Fan Fiction Listing



Prison Break Fanfiction
I write primarily non-shipper general fiction, and some Lincoln/Michael slash pieces as well. Yes, I know they’re brothers… and no, I normally wouldn’t be writing brothercest. That said, if it’s not your thing then please stick to the General Fiction section.

                  Prison Break Gen Fiction                      Prison Break Slash Fiction

Supernatural Fanfiction
Supernatural also deals with two brothers, who in this case are bound together in the pursuit of demons and vengeance. An excellent overview of this show and its characters can be found here.
                  Supernatural Gen Fiction                      Supernatural Slash Fiction

Other Fanfiction: Iron Man, Die Hard 4, Chuck, White Collar, Burn Notice, Reaper, and more

Original Fiction and Non-Fiction Stories: Miscellaneous Original Fiction // Real LJ Idol Season 8 // LJ Idol Exhibit A // LJ Idol Exhibit B // LJ Idol Season 9 // LJ Idol Friends And Rivals // LJ Idol Season 10


LJ Idol Season 11: "The Journey Of A Lifetime"

The Journey Of A Lifetime
idol season 11 | week 8 | 1200 words
My True North


A lifetime ago, when you had hair and I had ambition, we talked about traveling the country like a Paul Simon song, looking for something bigger than the corner we called our own.

We didn't know what that was, we just knew the restless need that pulled us toward it. It was the history of our nation, the very definition of being young and free.

We would go the summer after our Junior year of college, we decided. That was the plan—one last hurrah before that life was over, before we launched into playing Musical Chairs with an entire graduating class as we all scrambled to find jobs the moment the school year stopped.

You had the car—a '79 Thunderbird convertible—and I had gas money and a Rand McNally atlas. Some part of me had probably been thinking about a big cross-country trip like that ever since I was ten.

By the time May of Junior year rolled around, we'd been talking about the trip for months. Route 66 was a must, either driving out or driving back, and so were the thirteen colonies. But how far North did we want to go? And was there anything to see going East after Yellowstone and the Rockies, other than Chicago?

I spent the Saturday morning of Memorial Day weekend sketching out routes from Barstow to the Grand Canyon, when I should have been working on my take-home History essay instead. You called just after two o'clock, your voice so tight you sounded like a stranger.

"Dad had a heart attack," you said.

Nothing was ever the same again after that.

I got a job bagging groceries that summer. The only traveling I did was to the parking lot, and my monuments were towers of canned vegetables instead of the national landmarks I'd hoped to see.

You had it so much worse. You left college to run your dad's store until he got better, but his health forced him to retire, instead. You inherited a job you never wanted, because somebody had to pay the bills. No one was surprised when you made that choice. That was just who you were. But we knew it wasn't easy.

College wasn't as much fun after you left. Neither was Bismarck, where I had my first job after graduation, or Rapid City, where I built the career that led me to stay.

We talked on the phone off and on, and I'd stop in and see you whenever I came back to visit. You almost looked like your dad, standing there behind the counter—confident and easygoing, ready to help anyone who needed it. You had two cute kids and a wife who adored you, and it seemed like life had turned out pretty well for you after all. Your family was busy with soccer games and Little League and scouts, all the anchors of our own childhoods growing up, and why not? There was no reason for any of the good in that to change.

Me, I had a few more hiccups along the way. My marriage hadn't been easy, and I'd never planned to get stuck living in a Midwest snow zone anyway. After my wife left me, I decided I just couldn't cope with South Dakota any more, so I quit my job to move back in with my parents and start over again. Despite the dreams I'd always had of driving all around the country, I was incredibly happy to come back home.

"Great timing!" you said, when I called you up. "That offer on the store went through, and all the paperwork was final last Tuesday. Now I've got a few months to figure out what to do next. Think maybe we could finally make that road trip after all?"

I couldn't believe your wife was okay with that idea, but of course she was. You'd married an amazing woman. I wish I'd been as lucky, though I wasn't half the man you were and would never have deserved her. Maybe I'd get a second chance with someone new closer to home.

I dug the atlas out of the closet of my old room at my parents' house, and flipped through it. Most of the Post-It notes had fallen off, and I'd already seen some of the places I'd marked the first time around. Route 66 was the one area we both knew we wanted to see, so what the hell? We packed clothes and music and snacks for a long journey, and loaded up the car. I'd buy another atlas somewhere along the way and we'd figure things out from there.

You didn't have the Thunderbird anymore, but my 2005 Sentra would do just fine. It was old but reliable. It'd gotten me back home when I'd needed it to.

We set off from Reedley, heading south on 99 toward Bakersfield. The first day of the journey would be nothing special, just miles of dirt and desert along the route out of the Central Valley armpit and over to the desolate path through Las Vegas to the Utah rock parks beyond.

It was good to just talk, though. With no time constraints and no family around, we didn't have to rush or be careful of the words we used. I learned that you were still funny as hell, and could tell a story like no one else. And that while you were grateful for the community and the safe environment for raising your kids, you thought that staying in Reedley forever might actually kill you.

"Oh, I know," I said. "I came back to regroup, but I really need someplace bigger. And less hot. This whole part of the state is pure hell."

"No kidding," you said.

"So, is Becca open to moving? And if she is, then where are you thinking?"

It felt like we were just picking up right where we'd left off all those years ago. Everything had made more sense back then, including me.

"Her parents died years ago, and her brother lives in Tacoma. So maybe around there."

I'd never thought about Washington. I hated snow, but I didn't mind the rain, and I was sure to find work there. Washington could be good.

"How much time do you want to spend in Vegas?" I asked.

"I've got forty dollars for slot machines, and then we can go whenever you're ready. Vegas was never my thing."

"Me either. Everything I want to see is on the other side, and then down past the Grand Canyon and out the old highway."

"Great minds…" you said.

And it was true. This was what I'd missed all those years, more than my childhood and my memories of college, more than the amazing future I once imagined would someday be mine.

I always knew who I was when I was with you, some better version of myself than who I'd turned into while living halfway across the country for so damn long

You kept me honest.

It was so easy to forget that life was more about the journey than the destination, but you'd always known that.

Everything about you still showed me exactly who it was possible to be.


If you enjoyed this story, you can vote for it along with many other fine entries here.



during an online work meeting from higher-ups. Rah-rah-rah, blah-blah-blah. \o?

The kids came and went for Thanksgiving, much too quickly but it was great having them home. Our son spent too much time having to work on an 8-page essay paper due Monday (Finals start next week), and our daughter tends to flit even though she is unemployed as of last Friday and kind of in panic mode (which just prompts more flitting, in my experience). :O

(Is this our new business-unit leader talking right now? What a high, thin, nasal voice. Urgh).

Our daughter recommended Amazon's Modern Love, so we watched a few episodes with her while she was here. We also rewatched Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason, which she said she wasn't interested in seeing but quickly tuned into. Our son was researching Greek history on his computer, and the last he'd heard we were thinking about watching an episode of Buffy The Vampire Slayer (because our daughter FINALLY gave that a try, and is now in season 4). So, he came out of his note-taking fog and looked up at some point and thought, "Wait, is this really Buffy The Vampire Slayer? It doesn't look quite right. And she's gotten kind of fat..."

I finished Tara Westover's Educated during the break, which was riveting and disturbing and often infuriating. What an awful way for a child to grow up. But what was more infuriating was discovering, courtesy of reviews on Goodreads, that there are a significant number of people who think much of it must be made up. Because children never have crazy, obsessed parents like that? Because fellow church members and acquaintances would have noticed (even though the family lived in a large isolated area, near a tiny rural Idaho town, and kept the children out of school and out of town as much as possible)? Because if people HAD noticed, they would have intervened (really? Always? With what authorities? When no laws were broken? And when, if anyone might have considered an informal intervention, the father and older sons were raging gun-nuts)?

Because children have never escaped from horrible imprisonment and/or abuse even in neighborhood homes inside regular suburbs?

One of the most maddening comments was in the top 'answered questions,' in which the poster essentially disparaged the brainwashed author for taking so long to realize that she'd been brainwashed. *stabbity rage*

Ahem. So yes, lots of feelings and opinions!

After that, I zipped through Lisa Jewell's The Family Upstairs, which had some similar themes. Pure coincidence. Hard to put down, as most of Jewell's books are, though it felt as if it ended before the story was over. :O

And right now? I purloined our daughter's The Devil In The White City a while back, and started and then stopped it a couple of times. My prevailing thought last time around was, "Man, this font is small! Even with reading glasses!" So, I got the bright idea to read it on Kindle, where I could make the font as big as I needed to. Whoo! I'm at least 4 chapters in, now. :D

I've also been making my way through and enjoying books in the Sandman Slim and Mrs. Pollifax series (for the ultimate disconnect). The first book in the Eric Carter series was fun too, though it felt a little like a Sandman Slim rip-off. But those two authors are friends, so I guess they're okay with it. \o?

Apart from Thanksgiving and kids and TV and books, there has also been Idol (who knows whether this week's story will get written by tomorrow?) and some Black Friday frenzy. And rain. LOTS of rain, finally. We did a lot of great outdoor bicycling this Fall, when it wasn't super-windy, but there's been a lot of garage biking this last couple of weeks and there's more to come. I'm in season 5 of rewatching Burn Notice out there. Thank goodness for Sam Axe. And the repeated appearances of Michael's Not-Dead-Partner Larry.

So, what have all of you been up to?


LJ Idol Season 11: "Howdy!"

idol season 11 | week 7 | 1100 words


Hi, I'm Kashka the cat, and I am super-cute. Look at my flippy ears and my silly little nose-dot! Is that thing adorable, or what?

I'm 3 ½ or 4 ½ years old now—nobody knows for sure. I was adopted from the animal shelter five months ago, and brought home to live with HalfshellVenus and her husband. My pre-shelter past is a mystery and I have the energy of a young teenager, so while I'm definitely not a kitten, I don't really act like an adult.

Did you know that all you need for a "cat stampede" is the sound of the thundering hooves paws of a single cat rocketing around the house like a maniac? No really, it's true. I do it every day!

I like my new home. It's warm and comfortable, and there are lots of toys for me to play with. There's no real pressure, either, because I really only have two jobs:
1) Be loving and cuddly and sit on laps
2) Police the property, and keep the squirrels and rodents away.

So far, I'm totally killing it on the first job, because I love people! Any people!

Alllll the people.

Halloween was great—every time the doorbell rang, I ran to the front door to see who was there! I love visitors. Visitors are my future friends! I like following the cleaning lady around when she's here, too. She's my buddy, even when she's pushing that noisy machine around the room.

I wasn't allowed to go outside for a long time after I moved here. I'd clearly been an indoor/outdoor cat at my old house (wherever that was), but my reintroduction to the outdoors was slow. The first few times I went out, I was on a leash. What a pain. Then I got to have a little supervised free time in the back yard for a couple of weeks, which was nice but much too short.

Finally, I was allowed to stay outside for hours one day while my people worked around the yard. It was amazing! I wandered around smelling everything and looking at all the plants. I chased bugs and played with leaves. Then I climbed a tree and got up on the roof, where I could see everything! I spent hours up there, and actually… could not figure out how to get down again. I had to be rescued. But I'm sure I'm not the first cat to make that mistake—or to get stuck in a tree over at a neighbor's house. Everyone does that, right? Of course they do!

Now, I've heard my people making these noises about the outdoors from time-to-time, things that sound like "rats and squirrels" and "crawl-space" and "attic" and "five-thousand dollars," or something like that. LOL, whut? Hey, whatevs, people!

As far as I'm concerned, the outdoors is for making new friends. I like to walk along the back-fence kitty highway to other people's yards, and see who's around. Sometimes, I'll go around to the front and look up and down the street. If I don't see anyone, I might wait outside a garage door or sit on a front porch to see if anyone comes out.

I have collar tags with my name and family phone number on them, so people can call HalfshellVenus or her husband to come and get me if I'm lost. Or if they think I'm lost, anyway, which is ridiculous. The first time, it was a nice lady about six houses away who was working in her garage. I hung out with her for a while, and then I followed her into her house, because why wouldn't I?

The second time was a man two houses away, who petted me and then carried me back to my front door and rang the bell (because my address is on the tag, too). I liked him so much, I went back to see him a few more times, and it was his tree I got stuck in. My family had to bring over a really tall ladder to get me down. HalfshellHusband was so embarrassed, he baked chocolate banana-bread the next day and took it over as an apology.

Just this last Friday, I explored the street around the other corner of the block. I met a nice man over there who called my family, and HalfshellHusband had to wake up HalfshellVenus so he could ask where the street was, because he's not very good with geography. I don't know whether I am or not.

I've gotten to know several of the neighbors, and now my family has, too. I get called back inside regularly to make sure I haven't wandered too far, but finding new people is one of my favorite things in the whole world. If I'm feeling really determined, I'll start looking right away. I am the Ambassador of Me!

I mean yes, I have a family who loves me and feeds me, and who would pet the socks off of me if I let them. I also have a huge yard to play in, with all kinds of interesting plants and places to hide, and I've even noticed a couple of other animals there, too. But why would I stay in my own yard and laze in the sun or keep intruders away? Who does that?

Boring cats who don't want to meet the entire planet, that's who. And I can't be responsible for the dumb choices of other cats!

I can't even remember the last time I was up on the roof. Once I learned how to get on and off by myself, I sort of lost interest. It's a madhouse up there now, with all sorts of critters racing around, but… meh. Why should I care? It has nothing to do with me.

I found a new neighbor yesterday, who became the fifth person to call my family to make sure I wasn't lost. Everything was great—I was sitting on my new friend's lap, enjoying myself and getting all sorts of pets. But then HalfshellVenus showed up to take me home, and I started growling. Not again!

Now I'm hearing new noises around the house, things like "busted" and "failure" and "indoor-only cat." I have no idea what they mean.

Meanwhile, it's a beautiful, sunny day outside. I'm looking out the window, watching the leaves shimmer and tumble as they fall from the trees. I can even see a fluffy little animal in one of those trees, chittering away and flicking its tail at me.

Ooh! I'll bet it wants to be my friend!

^.^(  )~~~

No voting link this week-- it's a contestant-only round.


Werewolf + (ha[Chinese menu]nd)

Because while I don't really like puns, I apparently think that math/coding humor is the Bomb...

Technically, it feels as if that should be "werewoof" above, from the song, "Werewooves of London." I don't know why people have such a hard time saying wolf or wolves. What is that all about?

I'm not a huge fan of that song, but it has earwormed itself into my head. This heppened roundaboutly last week, due to listening to the earworm-of-the-moment on YouTube ("My Love Is Alive," by Gary Wright). There was a Three Dog Night song on the "suggestions" side-bar that I decided to listen to, and then another one I'd never heard of, and then I went to Spotify to listen to a bunch of their songs, because why not? That's just how ratholing is. \o?

Pretty soon, I stumbled over Shambala, which I didn't realize was their song and had also been mishearing as 'Shangri-La" all this time.

The chorus, with "Ah-ooOOOOOOOOOOOOoooo... Ai-yi-yi-yi-yi..." was what did it. It's one small step from there to, "Ah-OOOO werewooves of London!"

So, at least the genesis of THAT earworm is not a mystery.

Also, my favorite Three Dog Night song? Mama Told Me Not To Come. Which apparently was written by Randy Newman. Who knew he was that busy back then? :O


LJ Idol Season 11: "Here Comes Trouble"

Here Comes Trouble
idol season 11 | week 6 | 908 words
Solvitur ambulando (It is solved by walking, or a problem solved by practical experiment)


Long about twenty years or so ago, there lived a boy down in Moonshine Holler, name of Peanut Durang. Peanut was a nice enough kid, a little puny maybe, but he didn't have the sense God gave a boot.

He was his mama's only child, and she despaired of him every day.

"Peanut," she'd say, "how d'you get yourself into these predicaments?"

"I dunno," Peanut would answer. "Just fall into 'em, I guess."

"'Fall' is right," she'd mutter, bandagin' his cuts or tryin' to get the mud stains out of his pants.

When Peanut was a young'un, his mama used to harness him to the clothesline, until the authorities said she cain't.

It was easy for them to talk, with no Peanut of their own. They didn't know how it was, the things that cain't be helped.

Peanut was always that kid with scrapes and scabs on his knees and elbows, always wearin' tore-up shirts and raggedy pants. He had a chipped-tooth smile and this sorta white-colored hair cut bristle-brush short, on account of he once got pine tar stuck to his head.

The real problem wasn't just that Peanut didn't have sense, it was that he was actually purty darn clever. And stubborn too, truth be told. He never knew when to quit on somethin', and he'd find a way past all kinds of rules and protections that kept other people out of trouble. What a terrible situation—there was no explainin' just how aggravatin' that could be.

Peanut would work up a notion to get inside someone's barn or shed, and he wouldn't let something like a padlock stop him. He'd take a screwdriver to the latch and just remove the whole darn thing. The neighbors and such were fit to be tied.

"Peanut Durang, I will tan your hide!" his mama would shout.

"What fer?" Peanut would ask. "Didn't hurt nothin'."

"That ain't for you to decide!"

Peanut's padlock-slippin' days came to an end when he opened up Hank Wilshire's barn, and Hank's Bluetick Coonhound Maisie bolted off toward the main road and nearly got hit. Peanut was sorry about that, real sorry. He'd never had a dog of his own, so he had no inkling of how dogs could get loose sometimes and just run.

With Peanut's love of animals, that whole muddle with Maisie finally got his attention. But it didn't keep him away from trouble for long.

"Peanut," his mama said one day as Peanut clomped into the kitchen, "just exactly where is your other shoe?"

Peanut shrugged as he poured a glass of water from the tap. "I expect one of Mr. Jackson's goats has it now."

"Now, why on Earth would a goat have your shoe?"

"It fell off while that big gray billy-goat was chasin' me around the pasture an hour ago."

"Peanut!" his mama said. "You know you're not supposed to be gettin' onto other people's property!"

"Them goats needed pettin'," Peanut said.

"Well, I guess that gray one didn't! And Mr. Jackson put up that big, high fence and locked the gate for a reason."

"Found a way around 'em, though," Peanut said. "I mostly always do."

Peanut would climb over, crawl under, or sometimes just worm his way through all manner of impediments to get somewheres he wasn't supposed to be.

His mama had to take him to the doctor once, to get stitched up from runnin' into a rusted plow blade hidin' in an overgrowed field two towns over.

"How exactly did this happen?" Doc Buford asked.

Peanut shrugged. "Just lucky, I guess."

"Boy, that ain't what luck looks like," Doc Buford said.

Peanut scowled at the ugly gash bleedin' down his leg. "Don't I know it."

Would a father have helped? There's really no tellin'. Just knowin' how Peanut was, and how he made his mama so crazy, there weren't too many men even thought about steppin' into that family picture. And who could blame 'em?

Now, school finally slowed Peanut down some as he got older. The more homework there was, the less time he had for mischief. It didn't stop him from diggin' into hornet's nests or fallin' out of trees on the weekends, but it took some of the tar outta his curiosity and cussedness. Peanut had always enjoyed learnin', and his schoolbooks gave him a lotta new things to learn about.

He still found himself in the briar patch purty regular, and tumbled into the creek a couple times chasin' dragonflies. The last time left him with a busted arm for two months, and he was sorely bitter about it. He never got into trouble at the creek again, and folks were right surprised.

That arm wasn't the last bone he broke, but who knows if it didn't save him from someday breakin' his neck?

There was some as thought Peanut would never make it out of Moonshine Holler alive, includin' his mama. But Peanut never gave up easy, and somehow or other he growed up just the same. He even left town and wound up drivin' a bus over in the city. Who'd've guessed?

It's possible Peanut had already made all the mistakes a person could by then, and didn't have no more left.

Or a bettin' man might say maybe the odds came through for him at last.

Either way, with a history like his, you gotta hope his luck don't go sideways on 'im and finally run out.


If you enjoyed this story, you can vote for it along with many other fine entries here.


Earwormageddon :O

I've been persistently revisited by the same song for weeks now, and I'm mystified as to why it's such an earworm.

It's the snappy, funky signature-motif that gets stuck in my head. I keep thinking that it doesn't really represent the overall sound of the song at all, but that isn't true. I just relistened, and this thing is pure funk fusion and a lot more agressive than I'd thought. In my memory, it's always a little slower and a lot more melancholy—to the point where the lyrics could as easily be "My Love Is A Lie" as the true version, and I somehow imagine it's by The Alan Parsons Project instead. But no:

My Love Is Alive

Oh, memory, you have failed me. Is this where things are headed as I get older?

And now I've earwormed myself all over again...


LJ Idol Season 11: "WHAT Is That On Your Plate?"

WHAT Is That On Your Plate?
idol season 11 | week five | 800 words
My enemies are all too familiar. They're the ones who used to call me friend.


Everyone jokes about women having food cravings when they're pregnant, but you rarely hear anyone talk about food aversions.

The issue with strong smells definitely comes up. But I'm talking way beyond the horror of a co-worker microwaving crab near your desk, where you start wondering if you could actually die from the stench, and would that be better than possibly having to barf into your wastebasket?

No, this is when food you love suddenly goes over to the Dark Side. After decades of well-established enjoyment, this old favorite becomes absolutely inedible.

This is about what you might call anti-cravings.

I can already hear you saying, "But my food has never betrayed me like that. We have a good relationship!"

And what relationship would that be? The eater and the… eaten?

For all you know, your food is plotting against you right now.

Collapse )


If you enjoyed this story, you can vote for it along with many other fine entries here.