Shit and Sand

It smelled of shit and sand. Shit, he could understand. Hell, it could have been him for all he knew. He was, as they say, scared shitless. But why sand? He found he really didn't have that much time to ponder the question as it wasn't too long before the Germans realized they were in the trench and started shooting down at them. Hall hadn't been in close combat until now. He had already killed a man, and he had seen his own friends dead or dying, but he hadn't been in a battle. The Germans they had killed the night before hadn't had time to shoot back. The Sargent had taken care of them before they could even realize what was going on. Bang, bang, no more krauts.

( The bullets made this odd hissing noise as they passed by his ear. )

Flood Waters

The year his mother died there was a flash flood, leaving behind dirt, dead cows and a strange deer-like animal that Saul had ever seen before. The water must have been traveling in a long way, she’d said to him as they watched the men shovel stinking mud from the front porch of the saloon, to carry in a creature like that. It had curled horns and a bushy white tail. Doc Andrews called it an antelope, but Saul knew they didn’t have anything like that around here. The land was too dry, too dead for such an animal.

( The Sunday after the flood, Reverend Thomas told the story of Noah and the Ark. )

My dear Watson

"And you've left her room exactly as it was," Holmes asked as he shuffled through a rather large stack of papers, not really attempting to keep them in any order. Lord Bath watched suspiciously. Holmes, at least, was wearing clean clothing. His hair was combed, his hands stained with ink, but scrubbed. Holmes was clean like a cat, but had the hoarding habits of a crow. "You haven't touched anything since she disappeared, when was it-" He straightened suddenly, a small notebook in his hand.

"Yesterday afternoon," Lord Bath said, surprised out of his incredulous examination of the mess by Holmes snapping his fingers.

"And I'm assuming the Yard is on the case as well." He flipped the notebook open and began to scribble. Whether this was sincere or an act was anyone's guess.

"Well...no. I chose not to inform them. This is a rather...sensitive matter I would prefer to keep quiet."

( Holmes smirked, as if expecting this answer, and nodded. )

He's Doing Just Fine

At Lewis' graduation party, his father got drunk and smacked his mother in the kitchen when he thought no one was looking. She hadn't made sure there was enough gin to last the afternoon, or so he claimed. The problem was that he kept spilling the drinks on the rug by accident. Lewis' friends were on the lawn playing badminton and they wanted him to join, but he found he would rather sneak sips of whiskey out of the decanter that sat on the grand piano his mother had played every afternoon, once upon a time.

( He watches Dick dress, and he doesn't think Dick notices. )

Microfic - Blackbird Singing

He would sit. And while he sat, he would let Sirius talk at him. He’d been packed for three days already, clothes neatly folded, books piled on top. McGonagall had given him a Grackle feather quill as a discreet present after they finished their O.W.Ls. You work hard, Remus, she’d said, uncharacteristically gentle, and I just wanted to remind you that many people notice.

The feather was soft as he drew it through his fingers, listening to Sirius’ talk. He didn’t hear many of the actual words, just the tone, the cadence that, after five years, was so familiar. Back and forth, the feather ruffled between his fingers. He would go home and use the quill to write the letters that it would take Sirius weeks to respond to, but he would keep writing them, posting them in the mail in their careful envelopes, with their careful addresses and their careful owls.

The sunlight was shafted across the small, heavily draped room and it caught the blue-black of Sirius’ hair. It wasn’t the first time that Remus had noticed that it matched the Grackle’s feathers, black until the light hit it. More than what it seemed, plain and simple until illuminated.

It wasn’t the first time that Remus wondered if he was anything like that as well.

Captured Ghosts

Marcus wasn't quite sure how he'd gotten here. What had started as a casual recollection of events that felt like a dream to his human mind, had ended with him on his back in the surgery bay, the door locked behind them. The metal of the operating table was cold on his bare back and he could feel the goose bumps rising on his skin. The day had been long, longer in that John had gotten in another fight with Kate, eventually arriving at Marcus' door looking for a fight as much as he was a fuck. But as usual, they'd ended up oddly tender, careful with each other in a way that Marcus had only ever felt with Allison.

But that was all difficult to focus on when he was lying prone under a bright light. Sneaking in here with Connor had been strange, but appropriate for what they were doing. Marcus took a deep breath and closed his eyes. I wanted you then.

( Fuck, you're going to kill me like this, aren't you? )

Cowritten with worlddescending

I'll Get You There

Title: I'll Get You There
Author: dirigo and worlddescending
Character/Pairing: John Connor/Marcus Wright. Includes most characters from TV and movie verse as well as some OCs as well.
Rating: NC-17 eventually
Warnings: Seeing as this is the Terminator 'verse, there is death, bad language and general unpleasantness. And m/m slash. In this part, warning for character death.
Summary: Welcome to the jungle / We take it day by day / If you want it you're gonna bleed / But it's the price you pay
Disclaimer: These characters belong to James Cameron, Josh Friedman and people who are not us. We are also poor. Please don't sue.
Author Notes: This started out as a discussion of PORN. Then came the plot. 30K words later, and we're both awed by the epic. We cherry-picked what we wanted from all over the place here, bringing in movie and TV verse as well as hearts_andminds 'verse.

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4

Family

There was mud on his boots. Godric was sprawled in a chair by the fire, eying it dully and drumming his fingers against the elaborately upholstered arm. Eric was late, which wasn't so unusual, but Godric was hungry. For the past few weeks his appetite hadn't been what it was normally and it had made him irritable. Now that he actually was hungry, it was even worse. He licked pale lips as he rolled to his feet to pace restlessly from one corner of the lavish sitting room to the next. It was raining out and everything was cold and damp. His clothes felt moldy. He wanted to move on, he wanted to leave this stone house with it's glamored owners, tricked into thinking Eric and his young brother were guests of theirs, distant cousins from the South. He was bored. He was always bored, always restless, always snappish and cold. There was blood on the sheets upstairs, but nothing could keep his attention.

( And Eric was late. )

Jealousy

Nix had spent a long while doing an inventory, it would have made him hard any other day but today it made him curious, made him restless. The focus and the obvious, pupil dilating desire were usually aimed at him not at a cellar full of booze. Lew had always had a close personal relationship with alcohol, but until he'd walked into that cellar Dick had never doubted that his own place in the man's life was ranked higher.

( Now he realized he had a rival, and one he didn't know. )

Star Crossed Lovers

Less than an hour later, he returned, looking peeved. His jacket got thrown in the corner and his stick ended up in the fireplace. "Tomorrow. Their ship leaves tomorrow." Holmes flopped himself down in an overstuffed chair. "What am I meant to do until then?"

"I don't know," Watson drawled. "Perhaps you can contemplate the meaning of the universe." He went back to reading his newspaper.

( Holmes sent him a sharp look. )