(So, yeah. I'm Coyote on IRC. And no, I don't write. This is just me pissing about.)
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Firefly -- 500 words -- Tribe of Gay Barbarians
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"You want a war story? Alright. Here's one. We were half dead and dynamite, strung out from days of keeping watch and watching shit all. Glad we were bothering at that point-- If I hadn't turned my head at the shout of 'Incomin'!', my brains would have been splattered out across a tree I'd just finished pissing on, and now, that's just an ignoble way to go.

"So there I was, dick in my hand and about to die with a squad of some of the rattiest fuckin' browncoats you've ever seen, getting shot up by a whole host of meanass purple bellied sons of bitches. And I do mean shot up: We'd been stationed out that way to keep out the way of the real fighting. (Apparently even amongst a rebellion against the established order, your CO won't take kindly to being stranded up a tree with wolves between him and his pants. Not that I'm admitting guilt there.) We were, to put it bluntly, in a bad situation.

"I mean, I've been in worse situations. Like the time I went into a bar frequented by the Tribe of the Gay Barbarians. That will probably forevermore be my standard for horribleness. (Who knew neofascist sex midgets made such great throwing weapons when you set them on fire?) But it was certainly top five material. I was certain I was right dead and skullfucked properly.

"...And, by all rights, I should have been. We were outnumbered ten to one, I found out later that Duncan was too stoned to get the radio working, and through the entirity of the mad scrambling around I did, I never did manage to catch a second and zip my fly up. (In retrospect, probably a good thing-- Knowing my luck I would have caught my junk in my zipper, and it just ain't right for a man to die in utter despair like that.) But, odd as it sounds, the purple bellies just couldn't aim worth a damn. I don't know. Maybe it was my amazin' trouser python flapping in the wind, or maybe it was Katie distracting the enemy with her Awesome Tits, or maybe what Duncan had been smoking out in the woods they'd charged through to get to us was some amazingly potent shit, but for a solid minute, not a single fuckin' shot connected, on our side or theirs.

"Then the damnedest thing happened, and I do not say this lightly.

"Have you ever seen a cow dropped on someone from a hundred feet up? It's a terrible and beautiful sight in and of itself. But a herd of cattle being dropped out of the ass-end of a spinnin' Firefly onto a horde of chargin' purple-bellies? It looked like the prettiest (and messiest) crap I've ever seen. There's nothing to compare, man-- In awe or in confusion, for that matter. Because if the radio hadn't crackled to life at that moment, I'm not sure what I would have done.

"But it did, thank god, and suddenly things made so much more sense. What'd it say, you ask? Simple."

"This is Captain Malcolm Reynolds speaking. Did anybody ask for a Space Cowboy?"
---

(And before I get jumped by a browncoat, I know Reynolds didn't get his Firefly until after the war. What makes you think he'd specifically choose a ship like that, though? I say good memories. )

 

Hope nobody minds if I play along, despite not being able to IRC from this machine. (If it is a problem, I encourage the mods to just delete the post). The following is a Dresden Files cross-over I've not seen done. "The good news is, I saved the universe. The bad news is that I ended up as a living brain in a jar." 575 words of holiday-inspired horribleness.

Happy New Year​

Murphy sauntered into McAnally’s looking tanned and happy. I tried not to think of what she and Kincaid got up to on their latest trip to Maui, though it was hard not to miss the dimpled, cock-eating grin she was wearing. You don’t get that happy just riding long boards, not of the surfing sort anyway.

And here all I did was save the world again.

“Dresden, you look like hell,” she chirped.

“Thanks, Murph. I feel worse. Beer?”

She nodded and I signaled Mac as she took the seat opposite mine.

“Need help with the bad guys?”

“I got ‘em. Vampires again.”

“Red Court?” she asked, snatching a fry from my plate. At least she didn’t try stealing my steak sandwich. We’d have had words then.

I took a long swallow of beer. “Blue.”

“Um, Harry, there is no Blue Court.”

“There is now. Ever see that act in Vegas?”

“The Blue Man Group? You’re kidding, they’re vampires?”

I nodded and shivered involuntarily. “Worse, they’re mimes too. Did you know there’s this whole mime subculture?”

She giggled, which sounded out of place from the tough cop. “Did poor Harry get beat up by mimes?”

“Don’t disrespect the mimes. They’re tougher than they look and they summoned an Outsider, something called a Decepticon: think robot Godzilla, but with a lot more artillery. The Gatekeeper closed the portal while I tried to take it down. Oh, and just for reference, fire spells do pretty much jack against mime-controlled giant robots.”

“How’d you beat it?”

I coughed into my hand. “I might have bent a few rules of magic.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, understand that I was getting beat up pretty badly and I was a little short on allies. The Alphas held off most of the Blue Court while Toot Toot and his posse took down a ghoul--how, I’ll never know. While they were doing this, I, uh, used a big gob of Soulfire to transfer my consciousness into a machine that I knew could handle a bit of magic.”

“I won’t even pretend to understand what you mean. Soulfire?”

“Not important. Anyway, I did the mind meld thing with the Blue Beetle. The Beetle-me and the robot, we went auto-a-auto.”

“And you won?”

I shrugged. “Sort of.”

“What do you mean ‘sort of’? Do I even want to know?”

“I beat the robot if that’s what you’re asking. Hell’s bells, I think the Beetle even runs better now. Great car, nothing can stop the Beetle.”

“So what’s the problem?”


“My actual body might have gotten a tiny bit crushed as collateral damage.”

“Define ‘tiny bit.’”

“Smashed flat?” I said as she gasped. “It was a good thing, too, because there’s a loophole for breaking the laws of magic if you die and come back to life. It’s like a clean slate of sorts.”

“But you died!”

“I got better.” I took another sip of beer. “So the good news is that I saved the universe. The bad news is that I ended up a living brain in a jar. At least until Mab stepped in and repaired my body, though I owe her another favor now.”

“Oh?” she asked.

“Oh is right. Let’s just say that the thermal underwear you got me for Christmas? Best. Gift. Ever. Anyway, happy new year.”

We clinked bottles. “Happy new year to you too, Dresden.”

 

Good stuff by all so far, but as usual mine is going to have to be delayed somewhat. Two thousand words into a TSCC Naked!Cameron fic (potentially smutfic) and I'm barely getting started.

Luckily, my New Year's resolution is to write at least a thousand words every single day for 2010.

Less luckily, we all know I'll have broken it by the third, at the latest.

 

I believe in you, Big D.

I'm betting on the fifth.

 

Obviously, I'm no writer. But this is what I came up with in the 45 minutes or so before I need to leave for New Year's Festivities.

Using the lines: "vodka and magic don't mix" and "It’s a good plan, Neville, but if we kill Snape we’ll only get someone worse"

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610 words, an hourish. I'm afraid I just can't do gore or smut like everyone else. Oh well.
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I should have known that New Year’s Eve couldn’t have gone normally this year. After all, vodka and magic don’t mix. I think there’s something about the nonmagical alcohols that throws a little extra something into the mix.

Normally, New Year’s wouldn’t be a problem. It’d probably be Ron, Hermione and myself, either at Hogwarts or at Grimmauld Place, but after last year, no one really wanted to spend the holidays there... Too many memories, I suppose. The impending threat of Voldemort and his death eaters meant that more students than ever stayed over for the holidays.

And I think that’s really how we got into this mess. All of the Gryffindor 6th year boys were staying, and we’d had the brilliant idea to welcome in the New Year with a party. Just us guys, though.

...Actually, if Hermione had been there, she might have put a stop to this.

But anyway, the five of us had copious amounts of alcohol. Dean had managed to convince someone on the muggle side of things to send him a few bottles of rum and vodka, Seamus had smuggled some in as well. Fred and George sent Ron two bottles of firewhiskey. Looks like they’ve decided it’s time we became men. Neville, good old Neville, received a case of butterbeer from his grandmother.

I know we started out with the butterbeer. But, quite honestly, I can’t quite remember how we got onto the topic of killing Snape. We must have gone through at least one bottle of the firewhiskey, and, as far as I can tell, Neville was the one who brought him up.

“It’s so unfair that we’ve got to suffer through another year with Snape! I dropped potions so I’d never have to see the man again!”

Ron came back with, “Well, at least it’ll only be for the year. I certainly wouldn’t mind if he were gone sooner!”

I’m pretty sure that both Seamus and Dean were almost passed out by that point. But one of them must have mentioned something like, “Oh, wouldn’t it be great if he was one of the ones who died?”, and things sort of spiraled out of control from there.

Neville sat up, and whispered, “Guys... We could do it. What if we killed Snape?”

Both Ron and I started cracking up. “Yeah, right. How would we even manage to pull that off?”

He tossed a pillow toward us, “Shut up, I’m serious! I don’t think it’d be that hard, besides the Defense curse would be working with us! We could take some of the more dangerous plants from the greenhouses, enlarge them a bit, stick them in his room, and voila! No more Snape! Or, you know what, Harry, you’re pretty good with some spells... Don’t you know any that could kill him?”

Obviously, none of us were thinking very clearly. It didn’t even occur to us that a) Snape probably would repel any of our efforts to murder him, and b) there’d be quite a bit of legal trouble going along with killing a teacher. However, all I could come up with in response was, “It’s a good plan, Neville, but if we kill Snape we’ll only get someone worse.”

Ron agreed with me, and we dropped that topic of discussion. At least until the vodka was consumed.

Somehow, Neville’s idea started to make sense. Maybe his methods weren’t the best, but who could deny that the would would be a better place without Severus Snape?

I knocked back another shot. My speech may have been a little bit slurred as I said, “You know what Neville? You just might be right.”

Happy New Year, boys. <3 typa

 

Nuhuh's contribution.

I wasn't part of the initial sign-up crowd, but Jon corralled me in IRC when I showed up. Please excuse the the spellings, I don't have a proper word processor right now with a spell check.

Two Lines: "What do you mean it's illegal?" and "How did your pants end up in that tree?"

~The things Harry does to get Ron laid~​

Halloween - where wizards pretend to be vicars and vicars pretend to be vampires, witches pretend to be wenches and wenches pretend to be Valkyries. So it should come as no surprise that with the world topsy turvy Halloween night, mixed in with my personal history with it, something royally screwed up would happen.

Stir in my sweet friend's obsession with knowledge and her "Harry, how can we pass up Halloween for this spell?" Not to mention, "Mate, you have to do this for her, she hasn't come to bed in weeks!" from Ron, and I reluctantly found myself sitting shirtless in the quidditch field, my feet in a pan of water, holding Mrs. Norris.

"So I just stare into her eyes?" I asked.

Hermione beemed at me and said "Yes, Harry! You're doing great!"

I glared at Ron who gave me an apologetic look. "Sorry, mate," he said sotto voice.

"The things I do to get you laid," I grumbled. He made shushing motions, but I just scowled at him.

"Hermione, I know having defeated Voldemort means less excitement in your life, but is this necessary? I mean, this is illegal."

Her head snapped up from the tome in her hands. "What do you mean it's illegal?" She frowned.

I gave Ron a long stare, expecting him to intervene, threat to his love life notwithstanding.

He gave that constipated look to Hermione which was reserved for the handful of times he tried to reason with her. "Babe, you're making Harry open a gate to hell through a poor animal's eyes. What about Mrs. Norris?"

Hermione snapped the book in her hands shut. "Don't call me babe," she said repressively. "Don't you want to know if there is an afterlife? Where we could end up? And Mrs. Norris will be fine, that's what all the books say."

I rolled my eyes. "And what about me?"

"Harry," said Hermione as if I was a first year dunce. In her defense that is how she always spoke to me when she wanted to 'explain' something. "You're the Master of Death. You're indestructible. I don't know why you have to be such a baby every time I need to experiment."

"You're sending me to Hell," I replied evenly.

Hermione made quote marks in the air and said, "Master of Death."

"That excuse is not going to work every time. I was in Mungo's for a week when you wanted me to try your chain apparation technique in the air. Or the time you accidentally-on-purpose bumped me into the Time Bell in the Department of Mysteries, being a seven year old from the waist up for a month was no fun. And don't forget when you convinced me to step into the chamber of ultimate power." I petted Mrs. Norris who was being unusually cooperative. I thought Hermione had drugged her.

"And you're still alive. C'mon, Harry, be a dear, stare at the bloody cat's eyes and say the incantations," said Hermione.

"You know, I hate it when you channel Mrs. Weasley. I bet it really turns on Ron though," I said sulkily, taking vicious pleasure in Hermione's scandalized denials and Ron's cussing.

I decided to take the plunge into Mrs. Norris's eyes. That sounds a lot less disturbing than it actually was. I felt like I had fallen head first into a pool. Alright, perhaps that does sound romantic enough to be creepy considering she's a cat. I shook my head trying to get rid of the feeling of sudden vertigo.

When I looked up everything was burning.

So...

Hell existed.

Well, Hermione would be happy, I thought on the heel of panicking about getting back. I was still in the quidditch field, except everything was tinged with red. Crimson skies, hot, crimson earth. The soft grass of the field I was used to was scorched, and instead of the rising stands around me I expected to see there was a ring of charred wood on the ground. The scoring goals were bent and alight with fire.

I began walking when I felt a little nervous standing in the middle of the field with no one around. My next thought, of course, was if there were demons or devils of any kind here. But I was shocked to see a version of Hogwarts in Hell, and was curious to see what everything looked like despite my fear. Climbing up the craggy pathways I had used hundreds of times, I crested the hill and saw the castle.

Even knowing I was in Hell, I was crushed. The great towers had collapsed, the enhcanted ceiling's arch that could be seen even from outside was caved in. The very rock of the castle was glowing from the heat of the fires inside it. Off west the lake was scorched dry. To the south the Forbidden Forests's tree tops were covered with tongues of flame flicking the sky. The only sound was of cracking wood and burning fire.

I stumbled ahead wondering if there was anything alive around me. Approaching the castle proved difficult, the heat emanating from it was too strong for my charms. I moved closer to the Forbidden Forest, but stood uncertainly before the treeline. The cursed place was dangerous enough in the real world, what it might hold in Hell I was a little wary to find out.

Apparently I didn't have to enter the forest to meet its denizens. They'd decided to come out for a stroll. I heard skittering and strange yawning noises coming from the forest. I didn't really want to be found standing there like an idiot waiting for the first demon to come along so I disillusioned myself.

Another moment later I smacked myself in the head, remembering Hermione's lecture on creatures in Hell probably being good at seeing through illusions. So I transfigured myself into a tree and planted myself where I stood.

The creatures were humanoid, with their skulls sliced off diagonally. I wondered if they were humans at one point but now they just looked vile and dangerous. They snuffed around with their stubby noses where I had been standing and some moved off making that skittering noise with their feet towards the quidditch pitch.

I breathed in relief, which ended up as creaking of my many boughs as a tree. Suddenly I felt something creeping and crawling on me. I moved my great trunk to look behind me. There with a great maw and two cracks in its truck for eyes was the Whomping Willow. It's eyes did look a little doleful, and because of them I wasn't really aware of the strange predicament I was in. Its slender boughs were curling around my branches like gentle feelers. Before I knew I was caught in it's many limbs and beginning to feel a little like my personal space was being violated.

A throbbing orange light burst forth from the Whomping Willow's huge maw and it made grunting noises. I was always aware that the tree was alive in some sense, but seeing forlorn eyes carved on it and a leering mouth made it a Hell of a lot more real. One or three or so of its feelers found something on my tree body that was, ahem, private. I jumped in my bark and transformed back to human instantly, fearing for my honor.

When I changed I slipped through the Whomping Willow's boughs as it lost it's grip on me. I fell on my bum and put up my hands with a smile. "See, I'm human. Sorry, I'm not a tree. Didn't mean to lead you on."

Being Harry Potter means learning to turn down amorous advances from many strange things. A demonic tree was a first, but I was proud of myself for not losing composure. The Whomping Willow's boughs retracted, it creaked and swung looking at me as the throbbing light in its maw began to pulse less frantically.

Then suddenly the glow pulsed with renewed vigor. "A boy is fine too," I heard it say in a gravely voice.

Its boughs shot forward like arrows grabbing my ankles and legs. I eeped, I am not embarrassed to say and scuttled backwards as fast as I could. The Whomping Willow had a fierce hold on me.

"Damn you, Hermione, if I end up getting raped by a tree, I am going to kill you!" I shouted to the burning sky, kicking furiously.

The Whomping Willow pulled off my jeans and then I was stark naked in Hell. I freed my wand arm from the tree and cursed it's slithering limps off of me. I turned to run but it grabbed me around the waist and whipped me twice sharp across my butt. It burned and I turned in its grip to cast the Cruciatus curse.

It's boughs trembled apologetically and released me. I didn't wait long to cast the incantations that would take me back to the real world.

The red sky and heat disappeared to a dark clouds and cool air. I laid on the grass, worn out, steaming from being in Hell, and feeling the burning welts across my back side. Not too far from me the real Whomping Willow swayed in the wind, as innocent as a waiting boy lover can be. The pain from the welts was vicious, my legs were too numb to move.

And that was how Hermione and Ron found me; steaming and naked under the moonlight.

"Harry? Harry! Are you alright?" They both clamored around me. I groaned and grunted.

Ron asked in a wondering tone, "How did your pants end up in that tree?"

I banged my head on the ground and pointed to my butt.

Hermione gasped. "Oh Merlin! Harry, look at your ass, the poor thing."

If I ever was happy to be the Master of Death, it was at that time, because I had enough strength to transfigure her into a beaver till I recovered.

 

That last line was awesome, Nuhuh! Funny one-shot.