1.
For the prompt: Doctor Who, Amy Pond/Clara Oswald, Decorating their house to match the new season.
Clashes in decorating style were the norm for Clara and Amy, and this autumn turned out to be no different. Amy always leaned toward a more rural, country feel: roses made out of dried leaves, gourds, burlap-wrapped jars, leaves over the chalkboard on the pantry, and late-season sunflowers tied with soft cornflower blue ribbons, that sort of thing.
Clara always leaned more toward contemporary touches: place mats of black and white stripes to accent the orange pumpkins, stark black,white and gold typography, paper-quilled leaves in unnaturally dark colors instead of real ones, long tapered candles, tall faux-iron lanterns with dusky gold painted pumpkins glistening at their bases, a sparse sunburst wreath made entirely of bare twigs.
One thing they agreed on, as they rearranged, play-argued and melded their styles, is there would be absolutely, always, be a painted mini-pumpkin and a place at the table for the Raggedy Man.
2.
For the prompt: Any, any, wings
He would never have said it, not under any sort of duress, torture or pleasure, but he had been jealous since he had known Castiel. Jealous of the belonging that he had found with the Winchesters? No. Jealous of the purpose that seemed to drive Castiel to help them help others? No.
It was his wings.
Crowley was jealous of his wings. They were, in the literal, original sense of the word, awesome. Inspiring. The shadow that Castiel occasionally let show for effect was nothing. Crowley could see them constantly, see how truly impressive they were. The length and sinewy power required to hoist a body, even the light vessel Castiel currently held, was impressive. He always kept them wound tightly behind his back when they should have stretched the length of a field and halfway up a skyscraper.
Thoughts of wing beats, of windswept power, of the open skies and realms under them, what he could have done with wings like that, haunt him nightly.
3.
She slept so little,now. Her nights were spent chewing on her lip or turning under furs and blankets that were too cold, or too warm. So much weighed on her mind, he knew. Sieges and thrones, more brothers dead than not, her newfound cousin and his reluctant battle charges.
He liked to sit at her bedside on nights like these, nights when the walls between the realms where thinnest, where he could watch her. Even in sleep her hair glowed, in the brightest moonlight it stayed fiery red instead of being bleached by the moonlight, refusing to change what she was for anyone. A lesson he had to learn as well, had finally taken to heart. Acceptance of who he was had become his shield, as it was becoming her shield and her strength.
"Soon, my fire. I'll be with you." he promised. In her sleep, Sansa breathed deep and when she woke, she'd swear someone was there but there was only a scent lingering in the air; cool and icy like Winterfell as she used to remember it, but with a strange note, like blood, but sweet.
4.
For the prompt:Any, Any, a deep, autumnal tone, sweet though in sadness*filled with Doctor Who, Twelve+Rory Williams/Amelia Pond
After New York, and after the Ponds, he would always get a little misty at the sight of Earth leaves bursting into their translucent russets and strange,almost clear golds. The temperature and pressure changes, the "bite" as the humans liked to call it, lead him back to Central Park more often than not, to sit on a an autumn sun-warmed rock and remember the last time the Ponds and he had laughed.
Years later, even when his head was nearly white but he was still the same lanky man who was far too adept at running, squeezing his body into spaces it shouldn't get into, he still came when autumn called. Now he knew no one would recognize him.
They had trains into New York,and even the short ride almost did his temper in, but the walk to Central Park assuaged that.
And if, on some days, he saw a softly handsome blond man holding coffee for an exquisite redhead and hot chocolate for their adopted son, well, when they passed they would only see another gently aging gentleman carving time under the leaves, sad about something in that way so many older men seemed to be, the kind of sad that smiles at you when you pass, somehow joyful and sorrowful in the crisping air.
5.
For the prompt:Any, any, I died so I could haunt you"*filled with bbc Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes/Jim Moriarty
He was dead. Dead. There had been a body, there was an unmarked grave.
("More than he deserved" John had said. Molly had agreed. Sherlock had been silent on the subject.)
He saw the body go into the ground. It, the grand Game, was over.
So why didn't it feel over? Why did his skin itch whenever he passed by St. Bart's? Why was he even more restless then ever? Shooting Magnussen had hardly even jolted his adrenaline. The drugs didn't help either, they only made it easier to believe in ghosts, to coerce his rational mind into coming up with scenarios where James Moriarty faked not only his death, but his own burial as well, and then one day there would be a text with a stupid emoji and the words "wanna play?"
Somewhere, he knew, Jim Moriarty was grinning grimly at the disheveled detective, only now he was truly ghost that he always tried to be. And he still taunted-and haunted-Sherlock Holmes.
6.
For the prompt:Any, Any, puberty comes with unexpected magical abilities*filled with Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom
It was an unsaid (and yet loudly whispered) fact that magical puberty could run the gamut from comical to devastating to merely annoying. It followed Neville Longbottom's luck that he seemed bound to have all three: a stutter, limbs that sometimes controlled themselves, a blush that sometimes actually burned, and, atop that, what would probably be a useless talent.
Still, he mused, perhaps there was something to be said for it. He touched a gigantic plant, heavy flowerheads the dull purple of a spent bruise, and murmured quiet words, the flowerheads brightening to scarlet and perking up in the early evening light.
7.
For the prompt:Star Trek (AOS), Jaylah + Montgomery Scott, Jayla introduces Scotty to her favourite foods
Scotty swallowed hard and tried not to let his apprehension show. The dish she placed before him had an unfamiliar texture and an odor that he was hard-pressed to describe without using terms like "something that would come out of the Enterprise's engines."
Her face would seem composed to anyone not very familiar with her, but Scotty knew that slight, too-wide set of her eyes signaled interest and expectation, investment into what she was doing, hope for a reaction.
Man up, he heard his grandmother's voice in his head as he lifted the spoon. The first bite was strangely textured, but rich with savory flavors.
"Oh this actually good!" he let out before he could help himself.
She missed the implication. "Yes, Montgomery Scotty, I told you it would be."
8.
For the prompt:Star Trek AOS, Pavel Chekov, Collapsing from exhaustion
He wasn't going to do it, not in front of the officers, not in front of the pretty ensign he'd been talking to yesterday, not in front of the Captain that he pretended he didn't idolize.
He straightened his spine when a crew mate passed him in the corridor, let it slump against the wall after the lift doors whooshed closed.
Thankfully, when he collapsed, it was only Bones that saw, Bones that wrapped his arm around the boy's shoulders, Bones that laid him in the Russian's own bunk instead of Medbay, and Bones that then went to give the Captain some choice words about not giving limits to overeager hands.
9.
For the prompt:Star Wars, dark!Luke Skywalker, what makes a monster
Master Yoda had foreseen it. He'd told the boy not to go to Bespin, because there would be truths that the boy couldn't handle. At the news, the threat of what his father was, Luke Skywalker felt his brain shut down. Completely rebelling at that notion that such evil could reside in him too, he went on to do everything he could do destroy that evil before it could spread to him like the inky stain he knew it to be.
Palpatine,too, had foreseen this. He pushed his former apprentice to darker deeds, and that in turn pushed Luke. When the battle came to the Second Death Star, a hand was cut off a man who did not see signs. He saw Death staring him in the face, and he struck Death down.
He did not understand that in doing so he had set a foot on the path to becoming Death.
10.
For the prompt:MCU, Victor "Sabretooth" Creed, on the prowl
Books and movies liked to characterize night as whispering, and maybe to other people it did, but to him it called clearly. Victor kept to shadows,befitting any creature of his temperament, but by no means did have have to. He could pass unseen by the public had he wished, so long as he remembered to retract his claws. Had he chosen, the public would merely see a man (if a discerningly large one) who moved with a strange wild grace, but then they would see the close cropped hair, perhaps assume him a former member of whatever military or guerrilla group they feared, and keep their heads down.
He'd be lying if he said he didn't play with that assumption sometimes. It helped with the hunting. Those who turned away too quickly, dropped their eyes from him or nearly anyone on the street were too easy. He liked his pray to have a little bite, even if it was only a good fight he wanted. A bloody brawl, now that sounded like the ticket for tonight.
Hands in his overcoat, he cut no less a threatening figure, not bothering to weave in and out of foot traffic,because people moved out of his way, usually further than they had to. But some didn't.
They stood out as he scanned approaching passerby-because they were usually doing the same thing, albeit more subtly than he was. He had no reason to keep it secret. Some people were looking at others, and didn't run into anything. Good senses, training, a walk that kept weight evenly shifted, ready to run or take a defensive stance.
Best way to start a fight was to pull the hero trigger. He found a mark, then found a blond staring into her smartphone, not paying attention. He pressed up behind her too close, brushed aside the elbow she tried to throw and wrapped a massive arm around her.
The man came like a shot, neither young nor old, but the chop he aimed towards Victor's neck spoke of training.
Victor's grin grew wild as he ducked it, threw the girl into a nearby brick wall, her smartphone clattering to the hard ground, cover shattering.
Oh, he loved the sound of things breaking.
This would be a good night.
11.
For the prompt:The Dresden Files, Harry Dresden/Karrin Murphy (+Mouse), Hot chocolate and a roaring fire( and the smell of wet dog everywhere)
"We had said we were going to do this last month, then the month before.," Karrin reminded him, sitting down carefully. They were in her apartment, because Harry still hadn't settled into a place after his had gotten..well...unusable. The heat from a roaring, albeit smallish, fire was coming at them in soothing waves, and Mouse had been camped in front of it for the last half hour, drying off after dragging Harry (literally) though a snowman.
"It's always winter in Chicago" Harry said, sloshing his overfull cup of chocolate on his hand as he sat down next to her. Mouse's ears perked up, he moved faster than a dog that size should be able to,and a giant paw landing on his knee, making the chocolate slosh even further, drip down Harry's callused hand.
"You did that on purpose!" Harry said to the dog, now happily licking chocolate off his pants.
Mouse looked up at his voice, tilting his head innocently a moment before going back to licking, the smell of drying-but-damp dog wafting up to meet Harry's nose. Harry made an exaggerated face and tried to shove Mouse's head away, but he hardly put any force into it and Mouse came right back. Had it not been Karrin's couch, Harry knew he probably would have jumped up on him for a good lick.
Karrin laughed at them both. "He owns you."
"I resemble that remark!" Harry huffed, leaning back and sipping, then gulping his chocolate, having to drop his jaw and try to exhale the heat over the chocolate that was hotter than he'd thought.
Karrin rolled her eyes affectionately, slung her legs over his. Harry's hand fell on her thigh without thinking, a gesture that still amazed both of them with how easy, and right it was, this sharing of intimate touch for two people that tried so hard for so long not to. Their jobs, their fears, so many things had kept them closely bound to the other's lives (in Harry's case, death that one time) but not really together. There had been invisible things between them, but they were now were slowly melting with each affectionate touch.
He wouldn't have it any other way.
Surprisingly, neither would she.
12.
For the prompt:MCU, Steve Rogers/Darcy Lewis, he discovers adult coloring books
The first one had been a joke, a gag Christmas gift from Clint.
The second one she'd bought on a lark, because any excuse to have more unicorns in the house.
When Steve brought three home from the bookstore, she shook her head and bought him a 64 count box of Crayolas. "With the sharpener, because you got hand me down crayons when you were a kid, right? Did they ration crayons back then,too?" He stopped the age jokes by capturing her lips in a tender kiss that she eagerly consented to, hands on his broad chest.
He'd bought the one with the impossibly tiny, intricate whirls and mandalas to tease her, because she hated staying in lines with pretty much everything she did. He loved her for it, but it wouldn't stop him from teasing her. A pack of super chunky crayons completed the tease.
She retaliated by buying the Avengers one, and coloring all his pages in pink and yellow, complete with glitter.
He laughed and pulled her into a warm embrace that shifted easily into a kiss that tasted of hot chocolate.
"I love how you make me laugh." he said, tracing her jaw & cheek tenderly. "I need that so, so much in my life."
Darcy felt tears in her throat. That he could openly say such things was something she adored about him. People expected him to be old-fashionedly stuffy about things, and perhaps in public he was, but never with her in their home. She stayed a moment in his arms, soaking up the warmth and the particular joy that comes with someone wanting you so close for a moment before pulling back with a Darcy smile.
"Sentimental old man."
"Yeah," and the smile he gave her was so content it could have blinded small children, "but I'm your old man."
13.
His first mistake was calling Wanda "sweetheart" when she interceded for Darcy, who was ignoring Badly Tailored Suit Man With Soul Patch and focusing on her music as the ladies walked down the street.
His second mistake had been brushing Wanda's hand off like she was an unimportant insect.
His last mistake was grabbing Darcy's arm tightly,brushing her chest deliberately.
He found himself very acquainted with a wall shortly. Face-to-face with it, in fact. Wanda told him to learn some manners,and to be thankful she wasn't the woman she used to be, or he would be in much much more pain. He ran off after that, calling her a few choice words under his breath.
"I'm impressed," Darcy said later, "I would have sent him flying clear to Asgard with your powers."
Wanda grinned and waved it off, politely declining how very hard it had been not to do that very thing.
14.
For the prompt:DCU, Batman/Harley Quinn + Catwoman,
Sorry girl but you missed out
Well tough luck that boy's mine now
The sight of them tended to shock everyone when they first saw it.
Her former flame, the most psychotic one, had stared for a full two minutes, then laughed so hard he cried before throwing a poison bouquet at them, which earned him a punch and a chase from her hyenas.
The Commissioner pretended he didn't see any of it.
Dick kept his thoughts to himself, and under his sheets.
Selena wasn't sure what she felt, the first time she spotted them on a darkened fire escape. Harley wasn't hard to miss - white face paint and bright red showed up even in the noir Gotham light. She had her legs wrapped around his utility belt, mallet laying by the fire escape, within reach of them both. Selena's shock lasted a full minute before something seeped into her chest, something she'd later recognize as the bitter tang of regret, tinged with jealousy's heat.
She gripped the ledge of the building across from the building where the couple were intertwined, carelessly knocking loose bits of cement from the crumbling ledge, which fell down the building.
Both of them heard it, looked over immediately, Harley breaking into a cheerily evil grin as she took in the silhouette. She couldn't help but call out after the tail even now retreating from sight:
"Sorry sister, you snooze you loose! and I sure ain't lettin' this one snooze-if you get my meaning!"
Selena groaned. Those were mental images she really didn't need. . .