Doctor Who

Prompts 5 + 6

Prompt 5: Torchwood: The 21st century was when it all changed.  Torchwood wasn't ready.

Prompt 6: Star Trek lX:  His mother, he thought, would have very much approved of this man; this man, who tore emotions from a Vulcan just as he did victories from no-win scenarios.
Doctor Who

Prompts 3 & 4

Oops, missed posting on February 8th. 

Prompt 3: Torchwood:

It was one of the most devastating things Jack had ever seen: beautiful, bright, glorious “Jones, Ianto Jones,” his face a mask of snot and soot and tears, on his knees in defeat, not knowing which dead thing to mourn over: lover’s once-body, or lover’s once-brain.

Prompt 4: Supernatural:

            But before he hit the ground, a hand that held more strength than it ought gripped him tightly and raised him, an eerie mirror to his rise from perdition.

 

Doctor Who

A Prompt A Day Keeps The Boredom Away

   Okay, so here's the deal.  I'm bored out of my mind; classes are simply not enough to keep my occupied, and I appear to have run out of engaging books to read.  Therefore, a solution:  Every day, I will pose a prompt and the fandom it's for.  Hopefully these prompts will be taken up by you folks, and I'll be blown away by your awesome responses.  The only rule is that you use the prompt in your story.  No word restriction.  Thanks, and good luck!

Prompt 1: Star Trek (Either Original Series or IX):  Jim's expression was simultaneously angry and anguished, and he, Spock of Vulcan, wanted to wipe it smooth and replace it with the golden captain's sunshine smile.

Doctor Who

A Month to Mourn

                A month.  One.

                “You’re suspended for a month,” HE’d said.  “Then I expect you back and ready to work.”

                He’d been allotted a month to mourn the only woman he’d ever loved.  Just one.

                One month – 30 days – 720 hours – 43,200 minutes – 2,592,000 seconds.

Breath.

(That’s one less second.)

                One month.

                Ianto disagrees with HIS estimation of the length of time it will take him to grieve.  A month?

                He doesn’t think he’ll need nearly that long.

                In the darkest, guiltiest corner of his soul, that’s what “Jones, Ianto Jones” is afraid of.

                He’d been wrong, earlier.  Jack wasn’t the biggest monster of them all, in the end.

                That title belonged to whatever was left of Ianto.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          

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Doctor Who

Writer's Block: Good Morning Heartache

What is something you worry about everyday? How long has it been plaguing you? Do you think you'll ever overcome it?

             I worry about where I'll end up in the future, especially since I'm now in college and instead of answers, there only seem to be more questions.  This is something that's been on my mind since elementary school, when my only clear goal was to be the first in my family to get into college, and now that I've reached that single goal, I feel cut off from both the world of adults and the world of kids, like I'm floating aimlessly.  I'm not sure if this is something I'll be able to overcome; it depends on how much I enjoy whatever job I find myself in after college.
Doctor Who

Jim/Spock Slash Snippet

Spock gently folded Jim’s fingers toward his palm until only his index and middle finger were left extended. Hesitantly, he brought his own two fingers to Jim’s, pressing them together lightly and pausing in that position.

            “This is how Vulcans kiss,” he explained, his voice low, and Jim marveled at the shyness in the other’s very human eyes.

            Jim smiled lopsidedly. “My turn,” he said, and crushed their lips together.

 

***********************************************************************

            Jim’s lips were chapped. This was the only thing Spock’s mind was able to compute before it froze in shocked pleasure.

            It had been…engaging when he and Nyota had participated in similar activities to this one, perhaps even enjoyable. But it had not been anything like this.

            Jim’s lips were chapped – dry and cool, like the Terran beaches he knew the man was so fond of – and tasted of coffee and some form of alcohol. Despite this – or maybe because of it – Spock was sure he could now comprehend the strong desire humans had to exchange saliva. It didn’t quite hold the incredible intensity of a mind meld, but it held something; or at least, it did with Jim.

            Finally, they pulled apart, both gasping for breath.

            “Fascinating,” Spock couldn’t help but murmur. Immediately, he looked to Jim with an apology on his lips, illogical though apologies may have been. Nyota had always been frustrated by his automatic scientific categorization and study of their interactions. But before he could say anything, Jim laughed in delight and drew him in for another human kiss. Almost as soon as their mouths met, Spock felt two fingers slide against his in a decidedly Vulcan romantic gesture.

            Oh. Oh. All of a sudden, this seemed much more logical.
Doctor Who

Bail, A Jim Kirk Character Study


A/N: Not anywhere near finished yet, but let me know what you think so far!


The first time someone bailed out on Jim Kirk, he didn’t even know it was happening. He knew only that suddenly the world was bright and loud and cold, and he didn’t like it, and he was tired so he was going to sleep now. It wasn’t until years later, when he saw that other children usually had two parents, that he realized his father was missing. And it wasn’t until then that he blamed the man for it; until he concluded that his dad had given up on him before he’d even taken his first breath of shuttle-stale air.

He was only four when his mother returned to duty, but he knew the moment she’d put on the uniform – all blues and blacks and sharp angles – that it meant Starfleet. He didn’t realize it also meant months-long absences and a new stepfather who had enough hatred to beat the snot out of him for no reason but his bleed-me-blue-George-Kirk eyes. After a year of no mother outside vid comms in which she was distant and the conversations awkward and stilted, he thought maybe he was better off without parents anyway, since they just kept leaving.

He began to think it was something he was doing wrong when Sam ran away. He wasn’t smart enough, wasn’t good enough, wasn’t enough; he caused too much trouble to be worth hanging around. Because it couldn’t be a coincidence that all these people who mattered so much to him just up and disappeared from his life with the express intent of leaving him behind. His brother was the best person he knew, and wouldn’t hurt another good person without just cause, which only led him to one conclusion: he was not a good person, no matter how hard he had tried to be. Frank, his stepfather, had been saying it for years, and the kids at school were distant and scornful, but he couldn’t believe it was him until his wonderful, brave, amazing brother left without so much as a hastily scribbled goodbye.

The only logical thing for him to do, it seemed to him, was to leave now, before anyone else could leave him first. A ride into the ravine in his dad’s antique apple-red corvette later, he was sent on a shuttle to Tarsus IV – faster paced schooling, his mother said, more suited to his intellect; he wouldn’t get bored enough and he wouldn’t have the time to cause trouble.

Well she was right. He never did get bored on Tarsus. Mostly because he was too busy trying not to die.

It was something of a nasty surprise when Starfleet showed up months too late and he was the only one left out of all the kids who had been attending the special school there. And yet again, he thinks, Good-For-Nothing Jimmy Kirk pulls through when he shouldn’t have.

The least surprising thing about his homecoming from the Starfleet hospital in San Francisco is that his mother is not there. The most surprising thing is that Frank isn’t there either. Figures, he thinks. It figures.

So he drops out of school because it just doesn’t pay to care anymore, and gets an under-the-table job at the local bar, where the customers look at him like he’s a piece of dirt on the bottom of a horseshoe. He has his first drink there, and it is there that he learns that he is an undeniably happy drunk. So he stays drunk a lot of the time, and people like him more than they ever did, because he is boisterous and funny and gives them something to define “Pathetic” with. And if he sometimes stares up at the stars and wonders how much his father would hate him by now, and wonders if his mother and Sammy are still alive – because he still loves them, even if the one-sidedness of it all hurts, damn it – and spits, pretending it is on the grave that he hopes Frank is under…well, nobody’s looking, so it hardly counts. And if he leaves the girls’ beds a little faster than most, well…they would’ve disappeared anyway, and he might as well save them some time. So he drinks, striving to be the nothing that people apparently see in him.

So when Captain Christopher Pike of Starfleet walks into the bar one late night, stares into his George-Kirk eyes without flinching, and tells him that he is something, and can be something even better, it is a Big Deal.

…And he never has been able to ignore a dare.

Leonard McCoy is a cantankerous old bastard of a doctor with a horrible bedside manner, and Jim loves it. When someone’s first words to you are, “I may throw up on you,” you know that they are honest to a fault, and Jim likes honest people, because they tell him how they really feel instead of pretending to like him and then leaving. So he sticks around. He hacks into the campus database and makes them roommates, in fact. And Mr. “All-I’ve-Got-Left-Is-My-Bones” doesn’t seem to care all that much, so it stays that way.

His classes are easy, and he breezes through them without ever opening a book, and the other cadets hate him for it. But he’s used to being hated, so he keeps his distancing routine of flirting with anything with nice legs and a pretty face and getting smashed on weekends (and sometimes on weekdays) because he is a happy drunk, and it’s nice to see what ‘happy’ feels like. Bones joins him more than half the time, because he despises the world too. They bond over lives that have both said, “Fuck you.”

The first time he takes the Kobiyashi Maru, it reminds him what it feels like to hate. What idiot, he wants to know, has decided to train the bravery out of Starfleet? Who decided it was a good idea to teach people to be defeated? No. No. Learn fear? Accept it? No win situations? No. Not okay. He has long since given up being what people expect of him, so he decides to return life’s middle finger and beat the thrice-be-damned Kobiyashi Maru. He takes it again to make sure he’s got the simulation engraved in his memory, and then he hacks a lot of computers until he finds a chink in the armour that is the Fleet firewall. And he changes the parameters. You must be the change you wish to see in the world. He does not like losing – he has lost enough already. Now it is their turn.

The admiralty, perhaps understandably, isn’t terribly pleased that their test has been hacked, and he is dragged before his gathered classmates and put on trial for his “misconduct”. By the time his accuser reaches the opposing podium, he is not only filled with rage, his entire being is comprised of it, and his electric eyes are spitting sparks, he’s sure of it.

And then his existence stutters…

You, of all people, should know, Cadet. A captain cannot cheat death.”

And Christ, if that doesn’t hit him like a sharp blow to the gut. And meanwhile, the admiralty just sits there, allowing this pointy-eared bastard to pretend that George Kirk’s sacrifice was nothing more than an unfortunate destiny that couldn’t be avoided. Allowing this know-nothing commander to minimize the bravery of his father’s last moments. Oh, hell no.

Cannot cheat death? What, exactly, did this naïve Vulcan jackass know about cheating death, anyway? Little to nothing, Jim is willing to bet; the other end of the spectrum from Jim himself.

He opens his mouth to give the most barbed-wire-sharp retort he can come up with on short notice, but then the distress call from Vulcan comes. And whether or not he despises this particular Vulcan, he knows that he will throw his all into helping the man’s planet. Only he is denied the chance, because life has apparently taken umbrage to being told off, and has retaliated by grounding him now, of all times.

And then, in a whirlwind that he’s not sure he could follow if he tried, Bones is stabbing him in the neck and dragging him aboard the fleet’s brand spanking new flagship, the Enterprise. Which, he knows, is captained by Christopher Pike, one of the few authority figures he actually respects. Then Bones stabs him again, and he’s out for what must be only a few minutes, because his brain is re-jolted into action by that phrase, that goddamn phrase: a lightning storm in space. And he’s in motion, because they are warping blind into an attack, and how has Pike not realized this? Didn’t the man remember his own dissertation?

Posted via LiveJournal app for iPad.

Doctor Who

Those Brothers Winchester

A/N:  So what do you think, guys?  Should I lengthen this into an actual story?



            Bobby Singer’s heart had been closed for a long time – had been airtight since the night his wife died. He had a nasty reputation around town, and he didn’t give a damn about the hunters that borrowed his thoughts for cash every now and again, just as they didn’t care about him. So yeah, his heart was closed…right up until those brothers Winchester invited themselves into his house. The sasquatch had only been a baby then, too impossibly young to remember, and Dean had been a toddler with the same tired eyes as his daddy. It was the look in little Dean’s eyes, he recalled later, that caused him to fold like a house of cards. Little Dean, who’d just lost his momma and daddy in one fell swoop, and with a brother to watch over to boot. Those grey-green veteran eyes in the dirt-smudged cherub face of little Dean Winchester were what opened up Bobby’s heart again.
           If he had known then the trouble he was getting into, he said years later, he would have left well enough alone and shooed the little nomads on their way.    But goddamn, those eyes had caught his and he had choked up at the thought of what his wife would have done if she had been there.

 


Doctor Who

First Post!

        Alrighty, then, here's my first LJ post!  I'll be putting up some of my writing soon, hopefully tomorrow afternoon at the latest.  A large amount of it is unfinished, but I'm hoping that if I get some feedback from other writers, it'll help me get my ass in gear.