for [personal profile] jadelennox, Vampire Diaries, “made out of clay.”

She could almost hear Grams’ disapproving voice, telling her this was too dangerous. Of course, she couldn’t really hear Grams, because the spirits had taken her away as punishment. Which was why Bonnie was doing what she was doing.

There’s other magic, the professor had told her. As helpful as he was, she couldn’t deny that her friends had raised some legitimate concerns about him.

Plus, there was no reason ‘there’s other magic’ should stop with him.

In fact, as soon as she’d really thought about it, she’d known that she could do better. The magic she’d learned was syncretic in its way, but fundamentally based on a North European system, with occasional borrowings from coastal Africa by way of slavery.

There’s other magic.

Bonnie finished shaping the last finger. Her clay man was far from perfect, with only dents for eyes and one arm noticeably larger than the other. The texts suggested that it wouldn’t matter. She didn’t need to be a sculptor to make this work.

Carefully, she took the scroll and pressed it into the clay forehead, calling her magic as she did so. It didn’t feel like shaping the clay had; it felt like pushing through flesh.

She said the words—not quite what was written down, but for those who knew, there were clues enough—and felt the snap of power, linking her to her creation.

The golem shuddered, and the clay shifted, becoming flesh.

It was still lying on the floor: a beautiful boy taking a nap.

She held her breath.

Its eyes opened.

“Mistress,” it said. “What would you like me to do?”

“There’s a vampire. His name is Klaus. Find him, and bring him. Try not to hurt anyone else.”

It sat up. Its movements were smooth, just a bit better than human. Like a vampire or a werewolf: indistinguishable unless you knew already what you were looking at.

“Yes,” it said.

There’s other magic, she thought. And Klaus was about to learn all about it.

... and for [personal profile] wendelah1: Fringe/X-Files cross-over fic! Maybe Scully is asked to consult on a case. Mulder can come, too.

“You have very precise hands, Dr. Scully,” Walter said. “The delicacy of your incisions is very appealing.”

Peter caught Mulder’s death glare. “He’s not hitting on her,” Peter explained. “He’s really just creepy that way.”

Mulder—Peter still wasn’t sure if he was actually an agent, but he definitely behaved more like a Mulder than an Agent Mulder—didn’t look completely convinced. Peter didn’t blame him. If he’d seen Walter grinning and covered in viscera without knowing him, he’d be nervous too.

“This man seems to have been eaten from the inside out,” Dr. Scully said. “But there are no apparent points of exit, much less entry. It’s as if the beetles popped into existence, chewed him up, then disappeared.”

“Could they have left by … existing orifices?” Peter asked.

As it turned out, Dr. Scully’s death glare was substantially frostier than Mulder’s. “Given the size and number of the bite marks, there should be noticeable tearing or at least bruising even had the beetles come through the throat. There’s simply no evidence that occurred.”

“Hey,” Olivia said, entering the room (and, Peter was never going to say, filling it up with her presence, making it brighter—yeah, he was pretty far gone, but it had been true even back when he’d resented her for bringing him here). “Walter, Dr. Scully—any progress?”

“What am I, chopped liver?” Peter asked, but she just shot him one of her small smiles.

“Peter, we have a new lead. I’d like you to go with Agent Mulder to check it out.”

He’d read enough of Mulder’s files to know that ‘go with’ probably meant something very similar to what it did when he ‘went with’ Walter on some investigation. Ride herd, talk nice to the locals, and otherwise try to prevent his charming personality from affecting any outcomes. “Sure,” he said, meaning ‘you owe me.’ From the twitch in her eyes, she got it—and agreed.

He supposed it could have been worse. As he left, Astrid was helping Dr. Scully remove something that Walter was calling a ‘transdimensional egg casing’ from the body. She’d have traded places with him in a hot second.

“So,” Mulder said as they headed out, “what have you heard about the old X designation?”

... and for anonymous: Captured by the Game verse!! Please for all that is holy with a cherry on top could you add another part??? Note: Okay, I’ve kicked around various alternate paths for them; this is a continuation of this earlier bit.

Sam didn’t need silver or holy water to detect demons, not any more. But Dean insisted, and when had he ever been able to deny Dean anything? He wanted to lick away the blood from the cut on Dean’s arm; he wanted to swallow Dean whole.

Dean didn’t even let him hold the hug for more than a minute.

“What happened?” Sam asked. “How did you get out?”

“I don’t know,” Dean answered.

Sam had grown up with lies. From anyone else, he would’ve immediately called bullshit. But Dean—

“What do you remember?” he asked.

Dean turned away, like not touching Sam wasn’t enough. “It was bad,” he said, almost too low to hear. “I don’t—I can’t—whatever you think you are, whatever you think you did, it’s nothing. I did things—” He stopped.

Sam wanted to crack him open, drain it all out, but he couldn’t risk damaging Dean any further.
“It’s okay,” he said. They had time, now.

Of course, when Sam explained what he’d been doing during Dean’s unfortunate absence, Dean got upset anyway.

“Demon blood! Fucking demon blood?”

“I was desperate! I wasn’t going to leave you there!”

Dean rolled his eyes, which wasn’t an answer. The matter was still unresolved when Bobby Singer called with information on how to summon this entity that was apparently following Dean around. They found an abandoned warehouse nearby and got to work.

As it happened, the entity claimed to be an angel, and didn’t respond to Sam’s handy-dandy demon-killing knife except to call Sam an abomination and push him back against the wall with a gesture (which wasn’t demonic at all except for exactly replicating demonic powers). Then it knocked Bobby out with an even more casual flick of its wrist. Given how well the conversation started, Sam wasn’t exactly surprised that the thing—Castiel—started in on how he could send Dean back to Hell.

Threatening Dean had a price tag.

Sam raised his hand, gathering his power—the knife hadn’t worked, but that was a specific set of runes, and his other methods had more flexibility—and Castiel turned away from Dean, his own hand rising.

“Stop!” Dean yelled. “Enough with the fucking pimp hands!”

They both stared at him.

“That’s better,” Dean said. “Look, this is a clusterfuck, but you brought me back for a reason.”

“Yes,” Castiel said, and stopped. Sam really, really wanted to hit it—oh, fuck it, him; male body, male pronoun.

“So what was it?” Dean prompted.

“To control your brother.”

Dean blinked a couple of times. “Not that it’s not awesome to be out, but did you consider asking him to do whatever the fuck it is you want done?”

“He treats with the minions of Hell,” Castiel said, like Dean was slow. And of course Dean had a completely mistaken idea of what Castiel meant by ‘treats’ and shot him a betrayed look; Sam shook his head, denying the misinterpretation even though he’d already admitted to the demon blood. “And he was preparing to open its gates.”

“I was going to get you,” Sam said. That was the worst part: He’d been preempted. He had a right to feel jealous. “I was going in today.”


Hold on. “So, wait, you could’ve gotten him any time?” Sam demanded, over Dean’s own questions about just how wide Sam had been planning to open that door.

“Stop!” Castiel ordered, and maybe he was an angel and maybe he wasn’t, but he sure could shut down a room. Even Bobby’s reawakening groans tapered off. “Your purpose remains. Await further instructions, and keep your brother from his folly.”

And he was gone, blinked out of existence less like a ghost than a transmission from a foreign galaxy.

“Well, fuck,” Dean said, picking up the demon-killing knife and examining its untouchedness.

Sam thought that was a pretty good summary.

Bobby sat up, rubbing his head. “What in tarnation—and what did he mean, your brother?”

Dean and Sam looked at each other. For all his petty crimes and impersonations, Dean didn’t have a poker face that lasted outside a poker game. “Maybe it’s an angel thing,” Sam suggested, trying to draw Bobby’s focus. “All you humans look alike, brotherhood of man, whatever. Anyway, something big is going on. You think any of your books can tell us about angels?”

Bobby held out a hand, and Dean helped him up. “Let’s get reading,” Bobby said with resignation.

Sam knew better than to trust anything powerful, especially if it was giving orders. He needed to protect Dean from Castiel as well as from Lilith. He might be playing for Team Human right now, but Azazel’s lessons hadn’t been forgotten.

Come to think of it, he was pretty sure he remembered something about Enochian.

“And I thought demons were the worst trouble Winchesters could bring down,” Bobby said, limping towards the exit.

Sam didn’t say anything, out of deference to Dean, but he couldn’t help thinking: Bobby, you ain’t seen nothing yet.

... and for [personal profile] lilyoftheval5: Dark Angel - Max/Alec - In a near future Transgenics had the chance and the time to start developing their own society, social structures that feel natural to them. There are Heats. There are hierarchies. There are children.

“Evopsych bullshit,” Max muttered, making sure the sound of her boots echoed loudly enough to be heard inside the meeting room even as she stalked down the hall. “Evidence from highly stressed environments says nothing about behavior in the environment of evolutionary adaptation!”

Alec materialized, the way he so annoyingly did. “You do realize we’re in a highly stressed environment. Also, playing fast and loose with ‘evolution’ when it comes to us. What wasn’t designed in was accidental, but it sure ain’t adaptation. My working theory is that the heat’s designed to make us better sex toys for the folks who made us.”

Max didn’t even want to think about that. Or about how many more years Alec had spent at Manticore, following orders to be with breeding partners (or, yeah, likely orders to make nice with some high-ranking politicians too, the ones who swung in the direction of pretty and annoying). Alec was going to have to deal with his trauma on his own time, like everyone else, because whatever she was designed to be, ‘therapist’ was not part of it.

“If we convince ourselves that we don’t have any choice in what we do, how can we say we deserve to be free?”

“Humans talk about PMS and testosterone all the time. It doesn’t mean there’s no free will. You’re just annoyed that the dogs are starting their own pack.”

Max frowned. She wasn’t thrilled about the pack, yes—it seemed like a dangerous thing to have an exclusive group within the transgenics, defined by racial characteristics—but when she talked about it she couldn’t help worrying that it was the cat in her that had its hackles raised.

Stomp on that. There was no cat in her. There was just her.

“If they start talking about how only pack members should teach the pups, I’m gonna break some heads.”

“I know,” Alec assured her. “And that’s totally not about dominance behavior, just a reasoned application of political theory to a small and insular community.”

She stopped in her tracks and sneered, folding her arms as she stared up at him. “So you’re okay with these true believers? How are they any different than the breeding cult?”

Alec hesitated, as if he was thinking for once before answering. “They showed up at the meeting; they’re still listening to everyone else. They’re still listening to you. But people have to make their own mistakes, too.”

Max harrumphed at that. Maybe she was a control freak, but she came by that as honestly as anything else she had.

“Hey, speaking of heat …” Alec said hopefully, waggling his eyebrows in a way that was so not a turn-on.

She gave him the side-eye. “Really? That’s your line?”

Alec shrugged, unembarrassed. “You know there’s a calendar now. If you don’t put your schedule on, somebody else will.”

“That somebody better not be named Alec,” she warned, and he raised his hands in faux surrender.

“I’m just saying. I’m due in the next week or so. I wanted to warn you, I may be out of pocket. And out of my other clothes.”

He was edging closer with each word. “And out of bounds!” she snapped, stepping back even though that gave him a moral victory. “Do you even go into heat?”

Alec smirked at her. “Stick around and find out.”

“Ugh,” she said, turning to leave.

“That’s not how you said it last time!” he called out.

Even without true heat, she still felt the flush. She was vocal, okay? And he was convenient. That was a lie. He was handy, though, in every sense of the word, no matter how inconvenient that turned out to be later on.

Might be interesting to see if he was telling the truth. The thought of Alec, incoherent and panting for it seriously, not just out of reflex, had an appeal. She’d ridden him like her own motorbike last time; he’d let himself be thrown around just how she wanted him. If he tried the reverse on her, she’d punch his lights out—but maybe his heat would be different.

She looked back over her shoulder. He was watching her with an expression that raised her heartrate further.

“You know where to find me,” she said.

“Oh, Maxie,” he said delightedly, and she was already regretting the sex that hadn’t happened, even though it was still going to happen, “you know I do.”

And if she swayed her hips a little extra on her way out, that was only to show him exactly why he ought to behave himself.
ceares: cookie all grown up (Default)

From: [personal profile] ceares

And okay, I'm just saying--you should be writing for Bonnie. I love your Bonnie!

And more Captured by the Game is always welcome.
wendelah1: (Default)

From: [personal profile] wendelah1

Oh Mulder, even if Walter was hitting on Scully, it's not like she'd be interested. Get a clue!

He’d read enough of Mulder’s files to know that ‘go with’ probably meant something very similar to what it did when he ‘went with’ Walter on some investigation. Ride herd, talk nice to the locals, and otherwise try to prevent his charming personality from affecting any outcomes. “Sure,” he said, meaning ‘you owe me.’ From the twitch in her eyes, she got it—and agreed.

Ha ha. Peter is the perfect pov character for this story.

The transdimensional egg casings sound like classic Fringe science. I'm certain Astrid would rather be "riding herd" on Mulder. I know I would.

Mulder's last line is a classic, too. I remember there was an episode where "the old X designation" was referenced at a budget meeting or something?

Thank you!
bonspiel: (Default)

From: [personal profile] bonspiel

I enjoyed the DA one; thanks! (OK, that sounds weird - I didn't not enjoy the others, I just didn't read them. Ahem.)
runpunkrun: fox mulder looking through a fishtank, text: runpunkrun (they say goldfish have no memory)

From: [personal profile] runpunkrun

For some reason, Peter's attitude towards Mulder just pleases me to no end.
alexseanchai: Blue and purple lightning (Default)

From: [personal profile] alexseanchai

I thought the angels' game was getting Dean to trust them and not Sam, and Sam to trust neither them nor Dean. How does that compute with yanking Dean out hours before Sam would have? They could at least have sent Castiel in a couple days earlier and told him that when he was asked about the timing he was to say he'd moved as quickly as he could.
arliss: (Alec & Joshua)

From: [personal profile] arliss

Read them all. Loved them all. Especially the X-Fringe. No, the Bonnie. And the Sam.

Okay, Max/Alec's my favorite, okay?
leyna: The White Wich of Narnia Art nouveau style (Default)

From: [personal profile] leyna

I love Max and Alec's snarky barbed flirting, plus the thought of Alec in heat is delicious.

Walter being creepy around Scully and Peter on Mulder-wrangling duty is so much fun :)
jadelennox: Waelwulf is the beloved of Moradin (Playmobil figurine) (religion: waelwulf)

From: [personal profile] jadelennox

Oh, I like this. I dislike golem stories when they seem to lose all that context, but I love it when you have the context, as you do here. There is other magic, and it's there to protectyour town and your people and the ones you love.

(And I can't help thinking about blood libels in the context of golems, which is so fitting for vampire stories in general and this one in particular, just because everyone is always trying to frame everyone else for vampiric attacks.)
tehomet: (Default)

From: [personal profile] tehomet

Enjoyed all of these.

Peter caught Mulder’s death glare. “He’s not hitting on her,” Peter explained. “He’s really just creepy that way.”

LOL! Funny because it's true. The way Peter interacts with Olivia in this one is just cake.

I enjoyed Dean's summary and the 'pimp hands' line, and all the psychological issues in the DA one.

Thank you.


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