ficlets: Avatar, House, SN/HDM
Feb. 8th, 2009 11:10 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tigriswolfTitle: the way of legends
Fandom: “Avatar: The Last Airbender”
Disclaimer: not my characters; just for fun.
Warnings: AU future!fic; character deaths
Pairings: none stated
Rating: R
Wordcount: 510
Point of view: third
He dies in fire and he does not scream. That is what the legends say.
He is the last, all his companions dead, singed to ash. He is the last, defiant to the end, mumbling out a witty comment even as his vocal cords are severed by a fireblade.
The Fire Lord is his executioner, unmerciful and agonizingly slow. The Fire Lord lists his crimes as dark skin burns inch by torturous inch.
All his companions—the pretty little waterbender, the too-young Avatar, the blind earthbender—are dead and dismembered, their heads mounted on the Fire Lord’s wall, for all the court to see. But his head, the last rebel of them all, will not be so accorded. He will not be allowed the honor.
He is nothing and no one. So why, all those who will hear his tale will wonder, why does the Fire Lord himself kill the least of them? Why not leave him to the basest of soldiers, to the weakest? Why show the final rebel(who was the first rebel) such respect as to kill him himself?
Because, the teller of the tale will explain in hushed whispers in back rooms, because once they had been friends, the Fire Lord and the rebels. Once, they had been companions. Once, oh so very long ago, they had been family.
And the least of them, the weakest, the one who was not a ’bender, he had been a warrior.
And so, the teller of the tale will say, looking around to make sure only those he meant to hear the story hear it, so, the Fire Lord granted him the greatest of all honors: to be killed by one who respected him.
He died in fire, all the legends say. And he did not scream.
The legends do not say that tears leaked from his eyes, and slid down his face, and that his sister was not there to ’bend them away. The legends do not say how the blind earthbender died sobbing, or that the too-young Avatar was consumed by his own power, burnt from within by his own fire, because he lost control as the pretty waterbender suffocated beneath two dozen coordinated attacks.
No, the legends make it seem so civilized, and the teller of the tale was not even there to see it.
The legends do not tell of how the least of all the rebels, the one with no special gift of magic, surrendered after the rest fell.
He was the planner, they say, the strategic thinker, the one who got them all the way into the palace. And if only more had come with them, if only the Earth Kingdom and Water Tribe had sent warriors to their aid, had answered their call to arms, the teller of the tale whispers, they would have succeeded.
They came so close, the teller murmurs, with furtive glances around the room. They came so very close.
But he dies in fire, no matter how many times the tale is told. And he does not scream.
Title: August passes flowerless, and the frosts come
Fandom: “House, MD”
Disclaimer: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Denise Levertov.
Warnings: takes place sometime in the first three seasons
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 300
Point of view: third
He can remember being young, watching Mum drink herself into stupors, and thinking, Maybe she’ll quit tomorrow. He told himself that every night, his prayer to a god that never answered—tomorrow became today and Mum kept drinking, kept crying.
He can remember being slightly less young and thinking, Maybe God will talk to me tomorrow. He didn’t really want to be a priest, to preach or counsel or lead a congregation—he just wanted to hear God’s voice. To know God cared. To know God had a good reason for taking Mum before she healed. But tomorrow became today and he never heard any voice except his own, rosary beads twined around his fingers.
He can remember being less young still and thinking, Maybe tomorrow someone will see me and not Dad. But he was always Dr. Chase the Younger, not quite as good, not quite as brilliant. He was trading on his father’s name, even though he didn’t want to, and when tomorrow became today, he traveled across the world to escape it.
He can remember being barely twenty-five, in a new country, alone and confused, certain of only one thing: he was never good enough. “You’re very young,” Dr. Cuddy said, looking over his resume. “Why do you wanna work here?” He thought back to Mum and Dad and God, and answered as truthfully as he could.
He can remember being barely twenty-five and introduced to Dr. House, with the words, “Convince him and you’re hired.”
He can remember still being so young and waiting for House to tell him good job or well done or I knew you weren’t a complete idiot. He told himself every night Maybe tomorrow he’ll say it.
But tomorrow becomes today and nothing ever changes, just like all the todays before.
Title: hunting
Fandom: “Supernatural”
Disclaimer: the brothers, Rebecca, and ‘shifter aren’t mine
Warnings: daemon!AU; takes places during “Skin”
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 655
Point of view: third
Notes: more in the “choosing to change” ‘verse
In the dank darkness of the sewer, Rhiannon snarled. “Stay close,” Dean whisper-yelled at her, but he heard her get farther away. “Damnit!” he muttered. “I told her we stick together.”
He carefully followed after her. He’d gotten out of the habit of hunting alone since Sam came back, and so had Rhiannon—back when it was just them, she never left his sight and refused to let him leave hers.
But Sam was checking on Rebecca and Micah her raccoon daemon, and Dean needed to kill this shapeshifter bastard. The son of a bitch had worn his face.
“Dean!” Rhiannon yelled and Dean picked up his pace.
He found Rhiannon trying to free Micah from a muzzle and chain, and Rebecca unconscious next to them. Dean knelt down and picked the lock on the muzzle; once it was loose, before it even came all the way off, Micah was chattering a mile a minute, too quickly for Dean to understand.
Rhiannon chuffed at him and Micah hushed. Dean moved over to Rebecca; her hands and feet were tied.
“Micah,” Dean said, “Start over and slow down.”
“The cops had just dropped us off,” the raccoon told them. “We went inside and the next thing I know, I wake up here.”
Micah got himself completely free and hurried to Rebecca, checking her over.
“She’ll be fine,” Dean assured him. “But me and Rhiannon have to go.”
Micah stared up at him. “You’re gonna leave us alone down here?” he asked plaintively.
“Sam and Gariel went to check on the two’a you,” Dean told him.
Micah nodded. “I can lead Becky out when she wakes up.”
“Good man,” Dean said. “Ry, let’s go.”
They wasted no time getting out of the sewer, but Dean knew they couldn’t risk taking the car. “Go on ahead,” he told Rhiannon and she rubbed against him before loping off.
Dean made his own way to Rebecca’s house, avoiding people wherever possible. He got there in time to hear Rhiannon’s roar—he recognized it as a cry of pain.
“Leave her alone!” Gariel hissed as he hurried through the house.
The tableau that met his eyes pushed his rage into hatred: Sam unmoving on the floor, the ‘shifter still wearing Dean’s face holding Gariel off with a—a pitchfork? The fuck?—and a giant anaconda wrapped around Rhiannon.
He had a clear bead on the ‘shifter and he shot the bastard in the back three times, a cluster right where his heart should be. The ‘shifter fell, the anaconda faded away, and Dean leapt to Sam’s side. “Ry,” he called. “Sweetheart, you okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” she answered. “Gariel?”
The viper coiled on Sam’s chest. “I’m fine,” she said. “I distracted him before he could do more than knock Sam around.”
Rhiannon limped to Dean and sniffed at Gariel, just to be sure, Dean knew. He only calmed when he felt Sam’s pulse, strong and steady. Then he turned to examine the shifter’s corpse.
Dean smiled when he saw the bastard’s arm. “Looks like you tore a chunk outta him,” he told Rhiannon.
She gave him a panther-smirk and said, “I did.” Her tail lashed as she continued, “That’s when his daemon got me. She was a tiger at first, then became that snake.”
Sam stirred, slowly coming ‘round. Gariel slithered even closer, tasting his skin as his eyes blinked open.
Dean knelt back at his side and asked, “Sammy?”
“Dean?” Sam turned his head. Dean was determined to let Sam make the first move—no telling what kind of torments that shapeshifting son of a bitch had put Sam through. Sam studied him, one hand coming up to stroke Gariel’s head. Sam’s gaze flicked to Rhiannon, crouched just behind Dean.
“Dean,” he said, sounding sure.
Dean smiled and stood, offering his little brother his hand. With Gariel wrapped around his arm, Sam let Dean pull him to his feet.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Here for the Avatar fic.
Date: 2009-02-08 07:59 pm (UTC)Re: Here for the Avatar fic.
Date: 2009-02-08 10:58 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-08 11:59 pm (UTC)omg.
*squee*
(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-09 02:50 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-09 02:03 am (UTC)It's so dark but beautiful, and I love the horribleness of it all. ♥
(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-09 02:50 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-09 03:57 am (UTC)And then-- because Avatar (obviously as evidenced by my avatar) is one of my faves-- tears came to my eyes as I read your ficlet. Your sentences wound with unmerciful precision. Wow.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-09 04:41 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-16 10:29 pm (UTC)THAT was the line that made me shiver. Very well-done. I like the contrast between the legend and the truth.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-17 01:25 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-06 03:22 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-06 01:43 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-09-30 03:32 pm (UTC)the winchesters with daemons r so cute! :D
(no subject)
Date: 2011-09-30 04:10 pm (UTC)Thanks for reading!
(no subject)
Date: 2012-01-31 01:28 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-01-31 03:34 am (UTC)Thank you so very much! I think this was one of the first things I wrote after rewatching the whole series.