All Hallows Eve Ficathon

Bump In The Night (AU Smallville/Fright Night/RPF Crossover) (R)

Thu, 01 Nov 2007 05:51:17 GMT

Title: Bump In The Night
By: rjchasez
Fandom: Smallville/Fright Night/RPF Crossover
Characters: Clark Kent, Jeremy Dandridge (original fandom-based character), Charley Brewster, Bruce Campbell, Chloe Sullivan, and a few other Smallville characters. References to other Fright Night characters, as well as slight references to other characters in vampire-based stories.
Disclaimer: If I owned Smallville, Clark and Chloe would have gotten together a freaking long time ago, and this crossover would exist in place of season six. So, yeah, whatever.
Rated: R
For: Contains a bit of bloodshed, violence, and possible gore, as well as mentions of nudity. Other than that, there's a bit of language.
Prompt: Monster- Zombie
Summary: Forget Jimmy Olsen. When a seductive male vampire shows up in Smallville and targets Chloe, a terrified Clark has no one to believe him, and no one to turn to... except for trained vampire killer Charley Brewster and his partner, a horror movie legend.
Notes: This is a story I began over a year ago, and have only now found time to try and finish it. Unfortunately, due to some time constraints and illness in my family, I'm running a bit late with the final part of this story. I expect to have it done by Tuesday, at the latest. But I wanted to share what I have so far. I will make sure to edit this post with the link to the second part as soon as it's done.
Speaking directly of the content of the story, One small part of it proves that the AU part of this originally sprung from a mid-season five episode of Smallville, but it mainly takes place after a very early season six episode. I know this seems to very much be a vampire-themed story, but believe me, a zombie will appear in it at some point. I was given another prompt, collateral damage, but I wasn't positive if it fit the story. Enjoy, and leave feedback, if you feel inclined to do so. :)

(Act 1)

Angel the Series - Perpetuity Clause: A Dream of Fear and Desire NC-17

Thu, 01 Nov 2007 04:23:29 GMT

TITLE: Perpetuity Clause: A Dream of Fear and Desire
AUTHOR: Ducks, theantijoss
E-MAIL: ducksfanfic@gmail.com
FANDOM: Angel
DISCLAIMER: Wow, so not mine! If FOX decides to sue, there's certainly nothing I can do about it. But Joss said it was okay to slash his babies, so here I go!
RATING: NC-17
WARNINGS: Bondage, Slashy Goodness, bloodplay, begging, first time, dub-con (or rather, dubious state of mind)
PAIRING(S): Angel/Lindsey
TIMELINE: Post-NFA
SYNOPSIS: Cat or Mouse. It's all the same when the Senior Partners are in charge of your eternity.
WORD COUNT: ~4300
DISTRIBUTION: Please ask. Chances are good that I'll say yes. :)
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This began life as a request by obsessedmuch for the creep_fest ficathon, but it got canceled, so I decided to use it here! The requirements for that request are at the end.
FEEDBACK: Sure! Even if it's just to say "Guh." That's what porn is for! *G*
PROMPT(S): 100moods .076 Predatory, getlaid25 .05 Angel/Lindsey, all_hallows_fic theme: Hunted

"Perpetuity Clause"
by Ducks

~

In broken crypts where ghouls had slept
I saw how muttering devils sate
(Knowing the final grasp of Fate)
And told grim augeries, and wept.

-- George Sterling, "A Dream of Fear"

(Follow the fake cut to my Insane Journal, where they don't require that I actually see your ID.)

A Divine Error (A Bit Of Fry And Laurie - R)

Thu, 01 Nov 2007 01:30:07 GMT

title: A Divine Error
by: CosmicWaffles
fandom: A Bit Of Fry And Laurie
characters: John and Peter
rated: R
for: violence, vampires, Cannibalism, and character death.
prompt: vampire.
disclaim: Own nothing.
notes: 1051 words.

Peter stretched out, stopping his furious scribblings for a moment. John looked up. “Dammit, have you figured a way yet?”

“Dammit, John. I have, I have!” Peter protested. He was figuring out a way to bring in the 'customers'. John was working on a paper for the archbishop detailing their profit over the past six months.

“What is it?”

“Well, dammit-” Before Peter could finish his sentence, the fax machine started making sounds. He frowned, and strode towards the machine, ripping the paper out.

“John!” Peter exclaimed

“Yes, Peter?”

“It's a fax from God!”

“...Again?” John looked rather put out.

“Yes, yes!” Peter studied it, shifting in his heavy red robes. “It says something about accidental vampires, I think. Can't tell. The damn thing is smudged.”

“Dammit. Well, it can't matter that much.”

“It matters like hell, John!” Peter argued, getting up in John's face.

John flushed with anger. “Give me the damn paper.”

Peter scowled and pushed it towards him. John scanned it, face changing to something almost scared, but that flickered past and he was back to his regular angry face.

“Peter! Look at this!” He stabbed the paper with his finger. He read it aloud. “ATTN: something vampires and demons have been released from the something something of hell following a accidental error. A mortal named Marjorie Hall is leading a small group of these vampires. She has been infected. Something something caution and use something to defend yourselves if needed. -God” John growled. “It's too damn smudged to read the rest of it.”

Peter thought a moment. “They're bound to come after us.”

John laughed. “Don't kid yourself. You're not that important. I'm sure there's something else the demons of hell want.”

“John, it's not what the demons want, it's what Marjorie wants. She's the one leading them.” He grabbed the paper. “She's been 'infected'.” He sighed. “John, she's a vampire.”

“....Dammit.”

“Damn right.”

They barricaded the doors, and waited in the front of the church, wanting to get this over with.. Peter had found a couple stake shooting crossbows and some garlic hidden away in a drawer. Apparently, the church had had this problem before.

He cursed himself yet another time, for taking the crosses away for cleaning the previous day.

John looked at him. “Damn stupid idea, that was.”

“Shut up, John. They were dirty.” Peter scowled.

The door shook, and Peter and John grabbed each other.

“Er.” John said.

“Uh.” Peter replied, and peeled himself off John. “Let's do this.”

John nodded and picked up one of the crossbows. He eyed the garlic as another boom shook the door. “What the hell am I supposed to do with that, Peter?”

“Dammit, John....I have no clue. I say we throw it at them.” He held up the crossbow, leveling it at the door.

The door burst open, and Peter shot.

A young looking vampire fell immediately, and Marjorie stepped over him delicately, still looking stunning in a lavender dress, even though she was supposedly undead.

“I've come for you, John.” She drawled.

John tried to shoot her, but his aim was shaky and it landed in the vampire next to her.

Peter grinned. “Two down, Eight more more to go.”

In response, John tried to shoot another vampire, which he missed.

Marjorie smirked, walking towards them. “Oh, John. Don't you want to meet my friends?”

John scowled. “No.” He waved the crossbow around, and ended up shooting a stake into the ceiling. “Dammit.”

Peter picked off two more, moving quickly and silently.

The remaining six (plus Marjorie) advanced towards them.

John hurled a bulb of garlic at them, and they scattered, two running up to the balcony. Peter chased after them, cursing. If there was one thing he didn't want, it was an assault from above.

John fired his crossbow, and managed to take one more down, before getting kicked in the stomach. He grunted, and fell to the floor.

Marjorie smiled and had a seat at the back, just watching. She was postive that someone would die, and she liked that. Perhaps she'd even get to feed off Peter.

Peter cursed as he struggled with the two vampires on the balcony above, one on either side of him. He had managed to injure the male with a kick to the kidneys, but these were vampires, and he knew they could heal fast.

He growled, and punched the female in the jaw. He usually didn't hit girls, but hey, there was always an exception.

“DAMMIT PETER, I NEED YOU NOW!” yelled John, getting up and trying to keep the flood of vampires at bay. In reality, there were only three, but John had no ammo and they were backing him into a corner.

From the balcony above, Peter spun around, and managed to shoot one of John's tormentors, and threw two stakes to John below.

As he turned back, the male caught him by his throat.

Peter choked, attempting to peel the strong hand off.

“You're a pretty little thing, aren't you?” hissed the vampire, in tones that hurt Peter's ears. He winced.

John managed to keep the other two away by throwing garlic at them, little bits of it. They retreated somewhat, keeping a moderate distance away.

The vampire held Peter out over the edge of the balcony. “Shall I smash you on the stone below, or should I tear you to pieces?”

Peter shook his head, nearly passing out.

Marjorie watched with an evil grin from the back. She had never liked Peter. “Raoul,” She called to the vampire. “Drop him.”

John whipped his head around as the vampire did as Marjorie said. A “Nooooo!” escaped his lips as Peter hit the floor with a loud smack, nearly exploding with the impact. He watched in horror as Marjorie nodded and the four remaining vampires rushed to his best friend's body, and lapped at the blood on the stone.

He shuddered, and turned away. Unfortunately, Marjorie was there.

“John...” she said silkily. “Join me.”

He growled, a low animal sound. “Never.”

With superhuman strength, Marjorie grabbed him and bit into his neck. “You will. I will NOT let you die. You are mine, and mine only.”

Marjorie fed.

And so began John's life of being Marjorie's pet.

When the Cliches Have You, Stargate Atlantis, PG-13

Thu, 01 Nov 2007 01:11:34 GMT

Title: When the Cliches Have You
By: live_brave
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Prompt: Succubus/Incubus
Rating: PG-13, just to be safe
Warnings: A little sexual innuendo
Spoilers: General S4 spoilers, takes place somewhere between 4x02 and 4x04.
Summary: Aliens made them do it….right?
A/N: Let’s just say I took some liberties with the prompt. This is not what I planned on writing but the original idea became too long and cumbersome and my time became very scarce. The original may yet be written when I have a little more time, but this will have to do for now. Not really very horror-esque (a little more 'trick' than 'treat') but I had fun writing it. Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine and mine alone! :)

Link: When the Cliches Have You

Swarm, Stargate Atlantis, G

Thu, 01 Nov 2007 00:38:59 GMT

Title: Swarm
By: temaris
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Characters: OFC.
Rated: G
Prompt: Swarm
Disclaim: Not mine. No infringement is intended by this work.
Notes: With thanks to Claire for reading it right *G*. Implied het. Maybe.

Summary: Perhaps somewhere in season three, or later, it turns out the universe is crueller than expected.

Swarm
The first time I heard about the Lanteans, I was so excited. The Ancestors had returned! The whispers ran through a galaxy. They had come back, they had never promised but we had hoped, and hope was given wings.

Then the Wraith woke -- of course the Wraith woke. Their ancient enemy had returned, and they knew it. And it was terrible. World after world emptied and left desolate. We didn't know-- we hoped that the Lanteans would come. We prayed they would come. That the great city would sear through the stars and clean them.

They didn't come. We heard, in dribs and drabs, that there were few of them. That the great city was old -- not merely ancient but worn out, a candle without a wick. No fire.

Amali came in one day. She said, "I've seen them!" and she told us -- over and over, every time someone new came, about them, about *him*. She was smug with it, and I knew the story wasn't complete. She told me secretly, that night when we were safely tucked into our beds below the roof. Private, but safe. Far away from anyone who might cheat the daughters of Endas out of partner-contract.

"He kissed me," she whispered. She was sitting in the bed, the sheets pulled up high, her arms wrapped around her knees. She hugged herself in glee. "Kissed truly." Her eyes were dreamy and I giggled -- we were all of sixteen -- and teased her.

"What, the old, fat one?"

"No! The Lantean. The *true* Lantean," she added, and I don't know where she knew that from. I suppose from one of them, but I didn't know for a long, long time what she meant. She sighed. "He's so beautiful. He looked at me, and I *knew*. We had a *connection*."

"I bet he didn't even know you were there." Because she was serving drinks at the negotiations, not paraded as a treasure offering. We didn't know them well enough for that.

"He *did*! I'm telling you. You're just jealous," she pouted, and she pretended to slide down into the bed, ready to sleep.

"Amali..." I whined, and she turned back to me at once, as eager to tell as I was to hear. Her eyes glittered brightly, and she clasped her hands together as she spoke.

"He came out to the back to talk to me --"

"Really?"

She blushed a little, I think. It was hard to tell. "He asked the way to the privy." I snorted, and she cried out, "No! He asked *me*, he could have asked anyone."

I accepted it as truth. I have doubted it, and then believed it by turns. I have never been able to decide if he knew.

"And --" I asked breathlessly. I had no idea, not then, that this was the turning of the galaxy.

"And," she paused dramatically, her eyes closing, "And I told him." She grinned at me.

"Ama!"

"And then I took him to the right path, and pointed it out, and I was standing right there, and he smelled like the Vethos plant in autumn, and I thought he was just going to say thank you and leave, and he stopped and looked around, and then he kissed me."

I think she'd been afraid when it happened. I think they were on their own, and he was big and strong, and she was a serving girl and he was one of the Lanteans. But she didn't remember any of that. She remembered --

"He tasted sweet, like manthas and bread,and he held me -- he was so strong," she said with a shiver, eyes glazed, "Eremie, he -- I would have done it." We stared at each other. Sixteen was time and past to be giving children back, but neither of us had chosen, not yet. Maybe we were too close. Maybe our father should have fostered us apart, not kept us together.

I am glad he did not.

"And then he bit my lip, and when there was blood, he kissed it better, and then he said he was sorry and he should be going and his eyes changed, and he went to the privies."

"And?"

"And? That was it! Wasn't it wonderful?"

Well. Time passed, and time passed, and maybe Amali hadn't been quite as truthful as I thought, because her belly swelled, and her eyes brightened, and six moons later, she had a child.

She called him Mikla.

For his father.

Of Myth and Medicine

Wed, 31 Oct 2007 23:54:03 GMT

title: Of Myth and Medicine
by: wynterhawk
fandom: LOTRips RPS
characters: Orlando Bloom, Sean Bean, Viggo Mortensen
rated: R
for: some graphic imagery
prompt: Myth
disclaim: none
notes: Some say that it's just a myth that there is life after death. A young doctor intends to find out.

Orlando Bloom preferred to walk. He preferred to use the very elements of forward motion that God had given to him in order to travel from place to place and he abhorred the noisy clack of shod hooves and the rickety sounds of wobbling wooden wheels as people went about their daily business in Edinburgh. Orlando stood with his back to the butcher’s shop, disdainfully watching people bustle to only they knew where and he hated it. He hated the whole lot of them. The tight burgundy leather of his gloves creaked in protest as he balled his cold hands into fists. He needed to get away.

The only bright spot in his morning was the note he’d received from Dominic asking to meet with him for brunch at one of the gentlemen’s clubs. Dom was an adventurer at heart and was never in one place for very long which was why it was always a delight to hear from him.

Adjusting the collar and cravat that had been bothering him ever since he rose and dressed that morning, Orlando hastily crossed the busy thoroughfare. Deftly avoiding unsightly piles of horse droppings as well as the very unwanted attentions of a one Miss Tartington, who, by the looks of her basket, as at the end of her shopping morning, Orlando cleared the low kerb. And with hand outstretched to grasp the wood door handle of his destination a voice calling out to him stopped him cold in his tracks.

“Mister Bloom!”

Like nails on a chalkboard her voice was, but pasting a smile onto his face, Orlando turned to face Miss Tartington. She was decked out in cream and lace with a small broad brimmed hat sitting like a cherry atop her mounds of frothy red curls.

“Oh,” she murmured with false modesty and putting a delicately gloved hand up to her rosy mouth. “I’m sorry. It should be Doctor Bloom. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, Miss Tartington. It is, but please, it’s Orlando.”

A blush came to her pale cheeks and she looked genuinely coy. Orlando softened a bit.

“Orlando, then,” she said with a yielding smile.

“Miss Tartington, if you would excuse me I—“

“My parents are having a dinner party next weekend. I would be pleased if you could attend.”

A dull high pitched ringing sounded in his ears and Orlando stared dumbly at her for a moment. His mind raced through all the polite possible excuses he could tell her before settling on something that was close but not quite the truth.

“Next weekend? Oh, no. Thank you, but I’m sorry for I will be out of town and not back for weeks.”

“Then perhaps this weekend. Are you free then?”

When did these young women grow so bold, Orlando wondered and then perked up at the sound of someone calling his name.

“Orlando! There you are. Did you forget about our little meeting?”

Looking fresh and pink cheeked, Dom wove his way through the midday crowds and reaching Orlando’s side, he clapped a friendly hand against his shoulder.

“Oh, and pardon me,” he said, sounding a bit cheeky as he extended his hand towards the woman. “I did not mean to interrupt. I’m Dominic Monaghan.”

“Miss Tartington,” she answered letting Dom both take and kiss the back of her hand.

“Lovely to meet you,” he gushed theatrically. “Now, please excuse us, for I must steal Bloom here away for a moment.”

Miss Tartington gave the two men a small slip of a smile before bidding them a good day and turning to walk off.

“My God, Dom,” Orlando sighed when Dom guided him back towards the club’s doors. “You are a life saver.”

“I had grown bored with the show, so I decided to come and save you.”

“What show?”

With a jerk of his thumb over his shoulder to show the doorway where he’d been standing for the last 15 minutes, Dom grinned.

“I saw you crossing the street and was about to greet you before you were waylaid by your lady friend.”

Catching his meaning, Orlando shook his head.

“You are positively horrible,” he said but Dom merely laughed. “Now, what is this note you sent to me all about?”

“My dear Orlando,” Dom whispered as they entered the dim quietude of the main sitting room. “I have found the perfect thing.”

“What is it?” Orlando asked taking a free seat near to the fire in the hearth.

There were a few other men and some women already there, reading the daily newspaper and enjoying tea. Dom sat across from him and Orlando watched the firelight play across his friend’s excited face.

“I cannot tell you here,” he said secretively. “But, I will give you the name of a man who will get you to York.”

Orlando frowned and a painful twinge of anxiety brightened in his chest.

“Why am I in need to go to York?” he breathed.

Was he in some sort of trouble?

Orlando lowered his eyes and self consciously studied his bare hands.

“My experiments are nothing but…” Orlando started to explain but Dom interrupted.

“Your experiments,” he said in a low sardonic voice. “Your experiments, Orlando. Are going to make you famous and me extremely wealthy.”

Orlando sighed with relief and slouching in his chair he glared morosely at Dom.

“My experiments,” he stressed, “are for the good of mankind. Not for profit.”

Dom tried not to laugh aloud. Surely Orlando was putting him on. There was no way that he was quite that naïve. But declining to express his thoughts, he tried another tactic.

“Listen to me, Orlando. If your… suppliers find themselves out of work, what will you do? Raid the refuse of the gallows? Wait around the back of the Pensioner’s home?”

“Is there something that I should know, Dom?” he demanded leaning forward in his chair. “If there is, I demand that you tell me.”

Dom glanced around and raising his hands, he made a small hushing motion. Realizing his mistake, Orlando sat back and clenched his hands across his belly. He watched Dom’s eyes gleam wickedly in the firelight.

“I will do more than tell you. I will show you. Something very special that I think will be right up your alley.”

**

Orlando shifted uncomfortably upon the cushioned carriage bench and tried to occupy himself with staring at the wintry landscape outside the small heavily curtained window. He really did prefer to walk, but York was much too far away for that trip to be feasible on foot. But it wasn’t to say that he wasn’t immensely grateful to be able to step out of the coach and plant his feet on solid snow covered ground. At the small lonesome station, there was a tall dark man waiting for him. Clad in long black coat, woolen scarf, bare hands and a shock of shaggy black hair, he came forward and reached out to shake Orlando’s hand. With surprisingly soft dulcet tones, he spoke to Orlando.

“My employer is pleased that you have decided to come, Doctor Bloom. He believes that you share his particular inclination and hopes that perhaps you would be willing to collaborate upon a project he’s forming.”

Orlando frowned a bit but said nothing. Seemingly not needing an answer, the man turned and walked away. Orlando paused and then with his booted feet slipping in the muddy, slushy snow, he scrambled after the man. Several yards behind the station, right at the break line of the forest, was a narrow passageway that led straight into the heavy old growth woods. Orlando paused again and feeling a rise of apprehension swell in his gut he surveyed his surroundings. For miles around it seemed there was nothing but dusky woods shrouded with dense fog and swirling snow.

The man didn’t wait for him as he took the trail and not wanting to be left behind, Orlando moved to catch up. After losing his balance more than once and sliding backwards on the ever increasing upward angle of the wooded trail upon which the man was leading him, Orlando stopped again, righted his top hat, adjusted his heavy coat and called out,

“How much farther!?”

Without a pause to see if the doctor was still on his feet, the man said over his shoulder, “Not far.”

Orlando huffed a breath of annoyance.

“How far is “not far”?” he asked.

“Not far,” repeated the man and continued to walk.

Orlando scrambled to keep up.

Finally the trail widened, leveled off and there trees were not as dense. It was getting harder to see in the deepening dark but in the distance Orlando could see fog dimmed lights. They continued to walk. The man led him right up to a single gate of a wire fenced in area. Over the fence, Orlando looked up at the house on the hill and then turned to the dark man.

“I am Karl,” he said quietly. “My employer is waiting for you.”

“Thank you, Karl.”

The man gave him a slight smile and peered into his face for a quiet moment. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but then closed it, choosing not to speak. Then with a tilt of his head, he left Orlando standing at the gate.

The wind kicked up a little more than comfortable and Orlando clutched at the front of his coat. He turned his back to the fence and folded his arms.

This was a mistake, he thought.

A mistake, a very grave mistake and part of him was tempted to return to the coach and go back to Edinburgh. But the sound of footsteps crunching through the icy crust of snow distracted him and Orlando turned towards the noise. There was a man coming up towards him along the outside of the fence, but it was not Karl.

“Doctor Bloom?”

“Yes?”

“Please. Come with me. I am Doctor Viggo Mortensen and I believe I have possession of something you might want. You see, you and I have the same particular goal in life.”

“And what is that?” Orlando wanted to know as Mortensen gestured that they walk.

Mortensen chuckled indulgently, but did not explain until they came upon what looked like a large garden shed. Mortensen opened the door and waited for Orlando to go inside. The room was broad and dim, lit only by a few burning torches and right in the center of the room was a wide table upon which sat a long wooden box.

“Why, the pursuit of life, Doctor Bloom. Life after death.”

Orlando felt flayed and an uncomfortable heat flared in his face.

“I—I think you’ve made a mistake,” he stammered impotently.

“I haven’t, Doctor Bloom. I believe you know exactly what I’m talking about. Please… come closer and see the gift I have for you.”

Orlando bit his bottom lip, unsure as to how to proceed, but tingling with fright and excitement, he managed to make himself approach the table.

“My God,” he moaned laying eyes upon the body in the box.

Orlando lost himself completely and the truth burbled to his lips.

“He’s perfect.”

Mortensen pressed a friendly hand to Orlando’s shoulder.

“He’s yours.”

Orlando was absolutely dumbfounded with such an offer!

“How can you--?”

Viggo smiled and let the hand he had on Orlando’s shoulder slip down to cradle the small of his back.

“Let us just say that since we share a common interest that you will keep this gesture in mind. In case I am in need to call upon you.”

Understanding, Orlando smiled a little in return and reached into the box to touch the man’s corn silk blonde hair.

“Just perfect…” he murmured to himself. “Have him prepared for my trip back.”

“Leaving so soon?” Viggo asked. “I had hoped that we would have some private time together. Surely you can stay and have dinner.”

“I believe I can, Doctor Mortensen,” Orlando agreed readily.

Pleased with the promise of such unusual and rather beautiful company, Viggo nodded in response.

“Excellent. Come up to the main house with me. I’m sure we can find something to eat.”

**

The long trip back to Edinburgh was intolerable. But, finally arriving home, Orlando wasted no time having the baggage men help him put the strange box in his secret laboratory. For weeks nothing could rouse the young doctor from his lab nor tear him away from his Machine. He slept there, ate his meager meals there and worked until the wee hours of the morning until finally on one rain soaked night he was ready.

A rolling thunder rumbled over the house and looking up at the shimmying rafters of the lab, Orlando rubbed his tired eyes. He was close. So very close. Nothing could stop him now. Orlando stood by the machine’s switch. He wiped his sweaty hands on his trousers and taking in a long deep breath, he threw the switch. At first nothing happened, but then a burst of electricity rippled through the corpse on the examining table, stretching out the limbs in a jittery macabre dance.

It took some effort to pull the switch away from its terrible electrical pull, but when he did, the body ceased to move. A faint stream of smoke rose from the man’s tattered clothes and biting his bottom lip, Orlando approached the table hesitantly.

Leaning over him, he studied the smooth pale face.

“Hello?” he asked.

There was a slight flicker of the eyelids and Orlando sucked in a surprised breath. The excitement was hot and slippery inside him and he leaned closer.

“Hello?”

Dark jade eyes blinked open and tried to focus on his face. Sucking in loud shuddering breaths, as his lungs struggled to work, the man’s eyes rounded with fear.

“You… you are. My God! It worked!” Orlando cried. “You’re alive!”

The man’s lips moved slowly to form the sounds coming out of his throat, but he seemed to be having a terrible time of it.

“O—or—Orlando.”

“Sean,” he reassured him and bending over him, Orlando placed his head upon Sean’s trembling chest. “You don’t know how long I’ve searched for you. I thought I’d lost you.”

A clumsy hand dropped heavily into his hair in an awkward imitation of a caress.

“You came back for me,” he groaned, his voice thick and raspy from months on disuse.

“We’re together now,” Orlando whispered and happily closed his eyes. “Now you need to rest and recover your strength.”

“Yes,” Sean answered quietly and closed his eyes. “Yes… rest.”

end

Ephialtes' child (Stargate Atlantis - R)

Wed, 31 Oct 2007 19:28:34 GMT

"Ephialtes’ child"
by LAdyAmarra
Fandom: Stargate; Atlantis
Genre: Action/Adventure, H/C.
Prompts: Ghost
Rating: R
Warnings for: Cannibalism, body mutilation, multiple OC death, wumping.
Summary: The team is on the hunt for a energy echo on a jungle world, finding themselves between Wraith worshippers and the natives.
Disclaimer: Blanket disclaimer appies, nothing is mine.

STORY
Story ARTBOOK (heavy image warning)

Note: I know I had signed up for Doctor who, but that story died early on so it turned out to be SGA.

Nothing Else (Battlestar Galactica - NC-17)

Wed, 31 Oct 2007 18:25:38 GMT

Title: Nothing Else
Author: amidalashari
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica
Pairing/Character: Helo/Sharon, Lee/Kara
Word Count: 1809
Rating: NC-17 for sex
Prompt: Serial killer
Summary: There's a serial killer on board the fleet. Completely AU.

Still you'll never get it right

Keep Your Soul (Like a Secret In Your Throat) [Supernatural - R]

Wed, 31 Oct 2007 15:22:53 GMT

Title: "Keep Your Soul (Like a Secret In Your Throat)"
By: razorxrosary
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam/Dean (of sorts)
Rated: R
For: incest, sexual imagery and possible disturbing content
Prompt: Theme: Deal with the Devil
Disclaim: Supernatural is © Eric Kripke
Notes/summary: The sky had blackened like a bruise just outside of Chicago, and hadn't lightened since...

It's raining when they arrive in Wisconsin.

If It Wasn't the Wind (CSI:NY - NC-17)

Wed, 31 Oct 2007 04:02:58 GMT

title: If It Wasn’t the Wind
by: scarletts_awry
fandom: CSI:NY
with: Danny/Mac, Danny/other
rated: NC-17
for: sex and disturbing imagery
prompt: incubus or succubus
disclaim: I only own the dvds; everything belongs to Zuiker, CBS, et al.
note: a part of the BSI verse; my tags || stellaluna_’s tags
thanks: to stellaluna_—without her this story never would have gotten written

said the plain clothes cop to the holy ghost / “i’ve heard nothing if it wasn’t the wind.”

In Absence Of Allies (Justice League, PG-13)

Wed, 31 Oct 2007 03:30:39 GMT

Title: In Absence Of Allies
By: doctorv
Fandom: Justice League
Characters: Booster Gold, Blue Beetle, Barbara Gordon
Word Count: 2585
Rating: PG-13?
For: Violence.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to DC Comics. Poem by James Russell Lowell.
Notes: What do you do when your friends might not be your friends? (Prompts can be found at the bottom, just in case they might spoil the story.)

( Fake cut! :D )

My Brother's Keeper (Original - R)

Wed, 31 Oct 2007 03:24:29 GMT

title: My Brother's Keeper
by: ranchangrnl
fandom: Original
rated: R
for: Violence, cursing and some blood
prompt: forbidden territory
disclaim: original fic though I borrowed Bran from chaneystarr who was kind enough to beta for me
notes: Bran thought Finn was just a shy boy with secrets. Little did he know what dangerous secrets they were. 3,700 words.

“It's really coming down out there.”

Bran stared out of the window, watching the storm. Lightening flashed every few moments, illuminating the rain soaked street outside. The lights in the house flickered, followed by a long, loud roll of thunder. Bran was fascinated. He'd never seen a storm roll in so fast before. One moment it was a late, summer evening and the next it looked as if the entire street was underneath a waterfall.

“Bran, help me find some candles,” his sister yelled from the kitchen.

“In a minute,” Bran replied, squinting. “I think someone is out there.”

There was another flash of lightening and the street lit up. A lone figure walked out in the deluge before he was swallowed by darkness again. It was strange. For a moment, Bran thought the figure was familiar. But that was impossible. No one he knew would be out walking in weather like this. Certainly not James, Jack or Tyler. They were probably at Jack's house, drinking themselves into a stupor and planning prank calls. Bran would have been with them if he hadn't been stuck babysitting his kid sister.

“Bran!” his sister yelled again.

“I'm coming, I'm coming,” he said, letting the curtains drop. Lightening lit up the street once more, making the figure visible once more before the curtains obscured his vision. Bran rolled his eyes as he turned to walk into the kitchen. The person still stuck in his head and he knew who it was, he just couldn't put his finger on a name.

His sister was rummaging through the cabinets pulling out every candle his parents had ferreted away. In the process she had completely wrecked the kitchen Bran had spent the afternoon straightening. “Gwyn,” he said, exasperated. “You've already found the candles. What else could you be looking for?”

“Matches,” she said, pulling out a sauce pan.

“Well, you're not going to find them beneath the sink. If you needed a light, why didn't you say so?”

Bran reached into his pocket and pulled out a lighter. Gwyn took it and narrowed her eyes at her brother suspiciously. “What are you doing with a lighter?”

“Nothing,” Bran said quickly.

“Are you smoking again?” she asked, standing up and putting her hands on her hips. In that pose his sister looked eerily like his mother, Bran thought with a sigh.

“No, Gwyn, I'm not smoking. The guys do and that's why I have it, not that it's any of your business.”

“You know Mom and Dad don't want you hanging out with them if they're smoking,” she continued.

“Stop with the lectures!” he said forcefully. “I know what Mom and Dad don't want me doing but they aren't here right now, are they?”

“Well, they'll be home soon so you should get rid of the lighter,” Gwyn scolded. “Besides, I don't think Finnean smokes and it was your idea to ask him to live with us. It isn't nice to be reeking of smoke when your friend is sharing a room with you.”

Finnean. Bran blinked as his brain made a connection with the figure outside. Finn was out there in the rain, but… why? It wasn't like the quiet boy to spontaneously walk outside when it was cold, dark, and damp. Finn had told him he didn't like going out of Briarwood after curfew and it was well past six o'clock. So what could he be doing? It must be something important, Bran figured, his curiosity piqued.

“Bran,” his sister said, tugging on his arm. “Bran. Are you listening to me?”

“What? Oh, yeah. Don't worry, Gwynnie. I'll go toss the lighter out now.”

He moved back through the kitchen, ignoring his sister who was calling for him to find a flashlight somewhere in the house. He went to open the garage door when he glanced outside once more. Lightening flashed and he could see the figure, Finn's figure, disappearing down the street, bearing left. There was something so peculiar about it that Bran decided he needed to follow just to see what was going on.

“I think I left the flashlight in the car,” Bran called back to his sister, opening the front door. The rain sounded louder then he expected and he flinched as the thunder crashed close by. He didn't wait around to hear a reply from the kitchen. Instead, he took a deep breath and grabbed a jacket, preparing himself for the shock of the heavy rain.

The cool water drenched him the moment he stepped out onto the porch. It was like stepping into a swimming pool and it was just as difficult to see. The rain dripped down the collar of his jacket, making him shiver. This already seemed like a foolish idea but he had to know what Finn was doing. He ran down the driveway and onto the sidewalk, hoping to catch up. The street lamps only provided a fraction of light, enough to keep the back of Finn's jacket partially visible.

“Finn!” he called, but his voice was muffled by a large crash of thunder. Finn kept walking, heading toward the edge of the street. There were no street lamps here and Bran knew why. The house that stood at the end of the block had been abandoned since he was little. Something bad had happened in that house but no one ever talked about it. It was the local 'haunted house'. The house that kids dared each other to go into for a few moments to see how brave they were. Bran had done it once when he was nine. He lasted a full fifteen minutes, longer then all of the other boys. He hadn't thought the house was scary, then. But tonight the house seemed to loom over him, the windows staring down at him like an ominous creature.

Bran hoped that Finn would walk past the house, but his heart sank into his stomach as he watched the boy walk around the side, entering the house through a broken side door. Thunder crashed making Bran shiver as he followed in the other boy's footsteps. He reached the door and stopped, hesitant to go inside. He should go home. Gwyn was probably wondering what was taking him so long. If he didn't show up with the flashlight soon, she'd begin to worry.

But then there was Finn. Bran didn't know why he cared so much about the boy. He'd only met him a few weeks before when they were made partners for class. Finn had always been a bit odd. He was quiet and shy – not the sort of person that would fit in with Bran's clique. Jack, James, and Tyler were all loud and boisterous, pushing the boundaries of authority. Bran loved the parties and the pranks. His parents worried, but that's what parents were supposed to do. They never hurt anyone intentionally. He was just having normal, teenage boy rebellious fun.

Being paired with Finn had been horrible at first. The kid barely talked and he only offered to do a piece of the project after Bran flat out told him he had to pick a topic. It was annoying and yet, there was something more to Finn that made Bran curious. It took a bit of poking and prodding but once Bran finally got Finn to open up, he was surprised that there was a lot sitting beneath the surface. He was funny and smart, something he wouldn't have guessed, judging on the way Finn acted in class. Bran found he liked being with him more then his other friends. He didn't care about partying or showing off for the girls. He could be himself with Finn and not worry that the other boy was judging him.

Over the weeks Bran felt as if he'd warmed to Finn, but the other boy had difficulty opening up. He was always so secretive. It took him two weeks to discover that Finn was staying at a mental hospital called Briarwood. He was only allowed out for school and even that had certain restrictions. Finn was embarrassed that Bran had found out and was afraid that he'd tell everyone at school. Bran reassured him that he wouldn't, but Finn's reaction got him thinking. If he didn't have anywhere else to stay besides the hospital why couldn't he come live at Bran's house? He was certain his parents would have no problem letting Finn into their home. He was a good kid and Bran didn't think it was fair that he be locked away like some criminal. All it took was a phone call to his parents who had some sway in the community. They spoke to the hospital and as it turned out, they were willing to let Finn stay with the Bell's on a trial period.

Finn seemed to be excited as Bran was but this... Coming here to this dilapidated house just seemed out of place. He should be at Briarwood packing, so what was he doing out here on a night like this? Bran made up his mind and entered the house, determined to satisfy his curiosity. Besides, Finn shouldn't be in a place like this. It was falling apart and it could be dangerous.

The air was damp and smelled of mold. Water leaked in from the ceiling causing dark droplets to continue to drip down on Bran as he made his way through what used to be a kitchen. He didn't see Finn anywhere which was strange. He could have sworn he saw the boy go in here.

“Finn?” Bran called, his voice sounding strange in the empty house. He climbed over the remains of a kitchen chair when he thought he heard movement behind him. Bran turned but he didn't see anyone. His skin began to crawl as he had the feeling he was being watched. “Finn? Are you-”

Something crashed into the back of his head, causing him to crumple to the ground holding his head. Stars erupted in front of his eyes and he turned just in time to see a figure swing a shovel down onto his face.

--

Dripping. That was the first thing Bran heard. Then came the pulsing pain that seemed to stem from his nose and the back of his head. Bran groaned softly, trying to lift his hand to touch his face when he realized that he couldn't move his arms. He opened his eyes and looked down seeing blood covering his shirt. It took him a moment to realize that it was his blood and he gasped, bolting back. He yelped in pain once more as he hit his head against something hard and his head throbbed in agony. Someone jabbed him with something and he opened his eyes once more to focus on who was causing him pain.

“You awake?” the person asked with no real emotion to his voice.

Bran blinked, wishing he could rub his eyes. “F-finn?” he said, his own voice wavering. “What are you doing?”

“Shut up,” Finn snapped, his hazel eyes narrowing as he jabbed Bran hard with the end of the shovel. “I'll hit you again if you don't keep your fucking mouth shut.”

Bran gaped at him, unable to comprehend what was happening. He'd never heard Finn curse before. He didn't think it was possible. Then again, he would never have thought that Finn was capable of hitting him in the face with a shovel. He looked down again and saw his hands were tied down to the arms of what used to be an armchair. Bran struggled, trying to free himself but Finn seemed to have a talent for tying knots.

“Why am I tied up?” Bran asked.

Finn looked up from dragging a large canister across the room and picked up the shovel. “Do you want me to fucking hit you again?” he threatened.

“I just want to talk to you,” Bran said softly, as if he was talking to a startled, angry dog.

“No talk. No more fucking talking! I'm tired of talking!” Finn shouted before he turned to dragging the metal canister towards Bran. “Always talking. That's all they do at that place. Asking me what do I feel? I don't feel fucking anything. Not when they take him away. But they'll see... they'll all see...”

Bran was baffled. He could only gape as the other boy tipped the canister over, letting dark liquid seep out of it. The smell hit him and Bran reeled. Gasoline. Finn dragged the canister over the room, drenching all of the broken furniture. He was very methodical, making sure he splashed every inch of the room, which included pouring it over Bran.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked, his voice pleading this time. Fear crept up his spine and he fought to untie the knots on his wrists. “I don't understand. We're friends, aren't we?”

“Friends,” Finn scoffed. “We were never friends. You tried to take what was mine away from me. You're just like the rest of them. Always keeping us separate. Always feeding him lies. I would never hurt him, do you hear me? Never! Not him. But you... you...”

Bran flinched as Finn wrapped his fingers in Bran's blond hair and pulled his head back, making him cry out once more. “You thought you could steal him, didn't you?” he hissed. “You thought you could turn his head, make him feel special and take him away from me.”

“Who?” Bran gasped, the pain radiating through his body.

“You know who. My brother. He's mine, do you hear me? Mine. And to make sure you can't ever take him away I'll do to you what I did to the others.”

“O-others?” Bran asked, shaking a little.

There was a dark chuckle as Finn pulled away. Bran never realized how mad he looked. How could he have missed it before? There was just something off with the way Finn laughed at Bran. It chilled him faster then the cold water and gasoline did. “We're sitting in the bedroom where it happened,” Finn smiled, gesturing around him. “They tried to tell us it was unnatural for two boys to be as attached as we were. So they were going to take him away from me. Send him to another school. He'd be safe there, they said. Safe from me. I couldn't let that happen. So, that night while they slept, I dripped gasoline around their bed and watched as they burned. They screamed for help and tried to run, but I blocked the door. They couldn't get out, you see.”

Bran's eyes went wide as Finn leaned close, his eyes glinting madly. “I watched them burn,” he said, his voice filled with glee. “Just as I'll watch you.”

Bran tried to pull away, fighting against the ropes. He felt Finn's hands rummage through his pockets and he kicked and wiggled, trying to get his hands off. “Stop it!” he shouted but Finn's hands closed around the lighter that Bran had promised to throw away.

“Please, don't do this,” he begged. “I'm not trying to take you away from anything.”

“Liar!” Finn yelled, pointing at him angrily. “You invited him into your home! He was going to leave me at Briarwood!”

“I invited you,” Bran shouted back. “There's no one else, Finn! No one! Now let me go!”

Finn stared at Bran for a long moment before he burst into laughing. He held his stomach, doubling over. “You pathetic fool,” he cackled. “Didn't he tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Bran asked, feeling as if he was going mad.

“It doesn't matter anymore,” Finn snickered. “Finnean won't ever be yours. He's mine.”

Bran watched in horror as Finn turned the wheel of the lighter, the light shining in the dark of the room. He tried to inch back, to get away from the deadly flame but Finn had already begun to ignite an oil rag. “Goodbye,” Finn said.

“No!”

A familiar voice rang out as something dark barreled into Finn. Finn cried out and he fell, the lighter clattering harmlessly to the floor. There was a scuffle and Finn crawled along the floor, reaching for the lighter. “Bran, Bran, are you ok?” the intruder had asked, rushing over to Bran and beginning to untie him.

“F-finn?” Bran gasped, wondering as if he'd been hit too hard. “What? How did... what is... What the hell is going on?!”

“No time to explain,” Finn said, pulling at the gasoline soaked rope. “I should have said something sooner. I'm sorry, Bran. I never thought he would escape.”

“Who?!” Bran spat, needing this other Finn to tell him what the ell was happening.

“My brother, Gabe,” Finn said. He met Bran's blue eyes with his own and bit his lower lip. “He's mad, Bran. He's the reason why I've been staying at Briarwood. He killed our parents when they tried to send me to my aunts and he was sent to the hospital. But he was so violent when I wasn't there! I begged for them to let me go with him. I keep him sane. He doesn't hurt anyone when I'm around. I... I thought he was better. Oh Bran, I'm sorry...”

“Tell me later,” Bran sputtered, trying to find out where Finn, no, Gabe had gone. “Just get me out of here.”

Finn picked at the rope and finally managed to untie them, freeing one of Bran's hands from the ropes. He grinned at Bran, working on the other hand. “Almost there. Just one more-”

Bran screamed when the shovel came down on Finn's head, knocking the boy to the side. “I can't let you do that, Finn,” Gabe said, dragging his brother away from Bran. “I can't let him take you away from me.”

“You bastard!” Bran yelled, pulling at the last rope. “You leave him alone.”

Gabe ignored him. Instead he cradled his brother in his arms, placing a kiss on his forehead before leaving him against the door that led downstairs. “I told you, I would never harm him,” he said, flicking the lighter back to life. He lit an oil rag which burst into flames. With a mad grin, he flung it into the center of the room which ignited the gasoline with a loud whump!

Bran panicked, tugging at the rope with all of his might. The heat was suffocating as the gasoline burned on top of the damp wood. Smoke filled the room and it was becoming difficult to breathe. He lost sight of Finn and Gabe. His one concern was his own safety. He prayed to whoever was listening that he could untie the ropes. The fire drew closer and for a moment Bran doubted he'd get free. He was sweating and possibly crying as he screamed at the rope to free his hand. With one last yank, the rope popped free and he fell back, nearly landing into the fire.

He jumped up, coughing wildly as he searched for the door. Everything was hazy and it was a struggle to keep from walking into the blazing heat. Bran needed to get out. He wasn't going to die here in this abandoned old house. This wasn't going to be the end!

Bran followed the wall until he reached the door, crying with relief. He was nearly out, he could feel it. The pain in his head throbbed and suddenly, the world seemed to tip sideways and he fell, landing in the hallway with the fire blazing behind him. He couldn't stay there even though his body screamed for him to lie still. Bran needed to keep moving. His fingers gripped at the carpet and he pulled himself along, his pulse throbbing in his ears. Reach the stairs, he told himself. Reach the-

A loud scream made him turn and look back into the room. Two figures were fighting in front of the fire and fear gripped Bran hard in the belly. He watched as Finn and Gabe fought over the shovel, scratching and biting in desperation. Bran wanted to cry out that they were close to the edge of the fire but he couldn't. All he could do was watch in horror as one of the twins picked up the shovel and swung it hard against the side of the other's head. There was a sickening crack as the shovel collided and the brother fell back into the fire, unmoving.

The second figure moved towards him and Bran flinched, moving backwards as fast as he could. “It's ok,” the person said. “It's me. It's Finn. Come on, let me help you down the stairs. I'll call the police once we're there, ok?”

Bran looked back into the room as the fire blazed, letting Finn take him down. His head was spinning and he didn't know which end was up. When they reached the cool rain outside, Bran leaned forward and vomited, everything finally taking its toll.

“Shh, it's ok now,” Finn said, rubbing Bran's back. “He's gone. He's dead. He won't try to separate us again.”

--

The official report said that a fire erupted when a freak bolt of lightening hit the old house. Any evidence of Finn's brother Gabe was covered up. The doctor's said it was better this way. Gabe was a 'bad seed'. It was better for everyone that Finn start fresh with his new, adoptive family. Years passed, and that summer night was long forgotten.

But Bran never forgot. He would return to the site every year. He never told anyone but he always suspected that the twin who had pulled him out of the fire wasn't Finn. He didn't have any real evidence but something in Bran's gut told him it was true. It was the look in Finn's eye when he told him that they wouldn't ever try to separate them again.

It was the same look Gabe had given him. The mad glint had been there.

Hell Hath No Fury (NCIS - T)

Wed, 31 Oct 2007 02:43:32 GMT

Hell Hath No Fury (NCIS - T)

Title: Hell Hath No Fury
By: liannis
Fandom: NCIS
Characters: S3 cast
Rated: T
For: sexual content
Prompt: succubus
Word Count: 1007
Disclaim: I do not own any of these characters, though I wish I had them for friends.
Notes: This is my first completed case fic. I hope I did all right. ;)

The full moon hung in the sky, bathing the area in an eerie glow. It wasn't often the NCIS team was called out this late at night, and it was even less frequently that Ducky and Palmer beat them to the scene.

"What took you so long?" Gibbs asked as Tony, McGee, and Ziva piled out of the truck.

"Ziva got lost, boss."

"I did not get lost, I merely drove. You were the one reading the directions, so it is your fault we took that wrong turn."

"But was it my fault we almost went in a ditch, twice?"

A sharp whistle from Gibbs refocused the team's attention and they followed him into room 112 where Ducky was already at work.

"How did he die?" Ducky stood from where he was kneeling beside the body.

"Well, it appears he died mid-coitus. No immediate sign of physical trauma. I'll know more when we get him back to the lab."

"What a way to go.." Tony muttered under his breath. Ziva rolled her eyes, McGee did his best to keep a neutral face, and Gibbs just cocked his head and stared. "I-I mean, consider the alternatives. It has to be better than you know, being shot or drowning or being set on--"

"Enough. McGee, pictures. Tony, Ziva, get to work."

---

A few hours later, they returned to NCIS Headquarters. McGee's stop was Abby's lab with samples fresh in hand. When he arrived, she was bouncing about the lab, music blaring.

"Abby.."

She spun around to face him, a grin on her face. "What do you have for me?"

"A bunch of trace evidence. Petty Officer Alexander Thomason died having sex, but his partner seems to be missing."

"Really?? You know what this reminds me of.."

"A B-movie?"

"No, McGee. Haven't you ever heard of a succubus?" Abby was as animated now as if she'd drank an entire Caf-Pow in five minutes and for once McGee had no idea why.

"No, I haven't. Why don't you enlighten me?"

"A succubus is a female demon who drains a man's life force while having sex with them. Sometimes...they die. Just like Petty Officer Thomason."

McGee shook his head. "Somehow I doubt that a demon killed him."

"Then where's his partner, McGee? Somebody was in there with him, right?"

"Well, yes.." Before he could come up with a better response, the phone rang. "It's Gibbs. Ducky's got something.."

When McGee arrived at the morgue, the rest of the team was already there.

"Mr. Thomason had been having sex at the time of his death, that much was apparent by the fact he was wearing a condom. What was not immediately apparent was what was underneath the condom. Mr. Thomason's genitals were covered in a rash. This led me to check his medical records where I discovered that he had a life-threatening latex allergy. The latex condom is what killed him."

"So the person he had sex with is the murderer." Palmer interjected.

"You think?" Gibbs answered. "Take the condom to Abby." As Palmer left, he turned to the others. "Find me who else was in that hotel room."

--------------

"I've searched the motel video cameras. His car pulls in at 8pm, and he's dead by 9. The angle of the camera won't let me see who's in it. I've tried everything." McGee noted as Gibbs entered the bullpen.

"I on the other hand, was more successful. It seems that Petty Officer Thomason had two girlfriends. A Tricia Franklin and Lisa Grant." Tony smiled.

"And?" Gibbs, however, was not impressed.

"Lisa was bartending last night from 4pm until midnight. Her boss and about ten drunks are willing to vouch for her." Ziva smirked.

"So bring Tricia in, and take Tony with you."

"On it, Boss." Tony and Ziva headed for the door. "I'm driving."

"No you're not." She shook her head. "I've got the keys."

Gibbs turned back to McGee. "Let's go check on Abby. I bet she's got something for us by now."

----

"How do you do that?" Abby asked as they entered her lab. "I was just getting ready to call you."

"Magic, Abbs. What do you have?"

"Well, I wasn't able to get any DNA from the outside of the condom. But what I did find was spermicide. It was a different spermicide than what was found on the inside of the condom."

"There was a second condom?" McGee was confused. "Why would they use two condoms?"

"Exactly, McGee. The other person was eliminating evidence. This was a murder."

"But not by a succubus."

"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, McGee." Abby grinned.

"Good work, Abbs. Let's go, McGee."

"Go where, Boss?"

"Back to the motel to find that second condom."

-----

An hour later, a confused Tricia Franklin waited idly in the interrogation room as the team looked on.

"Who's running the interrogation?" Ziva asked.

"Tony is." McGee answered just as the door opened and Tony walked in.

"What am I doing here?" Tricia asked, tapping her fingers against the desk.

"Your boyfriend Alex is dead. I'd think you'd be more upset."

Tricia's face fell, and she crossed her arms over her chest. "I didn't know. How did he die?"

Tony sat down in the chair across from her. "In flagrante delicto, but I think you knew that."

Tricia blanched. "He was cheating on me??"

"Oh come on, you knew he was cheating on you, and that's why you killed him." Tony leaned over conspiratorially.

"I didn't do it!" She hit the table.

"Nice acting, but I must say I'm not fully convinced. Can you do it with more feeling?"

"Fuck you.."

"Why, so you can kill me too?" Though the comment was flip, Tony's face was dead serious.

"I didn't kill anyone."

"Really? That's not what our lab tech says. After a more thorough search, we found the second condom. Epithelial cells on that condom matched your DNA. You were there with him, and you killed him."

Tricia's voice changed, growing cold. She looked at Tony with a smirk. "He deserved it. Cheating on me with that skank."

"So why did you leave the other condom behind?"

She shrugged. "I'm done answering questions."

"Don't really need you to answer any more. Tricia Franklin, you're under arrest for the murder of Petty Officer Alexander Thomason."

Macabre (Original - R)

Wed, 31 Oct 2007 01:46:57 GMT

Title: Macabre
By: zekkass
Fandom: Original fic mixed with a dash of A Bit of Fry and Laurie.
Characters: Jack and his pets.
Rated: R for violence.
Prompt: War.
Disclaim: I own nothing, really. But I'd appreciate it if my character were left alone.
Notes: 314 words. Written in my twisted universe where Jack kidnaps and trains/twists people into being his pets. Neddy is in mid-training. Set before the Nano novel I'm going to write. Also rather short, but that's how long it wanted to be.

---

Today, he was playing games. He had arranged for two assassinations, and for each victim to have a valid suicide note next to them. He had written the notes himself, deliberately making the reasons insignificant.

Jack smiled. Occasionally he liked to play like this. These kind of days he whipped his pet for fun, then ordered him to cover the whippings and act as his stool. He propped his feet up, relaxing.

Neddy cringed, but held steady, and Jack chuckled.

He was sure every time he shifted his boot, Neddy hurt.

So he adjusted his position periodically. Just to watch Neddy squirm.

He would receive word of the successful deaths and placement of the notes soon. Then perhaps he would go on a walk through London and check on Morgan.

Morgan would be sure to be elbow-deep in a living corpse, so Jack would be able to observe the cringes of pain as Morgan carefully extracted organs, leaving the woman (or man) alive until the last minute.

Then perhaps he would order Mark to burn down a school, just for the imagined delight of destroying one of those hated institutions. They had served no purpose when he was young, and served no purpose now.

When he ruled the country, he would make them be useful.

Jack returned to the present, sipping his wine and standing. "Neddy, go dress. Do not let the blood be seen. We are going for a walk."

"Y-yes, Jack." Neddy stammered, getting up.

He still required training. Jack had no doubt of that. But it was coming along well. Start with obedience, then begin to change the person. Once they were used to a change, change them again.

Repeat until the desired effects were created.

Jack walked to the door, waited for Neddy, then left the house. He tapped his walking cane on the ground and walked quietly yet quickly.

He had rounds to make, first. There was nothing like a personal visit from their master to ensure loyalty.

Neddy cringed at every visit, but remained upright.

---