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They Fight Crime!

Chapter Text

“What is that?”  She squints through her scope, wishing that it could sharpen her focus through the snow.  But she can’t tell.  She grimaces slightly and fastens her coat.

“Princess Leia—”

“Not now, Threepio.  I need to know what it is.”  And before the gilded droid can even say “oh dear, what will Master Luke say?” she’s out in the snow.

The wind bites her face, and the hairs inside her nose freeze instantly.  She tightens her headgear and moves towards the thing.

She stops short.  It looks kind of like a hairier Thernbee, if she had to guess.  She pulls out her scanner, hoping that it will tell her if the creature is dangerous or not. 

It turns red eyes to her and suddenly, something sharp and metallic is whizzing through the air, slicing her scanner in half.  It then points to her throat.

The voice is gruff, and a little too quiet to be heard over the wind.

“What?” she calls.

“Who are you?” it repeats, louder this time.

“Who are you?” she shoots back, a hand slipping to the blaster at her hip.

“I am a brother of the Night’s Watch,” he replies.

“The what?”

“The Night’s Watch.  We live to protect the realm from Wildlings like you.”

“What realm?” she asks slowly.  “What do you mean, Wildlings?  I’m not a Wildling?”

The sword—she can’t believe it, but it really is a sword—presses against her throat.

“Then what are you?”

“I’m a Princess out to stop the empire.”

“What empire?”  She smiled to herself.  Now he was the one who didn’t know what was going on.

“The empire that oppresses every system of the galaxy.  The empire that destroyed my home, and killed my family.”

The sword lowers.

“Could this empire destroy the realm?” She has no idea what he’s talking about, but she runs with it.

“If it hasn’t already.”

It’s only then that she sees him, long faced, dark haired, snow plastered all over his beard.

“Then I will help you destroy it.”

Chapter Text

“Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name,”  He was kneeling before the altar.  “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done,”

“Mr. Moody?” She wore a trench coat and a hat to hide her tell-tale red hair. 

He ignored her, “on earth as it is in heaven,”

He was more stubborn than her sister.  Petunia would ignore her until she had finished cleaning the kitchen, or making pies—even if there was nothing else that could distract her from her task. “give us this day our daily bread and forgive our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.”

“Mr. Moody?” she tried a little louder.  She glanced at her time turner.  The little hourglass was running out, and she felt her heart begin to beat faster, panicking. 

“And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”  Moody stood broke into a full belt, “for thine is the kingdom in the power and the glory forever amen.”

When his voice had faded away, he turned around and put a cigar in his mouth.  He lit it casually and dropped the still lit match on the ground.

“What can I do for you, little lady?”

“Mr. Moody—I need your help.  Someone is trying to kill me.”

“After ya, huh?  Got on the wrong side of the mob?”  His magical eye whizzed around in its socket.

“No.  A crazy murderer.  Do you know about,” her voice dropped, “do you know about Lord Voldemort?”

He pulled the cigar from his mouth and blew some smoke in her face.

“The Dark Lord,” he began, a sinister edge to his voice.  “I know him.  Took the only thing I ever loved from me.”

“Can you help?” she asked, her hand clenching around the time turner.

He took another draw on his cigar.



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“I have you now,” he leveled the stake at her heart.

“No, you don’t,” she sang.  “I mean, technically, you could.  I wouldn’t say no.  But that won’t kill me.”

“Liar,” he growled.  “You’ll melt into blood in my arms and no one but the stars will see it happen.  You’re gone, you dead bloodsucking motherfucker.”

She sighed.

“You know, when I said that I was thirsty for blood, I didn’t mean it literally.”

Sirius froze.


“I didn’t mean it literally.  I meant simply that I wanted to have at whoever was responsible for me ending up the way I have.  And believe me,” her eyebrows dipped menacingly, “I will have at them.  I’m not a vampire or anything there, Van Helsing.”

She pulled ever so slightly away from him, and he let go, dejection crossing his face.

“That’s the third time this week,” he groaned.  “Sorry about that.  I keep thinking that I’ll catch a vampire soon.  It’s been months since my last one.”

“No trouble at all, sweetie,” she smiled.  “I think I know just what’ll take your mind off it.”  One eyebrow arched suggestively.

Sirius’ jaw dropped.  “You can’t mean…”

“Oh yes.”

He grinned.

“There’s that winning smile!  Now, why don’t we find a more suitable location, and while we go, you can tell me all about these vampires you’re hunting.”

Chapter Text

The door of the compartment opened.

“Have you seen a girl of thirteen with red hair and blue eyes?”  Brienne blows her cigarette smoke out the window, turns around and meets bright green eyes.

She’d know Jaime Lannister anywhere.  She had had posters of him in her bedroom at college, arms weighed down by a golden guitar, or holding a microphone to his lips with his face contorted in the intensity of song.  She’d even masturbated to them once or twice.  The thought brought a blush to her face. 

“Sorry.”  She tried to bring a sympathetic smile to her face.

“Fuck.”  He leans against the door of the compartment, pure despair crossing his face.  “My sister’s missing.”

“Are you sure?” she asks.

“Yeah.  This is the last car of the train.  The last compartment.  I haven’t seen her anywhere.”

“Where did you last see her?”

Jaime sighs and puts his face in his hands, pulling at his skin as though he could rip it off and send it off in another direction to find his missing sister.

“Last night, at my nephew’s wedding.  Completely gone.”

“Why are you on a train then?” pipes up Pod.

“She had a ticket, thought I might find her here.  But I haven’t.”

“We’ll help you,” says Brienne, “if you want, of course.”

“I don’t even know who you are.”

“My name’s Brienne.  And this is my son, Pod.  We’ll help you look through the train.”

Jaime gives her a one over, to her ugly cancer-wig to the big dark circles under her eyes, and Pod’s hand in hers.

Then he nods.

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“And I shall name him Summer, after this beautiful Summer’s Day.”



“This is probably karma for having stolen my bike.”


“I mean, it only makes sense.  You steal it, and then accidentally ride it off a cliff and break your legs.”

“You can stop talking now.”

“You’re really lucky that you had a pokémon there to help you.  Although, why you weren’t just riding him to begin with is beyond me.”

“What’s your name?”

“Also, I’ve never seen a Taurus that doesn’t say Taurus like yours does.  How did you get him to do that?”


“Hodor’s always done that.  What’s your name?”

“I’m Misty.  And you owe me a new bike.”


“Well, here’s the Pewter City gym.  Aren’t you going to go inside, Bran?”

“I’m just salivating.  One moment please.”

“Misty, make him move already.”

“I’m trying, Jojen.”

“Do you think I should start with Hodor, or that I should start with my Pikachu?”

“Bran—it’s a rock gym.  Obviously Hodor.  Pikachu’s fucking useless here.”


“Are we there yet?”

“Bran, quit complaining.  We’ll get there when we get there.”

“Yeah, Bran.  You also don’t have the right to complain.  You get to ride.  We have to walk.”

“I broke my legs, Jojen.”

“So?  You still get to ride on Hodor’s back.”



“All right!  I caught a Pidgey!”

“Congratulations.  They are so rare and powerful.”

“Maybe one day I’ll be able to fly!”

“Bran, can we keep moving please?”

“But Misty—flying!”

“That’s wonderful, but it’s raining rather hard right now and I’m soaked and my feet hurt.”

“When I can fly on the back of my Pidgeot, you can ride Hodor.”

“When you can fly on the back of your Pidgeot, you’d better buy me a new bike.”


“You know what I’ve never understood?”

“What, Jojen?”

“I’ve never understood why all the gyms have to be themed.  It seems like a pretty easy way to fail, you know?  For example, this Cerulean city gym—only water pokémon.  You barely needed to train your Pikachu to beat them up.  That’s not pokémon mastery—that’s basic strategy.  Anyone can do that.  Wouldn’t it be more challenging to just have a lot of varied Pokémon?”



“Shut up.”

Chapter Text

“Where is Jaime?  Where is my brother?”

This is the last time I let Sirius pick what we spike the cider with, thought Remus. He knows I’m allergic to grain-based alcohol.

“Who are you?” demanded the woman.  She was richly dressed in Gryffindor colors, wearing a headscarf to hide a head devoid of hair.

“Erm—” Remus glanced over his shoulder.  He definitely wasn’t at Hogwarts.  The passageway behind him was devoid of suits of armor, and the stone was a dusty red—not the grey he knew and loved.

“Answer me.” The woman was on her feet.

“I’m Remus Lupin.”

“Lupin.  I do not know this name.  What house do you serve?”


“Do not jest with me.  I will have your head.”

Remus’ eyebrows shot up.  “Might I ask…” Remus pondered how best to phrase this.  Then decided, “in whose presence I currently stand?”

The woman laughed.  “In whose presence?  Are you an idiot?  I am Cersei Lannister, Queen Regent of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, and I await my brother to defend me of a crime of which I have been falsely accused.”

That piqued Remus’ curiosity, and he had a shrewd suspicion that there was only one way out of this.

“And how might I be of service to you, Your Majesty?”

Chapter Text

“What is your name?” he barely glances at her.  He already knows her name, of course.  It’s on the file right under his nose, and he’s read it through at least ten or twelve times.  He’s also quite certain that Sherlock has seen at least the cover-sheet, if not more.  He really should get a better secretary.

“Cat,” she replies evenly. 

He rests his umrella against the wall and moves to sit opposite her at the little chrome table.

“Now Cat,” he says closing the file and looking up into shockingly grey eyes.  “You and I both know that’s not true.”

“I am.  Cat.  For my mum.”

Mycroft waits, one eyebrow arched.

“Arya, we are looking for your brother, Rickon.  You wouldn’t happen to know where he is, would you?”

She gapes at him.  Then remembers.  “Who’s this Arya you’re talking about?”

“I think we can both stop this ruse.  You are not Cat, and I am not a member of our fine police force.  I know a great deal about you, Arya Stark.  More than you can realize.”

Her eyes flick to the file sitting on the table.  “That’s my governmental file, isn’t it?” she asks, dejectedly.

“Yes, it is.  I know all there is to possibly know about you.  Now I’m going to ask you one more time—where is your brother, Rickon?”

“I haven’t seen him.  Not in years.  Not since I left home.”

He can hear his watch ticking away, a back-up beat to the millions of thoughts flowing through his mind.  Sixteen years old, a criminal, faceless, protected by the law from the Baratheon boy—the Baratheon boy who is now dead, and who couldn’t cause her harm even if he wanted to.

“Well then,” Mycroft replies softly.  “I think we shall have to find a way to locate him, don’t you?  We wouldn’t want something bad to happen to him, would we now?”

Arya clenches her jaw, her eyes narrowing.

Then she nods.

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She stares out over the pyramids—her empire, her heaven, her earth, her children.  The sea breeze into her mouth and she thinks only of the Sun Disc, the one true God, the God of her husband.  She can almost taste the sea air.

“You got scarabs here like the mummy?”  She turns around and sees him.  One eye green, the other black, and half her height.  He wears a trucker hat and a leopard skin cloak, over a beer-stained wife-beater. 

“I am afraid not,” she tries to sound her most disdainful, her most haughty.  That film is a bastardization of all that she holds dear, all that she knew and loved.

He cocks his head, and she can tell he’s staring at her breasts—the little fiend.  How dare he!  She is royalty, and he is nothing.  “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“What about brains, you got ‘em here?  I heard they took them out of their heads with straws.”

“Long decayed, I am afraid,” she sneers, and turns to walk away from him.

He sighs.  “Oh well.”

She looks at him out of the corner of her eye, gauging him.  He looks dejected now, and she wonders if maybe she should have been a little more polite.  It might be bad for business—being rude to patrons like that.  She might be Nefertiti, but Daenerys Targaryen needed to maintain appearances, or else they’d throw her into the mad house…again.

She decided to apologize, but he was rounding the corner.  She hurried after him, and ran into him just as she passed the jar of Bast.  She knocked him into a pool of blood.

Chapter Text

His eyes flashed gold. 

Nothing happened. 

They flashed again. 

Still nothing.

“Who are you?” he asked at last.

“They call me the Wicked Witch of the West.”  Merlin raised his hands preparing running through every single spell he could think of in case he would need it.  “Really, I’m just politically active,” she sighed.  “Can I put my hat on the table?  It’s a little too hot in here for hats.  And this one really doesn’t breathe well.”

“Why are you here?” he measured his words carefully. 

“I’m trying to petition the king.  He’s got to lift the ban on magic, or else all the animals will lose their voices.”

“Lose their voices?  Animals can’t talk.”

“Yes they can.  Doctor Dillamond is already baa-ing all over the place and we just can’t have that.”

Merlin ran his hands through his hair, then glanced at the green woman once again.

“Look, you can’t just prance in here and try to see the King whenever you like.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“And who are you exactly?”

“I’m his manservant.”

“Well, I need to see him.  So if you don’t mind.”  She moved slightly to the left in order to get around him, but Merlin stepped in front of her, blocking her path.

“Look, the King can’t help you.  He’s not going to lift the ban on magic.  But maybe I can.”

She glanced at him, eyes narrowing.

“No offense, but you’re kind of wimpy looking.”

Merlin smirked.

“Oh, just wait and see.”