Lies
Show: Burn Notice (The Cowboy/Ninja/Pirate/Robot remix)
Primary Characters: Mikey, Fi, Sam, Jesse
Spoilers: For Jesse's existance only
Warnings: Cracky cracky fun fun fun
Gift Giving: For entwashian from the commentfic prompt by rattyjol (who was very polite about the crazy contextless piece of drivel I dropped on the prompt)
"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were lying," Sam observed, a wild grin suiting his wild hair and dusty leathers. He threw his feet, spurs and all, up onto Michael's coffee table and adjusted his gun belt so the barrel wasn't pressing into his leg. Jesse snorted in laughter, pushing his broad-brimmed hat back onto the back of his head and leaning sideways in his chair to squint into the corner he thought Fiona was probably hiding in.
"What do you think, Fi?" he asked, with only the slightest hint of 'argh' (he was getting good at softening up his accent). "Is Michael lying?"
She dropped into the chair opposite the corner he was staring into, dressed all in black but with her head uncovered, face unmasked. She was getting better at blending in too. A bit.
Michael just cocked his head and frowned. "I don't understand," he said flatly. "It's my programming to lie. I was designed for counter intelligence work."
Jesse and Sam erupted into raucous laughter at the statement, and even Fi cracked a smile despite her fingers creeping towards a blade on her belt.
"Oh, Mikey," Sam chuckled, "Don't ever change."
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Meta (aka airy fairy bullshit)
Are the shows still relevant?
Discussion thread: http://whedonland.livejournal.com/176570.html?thread=10665658#t10665658
Undoubtedly. The primary reason I think Buffy and Angel (and to very slightly lesser extent Dollhouse) are still relevant - and always will be - is because they are all huge extended metaphors for the struggle of teenagers and young adults, and in fact all adults in Dollhouse's case, with their own sexuality and intimacy. I've recently had a bit of a meta-dump on my journal about the inherence concept of allegorical sexuality in vampire storytelling, but I think Whedon really played on that.
In Buffy, Angel was a temptation, but always out of reach, effectively immasculated by the curse on him. That made him 'safe' and yet still appealing, with the edge of 'bad boy' risk that his vampirism gave him. As soon as they broke down that barrier he became 'dangerous' - his vampirism took over, and the element of danger became more real. We could link this to a lot of experiences in a lot of peoples' youths where exposing yourself to intimacy made your life a whole lot more tumuluous. Maybe you didn't have to chain your partner up, but you can probably see that connection there.
In Angel there was a whole series of very interesting relationships, all with their own spin on sexuality and intimacy and how they can affect (and I have to admit, primarily break down - Whedon does love to break people down) a relationship. Each one an aspect of intimacy that the general population finds difficult or scary - and always will, as far as I can see. It's the nature of our species.
Dollhouse, on the other hand, is all about losing control over imtimacy, interaction and yourself. You're suddenly seeing from the other side of things, where all responsibility has been removed. This is the stuff adult fantasies are made of. You don't care about what the other person wants, they are an empty cannister to fill with what *you* want, and their needs are irrelevant. The aspect of need takes over. Dollhouse will always be difficult to watch, because it effectively answers the question 'what would happen if I didn't have to worry about what he/she wants?' And it is dark. And it is the kind of thing that the dark places in the world of made of. And again, this isn't something I can ever see changing.