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tigriswolfTitle: my fingers burning with thorns
Fandom: Supernatural
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Komunyakaa
Warnings: AUish? Preseries; creepy
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 320
Point of view: third
Prompt: SPN, Dean/Author's choice, Devil May Cry
Hey, Dean, Mama says.
Dean looks at her, then back at Daddy, asleep on the couch, and at Sammy, babbling to himself by the window, Mr. Cuddles tucked up next to him.
Mama, Dean whispers. Daddy said you're gone. They're the first words he's spoken since that night, since Take your brother outside, fast as you can. Now, Dean, go!
Daddy had given him Sammy, told him to leave Mama and him behind, and Dean did. He did. He left them and Mama's gone, and Daddy hasn't been the same.
Oh, baby, Mama says, and there are tears on her face, and her hands are gentle and soft on Dean's cheeks as she pulls him in for a hug and a kiss. Oh, my little boy.
Mama, Dean cries, Mama, why did you go?
Do you remember what I told you every night before bed? Mama asks.
Dean nods, and Mama glances around before putting her mouth right by Dean’s ear to whisper, The angels took me away, baby.
But why? Dean demands, and Daddy startles on the couch, and Sammy looks up from Mr. Cuddles, but Daddy settles and Sammy goes back to his game.
Because, sweetheart, Mama says gently, they didn’t want me to tell you the truth.
She hugs him tight and he clings to her, and Mama tells him everything, about the angel war, and the good son locked away for being right, and the key, hidden deep inside the best of little boys.
Remember, baby, I wasn’t supposed to tell you, but I love you so much. She hugs him hard. I love you too much to let you live in the dark.
I love you too, Mama, he says, and she presses one more kiss to his forehead, murmurs into his skin, It’s our secret, Dean, just for us.
He nods, and Daddy rolls off the couch.
When Dean looks back, Mama is gone.
Title: stars that shoot along the sky shine brightest as they fall from high
Fandom: Avengers movieverse
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Lord Byron
Warnings: spoilers for Avengers movie; Odin’s A+ parenting; written prior to Thor 2
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 545
Point of view: third
Prompt: MCU, Thor + Loki,
And like a blind hammer
That destroys what it can't see
Tear down the walls of progress
And spit on our ancestry
When they are yet children, huddled together on Thor's bed, Father's final words about frost giants and kings echoing in their ears, Thor whispers, "We'll be warrior kings and all the realms will look at us in awe and fear."
"Yes," Loki agrees, but he looks at Thor and he sees a golden future - and when he looks at himself, he sees nothing at all.
...
When they are grown, Loki tumbles through the abyss and Thor paces at the edge of the world.
When they are grown, Loki is hidden away in a cell and his name cursed in three realms.
When they are grown, Thor's future is golden indeed, while Loki's is grim and full of grief.
...
"Brother," Thor says, on the cusp of manhood. "When I am king, you will be my counsel and right hand."
"Of course, brother," Loki replies. Thor's friends already look at Loki with dislike, and Father's own council mutter about pranks and twisting words when Father is not present.
But Thor's future is still golden, and Loki's harder to find each day.
...
Frigga glances away from the loom while Loki flips through a book he's read before and Thor laughs with the Warriors 3. Sif sharpens her blade, eyes on Loki.
"Oh, my sons," Frigga murmurs, "I am so very sorry." But she cannot warn them.
All of the futures are clear to her, but she can never speak of what she sees.
...
When they are grown, Thor stares at Loki through a glass wall, spelled to be nearly as strong as Mjölnir. "Are you yet tired of brooding over me?" Loki asks, head tilted insouciantly and lips twisted in that damned annoying smirk.
"I'm waiting for the brother I knew to return," Thor says quietly.
Loki laughs, “Then you’ll be waiting until Ragnarök, and perhaps even after.”
But Thor only smiles at him until Loki narrows his eyes, because Loki could have killed him in New York and barely tried. “I’ll keep waiting,” he promises. “Until Ragnarök, and perhaps even after.”
Loki looks away and says nothing else, but Thor has hope and knows that the child he still loves so fiercely is in there somewhere, and he has finally learned patience.
…
Frigga closes her eyes and turns from the loom, burying her face in her hands. “Oh, my sons, my sons,” she cries.
“My lady,” one of her handmaidens calls, rushing over, but Frigga pushes her away. The handmaiden sees nothing on the loom but cloth, and so would Odin –
But Frigga sees a golden future for both her children and cannot speak of it.
…
When they are children, Loki shows Thor every spell he learns, every trick he tries, every illusion he masters.
When they are children, Thor teaches Loki every form of warfare their father insists he learns.
They both attend lessons on history and battle tactics, on statecraft and kingship. In everything, they are equal, two princes, brothers. Thor is older by a mere year, which matters little to either of them.
After all, their father promises they both will be kings, one day, when they are grown.
But they are children, yet, and Thor laughs at Loki’s pranks, and Loki follows Thor into all sorts of trouble, and the future is eons away.
Title: The Revolution Will Not Be Televised
Fandom: Inception/Hunger Games
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: AU; character death; mentions of violence
Pairings: Arthur/Eames
Rating: PG13
Wordcount: 980
Point of view: third
Prompt: Author's choice, author's choice, Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose
"So," the smirking tribute from District 3 asks, "what'd you do to end up here?"
Arthur shrugs. "Better me than someone with a family to mourn."
"No," his companion says, glancing over, eyes flashing in the firelight. "Better no one at all."
In the morning, one of them will have to die.
...
The other tribute from District 8 was a little girl named Rosalie. Arthur did what he could for her; her twelfth birthday was only a month before the Reaping. Arthur knows because she cried about in his arms on the train and he held her until she fell asleep.
Arthur is two months away from nineteen. He’s good with a knife, but better with a gun, and he promised himself, watching the fat judges watch him with unimpressed eyes, that he wouldn’t go down easy. He doesn’t expect to win; no one except the Careers expect to win. But he’ll decide who gets to kill him.
Rosalie dies first, of course, at the Cornucopia. “Rose,” Arthur had shouted, moving backwards. “C’mon!” He’d looked past her, to a smirking Career, and he’d known -
Arthur cursed and turned to run into the woods. That night, he snuck into the Careers’ camp and stuck a knife in the bastard who killed Rosalie’s eye.
That was the first time he saw the tribute from District 3, smirking. The boy inclined his head and didn’t raise the alarm as Arthur melted back into the night.
…
Arthur has no family. Back home, he’d work and then he’d sleep, having left school when he was fourteen. His mother worked herself to death and he never knew his father; his older sister died in the Games six years ago. She hadn’t even fought to live, just as tired as Arthur is.
But Arthur’s anger is stronger than his weariness and when he wasn’t sleeping or working, he researched. He knows how every winner in the past thirty years won. He knows wilderness survival, battle tactics, and how to throw a knife. It’s all theoretical, yes, but that’s better than some of the children here.
And they are children. Only one younger than fourteen is left, and Arthur spends three days shadowing her, killing two of the older ones who go after her.
He wonders what the audience thinks. Decides he doesn’t care. He’s giving them a show, after all. The fuckers.
…
“I can honestly admit,” the boy says, “that I knew this would happen.”
He’s Arthur’s age, but with a bit more muscle. Arthur hasn’t had enough to eat in years. “That first night,” he continues, “when you brazenly came into our camp.” He laughs. “They were all in tizzy that morning.”
He’s holding a spear; Arthur’s got a knife. There’s one pack of food left, and them. That’s it for this Game.
“Let’s share and fight it out in the morning, yeah?” he offers, spear pointed at the ground.
Arthur nods. The boy smiles, holding out a hand. “I’m Eames.”
“Arthur,” Arthur says, clasping his hand.
…
Eames is half a year away from nineteen. He’s got two younger sisters and a mother. He volunteered when his sister’s name was called. Like Arthur, he was given a low rating and expected to die early on.
“Like I’d give them the satisfaction,” he hissed, and Arthur nodded.
“They want a show,” Arthur murmurs, watching Eames glut himself on the remaining supplies.
“Oh, yes,” Eames says. “A brutal fight to the death and what-all.” His grin is razor-sharp and cold. “I have a better idea.” He lowers his head, flicks his eyes to the bush a few feet away.
Arthur smiles.
They want a show. Entertainment. Twenty-two children have died for it, die every year for it.
“Will they go after your family?” he asks.
Eames shrugs. “It’s possible. But they’d understand, I think, and I know that I couldn’t – ” He bites off the words. “I’ve done horrible things in here.”
There is nothing back home for Arthur. And if the only one he’d allow to kill him doesn’t want to…
“I’ll see you in the morning,” Eames says.
“Good night,” Arthur whispers.
They curl up with each other and it’s the best sleep Arthur has gotten since his mother died.
…
In the morning, Eames plucks the berries from the bush. “Let’s have a treat afore we fight, yeah?” he says brightly.
Arthur smiles. “Sounds like a wonderful idea,” he adds.
After all, both of them are from urban districts. What do they know about surviving in the wild? Absolutely nothing.
“What will you do, if you win?” Eames asks him.
Arthur drops his berries into his mash, stirring them in. “Take a long, luxurious bath, I think,” he says. “Read for days, until my eyes hurt too much to keep on. You?”
“I like the thought of a bath,” Eames muses, dropping the berries one by one into his mouth.
Arthur wonders if anyone has caught on yet. They all have to be watching. Only two left – this is what they’ve all been waiting for.
“What are your sisters’ names?” he asks. “Mine was Amalie.” He thinks that might be why he tried to save Rosalie – they even had the same color eyes, the same exact shade of dark chocolate.
“Evie, she’s fourteen,” Eames says. “Etta is only ten.” He smiles, dropping one more berry in his mouth. “If I win, they’ll be safe from this place forever.”
Arthur’s smile is as bittersweet as the berries flavoring the mash he just finished. “Their children won’t be,” he says. “Or yours.” He starts shuddering; fire is building in his stomach. Tears are leaking out of Eames’ eyes.
Eames leans over, presses his mouth to Arthur’s. “I’d’ve let you kill me, you know,” he mumbles, as they both go tumbling down.
Yeah, Arthur knows that. His tongue isn’t working right, or he’d tell Eames so.
Title: lips as red
Fandom: fairy tales (Sleeping Beauty/Snow White)
Disclaimer: mostly my characters? They’re open domain now, right?
Warnings: modern-day AU
Pairings: Sleeping Beauty/Snow White
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 875
Point of view: third
Prompt: any, any,
I remember the face but I can't recall the name
Now I wonder how whatshername has been.
(Green Day, Whatshername)
Hey, Stefan, do you remember those girls? One of ‘em was Blondie – long blonde hair, those fuck me eyes.
Oh, yeah, bluer than the sky, weren’t they? Man. Haven’t thought of her in a while. And her girlfriend – brunette, right? With those ooh, so green eyes. And that skin! Damn, it was so pale. Remember? Dude.
I know, right? Shit. What ever happened to them?
I dunno. Maybe Evan does? He had a crush the size of Everest on Blondie. Damnit. What was their names?
…
The first day of high-school, Rosalind doesn’t want to get out of the car. She sinks low into the seat, not meeting Auntie Bella’s eyes.
“Sweetheart, I’ll be right here when the bell rings,” Auntie Bella promises. “I’ll even bring Auntie Raven if you like, and Auntie Em.” She reaches over to pat Rosalind’s shoulder. “Nothing bad will happen. You’re just growing up, is all.”
Rosalind takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to grow up,” she mumbles, brushing her hair out of her face. It’s already escaping the ponytail; maybe she should’ve had Auntie Em braid it back.
“Oh, baby girl,” Auntie Bella laughs softly. “No one wants to grow up, but time doesn’t wait for anyone. Not even princesses.”
At the reminder of her favorite childhood game, Rosalind smiles. Remembering how she used to pretend to be a fairy princess, she sits up straight, opens the door, and slides from the car. “Aunt Belladonna,” she says, leaning back down to look in, “Please bring Aunt Ravenna and Aunt Merryn with you this afternoon. I’m sure that I’ll have stories to tell.”
“Of course, Rosalind,” Auntie Bella says. “We’ll see you this afternoon.” She sends one more encouraging smile. “Try to have fun.”
Rosalind nods, shoulders her booksack, and marches into the school.
.
For the first three hours, Rosalind is too nervous to speak to anybody. But then a girl sits beside her in English and says brightly, “Hi! I’m Bianca.”
“Rosalind,” she mumbles, ducking her head down. “Hi.”
“Rosalind,” Bianca repeats. “That’s pretty. Want to hear a joke one of my uncles told me? I have seven of them and they’re always trying to one-up each other.”
The teacher starts to call roll, but by the time she gets to Rosalind, Rosalind is trying to keep her giggles down and can’t say anything, so Bianca says, “She’s here, ma’am.”
“And you are?” the teacher asks.
“Bianca Klin, ma’am,” she says. “Uncle Burt just registered me yesterday.”
The teacher jots something down just as Rosalind catches her breath. Bianca smiles at her and Rosalind can’t help smiling back.
.
Bianca finds her again in the cafeteria. They have all of their afternoon classes together. Bianca is all smiles and giggles, and Rosalind tries a few jokes that Auntie Em has told her over the years. Bianca’s laugh has Rosalind smiling all through civics.
“Let’s meet out front tomorrow,” Bianca says at the end of the day. Rosalind sees her aunts waiting and she’s so excited to tell them about her friend.
“Yes,” she agrees. “And I’ll bring that book for you.”
“And I’ll bring you Uncle Jem’s celebration cookies,” Bianca promises. She pulls Rosalind into a quick hug and then hurries off, to a car somewhere behind the aunts’. Rosalind watches her go and then runs to the car, where she throws herself into the backseat and her arms around Auntie Raven.
“I have a friend!” she shouts.
All three of her aunts stare at her as she pulls back from Auntie Raven, and then they start speaking at the same time.
Rosalind just laughs.
.
In their freshman year, Rosalind and Bianca are just those two girls, the ones at the edge of every crowd, always off by themselves. In their sophomore year, Bianca’s skin clears up and she starts wearing her hair down, and finally hits a growth spurt, which gives her a few more inches and also quite a few curves. In their junior year, Rosalind tries out for the spring play, finally finds confidence, and everyone seems to notice that her face isn’t half bad looking. (Bianca calls her beautiful, not for the first time, as the final show closes. And Bianca leans down to gently kiss her lips, and Rosalind can’t breathe, looking up at her, and then it’s like her heart explodes, and she can’t stop smiling, and Bianca leans back down, and they’re late for the afterparty.)
In their senior year, everyone is suddenly their friend, but Bianca and Rosalind have eyes only for each other. They don’t campaign but are voted co-prom queens; for the class superlatives, Rosalind has best eyes and Bianca best smile.
After graduation, everyone loses track of them. But they’re off doing something extraordinary, for sure. With their brains and their looks – ain’t no one and nothing that could slow them down.
…
“It’s like magic or something,” Ravenna tells Lenny. Lenny’s brothers are ranged around the house, mostly in the den with the TV (some sports thing, probably; Merryn is in there, too). Belladonna and Jem are preparing dinner while Ravenna and Lenny take care of the animals outside. “Those two finding each other, I mean.”
Lenny laughs. “Yup, it sure is,” he agrees. “Just like magic.”
Title: she’ll dye her dress, she’ll dye it red
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from a folk song
Warnings: AU; mentions of death/destruction
Pairings: Methos/Kronos
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 710
Point of view: third
Prompt: Highlander, always female Methos, the oldest Immortal
She never tells the truth of her age. She is researching the legendary Methos and the Highlander lets himself into her flat, and she simply laughs when he asks, "Methos?"
"Of course not," she lies. "I'm Eve Pierson."
Methos the legend must always be male.
.
She lets Duncan convince her that she is pre-immortal, and raves at him afterwards, stripping paint from the walls with her stringency. Of course her job is lost the moment Kalas comes for her, but Duncan sees only a helpless damsel and swoops in, takes her back to Seacouver under the shelter of his protection.
Joe sometimes watches her (hah, Watches) but she mastered the art of bullshitting back when there were merely a handful of languages in the world.
.
Evelyn Pierson is the (adopted) daughter of John and Marietta Pierson. She attended Oxford on scholarship. There are people in her hometown who will swear until the cows come home that she was the sweetest girl they ever met. Her teachers adored her. Even with the Watchers, she was beloved.
“Maybe,” she tells Duncan after she calms, “I’ll be able to meet Methos!”
Duncan laughs and pats her shoulder. “Maybe you will, at that.”
.
Kronos, Silas, Methos, Caspian. Pestilence, War, Death, Famine – two men and two women, the end of the world.
Oh, Kronos had loved her. And she had loved him. In blood and in terror, in dust and in peace. She had found him as a boy, had sensed the lightning in him, had taken him with her when she left the village on fire. Silas came later, with his cattle and his horses. And Caspian they found at the edge of the sea, washing the blood of two continents off her skin.
What finally drove Methos away from her brothers and sister was Kronos’ jealousy. He could never stand her with another – and she could not stand being owned like one of their slaves, not by that boy who lived only by her mercy.
Kronos, Silas, and Caspian would always blame the woman Cassandra for the end of their reign. But it was Methos finally growing tired of Kronos and wanting her own life.
.
When the fake Methos comes to town and preaches his philosophy of peace, Eve Pierson visits him with Richie, just two students of the Highlander. Richie falls for it, hook, line, and sinker. Eve laughs.
When Cassandra tries to attack Eve Pierson, tries to claim that she is Methos, Duncan believes it means her age has finally caught up with her.
When Kronos kills her in the parking lot, she wakes with a sigh and lets him hold her. It’s been three thousand years since she was Methos.
“You haven’t changed at all, brother,” she whispers into his neck, twining her hands in his too-short hair. She lets him rant, lets him rave, listens to his madness as she always has –
She remembers when there was no civilization at all, just pockets of people here and there, family units trying to survive amidst the beasts. She remembers dying and waking and dying again and again and again. She remembers the Mother Goddess, and when religion became everything, when the Nazarene spread to every corner of the world.
“Kronos,” she says now, when he finally falls silent. “Your plan will not work.”
No, he hasn’t changed at all, not in four thousand years. And while Eve Pierson is a darling, she does not enjoy being babied, patted on the head, and sent into the kitchen.
Kronos remembers the woman who found him, kept him, and taught him to kill.
“Then tell me what will, Methos,” he begs, falling to his knees beside her, clutching her hand. “I have missed you.”
She stares down at him. “Do you remember when we tore down kingdoms?” she asks. His smile spreads across his face and she adds, “The kingdoms are bigger, but they’ll fall just as easily.”
.
Richie and Duncan tear apart Seacouver looking for her, but Joe flips through the Methos files, dreading what might come next.
“I told you!” Cassandra screams while Europe is ravaged by a plague. “I told you!”
.
Methos rides out of the sun with her brothers and sister, and feels freer than she has in three thousand years.
Fandom: Supernatural
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Komunyakaa
Warnings: AUish? Preseries; creepy
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 320
Point of view: third
Prompt: SPN, Dean/Author's choice, Devil May Cry
Hey, Dean, Mama says.
Dean looks at her, then back at Daddy, asleep on the couch, and at Sammy, babbling to himself by the window, Mr. Cuddles tucked up next to him.
Mama, Dean whispers. Daddy said you're gone. They're the first words he's spoken since that night, since Take your brother outside, fast as you can. Now, Dean, go!
Daddy had given him Sammy, told him to leave Mama and him behind, and Dean did. He did. He left them and Mama's gone, and Daddy hasn't been the same.
Oh, baby, Mama says, and there are tears on her face, and her hands are gentle and soft on Dean's cheeks as she pulls him in for a hug and a kiss. Oh, my little boy.
Mama, Dean cries, Mama, why did you go?
Do you remember what I told you every night before bed? Mama asks.
Dean nods, and Mama glances around before putting her mouth right by Dean’s ear to whisper, The angels took me away, baby.
But why? Dean demands, and Daddy startles on the couch, and Sammy looks up from Mr. Cuddles, but Daddy settles and Sammy goes back to his game.
Because, sweetheart, Mama says gently, they didn’t want me to tell you the truth.
She hugs him tight and he clings to her, and Mama tells him everything, about the angel war, and the good son locked away for being right, and the key, hidden deep inside the best of little boys.
Remember, baby, I wasn’t supposed to tell you, but I love you so much. She hugs him hard. I love you too much to let you live in the dark.
I love you too, Mama, he says, and she presses one more kiss to his forehead, murmurs into his skin, It’s our secret, Dean, just for us.
He nods, and Daddy rolls off the couch.
When Dean looks back, Mama is gone.
Title: stars that shoot along the sky shine brightest as they fall from high
Fandom: Avengers movieverse
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Lord Byron
Warnings: spoilers for Avengers movie; Odin’s A+ parenting; written prior to Thor 2
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 545
Point of view: third
Prompt: MCU, Thor + Loki,
And like a blind hammer
That destroys what it can't see
Tear down the walls of progress
And spit on our ancestry
When they are yet children, huddled together on Thor's bed, Father's final words about frost giants and kings echoing in their ears, Thor whispers, "We'll be warrior kings and all the realms will look at us in awe and fear."
"Yes," Loki agrees, but he looks at Thor and he sees a golden future - and when he looks at himself, he sees nothing at all.
...
When they are grown, Loki tumbles through the abyss and Thor paces at the edge of the world.
When they are grown, Loki is hidden away in a cell and his name cursed in three realms.
When they are grown, Thor's future is golden indeed, while Loki's is grim and full of grief.
...
"Brother," Thor says, on the cusp of manhood. "When I am king, you will be my counsel and right hand."
"Of course, brother," Loki replies. Thor's friends already look at Loki with dislike, and Father's own council mutter about pranks and twisting words when Father is not present.
But Thor's future is still golden, and Loki's harder to find each day.
...
Frigga glances away from the loom while Loki flips through a book he's read before and Thor laughs with the Warriors 3. Sif sharpens her blade, eyes on Loki.
"Oh, my sons," Frigga murmurs, "I am so very sorry." But she cannot warn them.
All of the futures are clear to her, but she can never speak of what she sees.
...
When they are grown, Thor stares at Loki through a glass wall, spelled to be nearly as strong as Mjölnir. "Are you yet tired of brooding over me?" Loki asks, head tilted insouciantly and lips twisted in that damned annoying smirk.
"I'm waiting for the brother I knew to return," Thor says quietly.
Loki laughs, “Then you’ll be waiting until Ragnarök, and perhaps even after.”
But Thor only smiles at him until Loki narrows his eyes, because Loki could have killed him in New York and barely tried. “I’ll keep waiting,” he promises. “Until Ragnarök, and perhaps even after.”
Loki looks away and says nothing else, but Thor has hope and knows that the child he still loves so fiercely is in there somewhere, and he has finally learned patience.
…
Frigga closes her eyes and turns from the loom, burying her face in her hands. “Oh, my sons, my sons,” she cries.
“My lady,” one of her handmaidens calls, rushing over, but Frigga pushes her away. The handmaiden sees nothing on the loom but cloth, and so would Odin –
But Frigga sees a golden future for both her children and cannot speak of it.
…
When they are children, Loki shows Thor every spell he learns, every trick he tries, every illusion he masters.
When they are children, Thor teaches Loki every form of warfare their father insists he learns.
They both attend lessons on history and battle tactics, on statecraft and kingship. In everything, they are equal, two princes, brothers. Thor is older by a mere year, which matters little to either of them.
After all, their father promises they both will be kings, one day, when they are grown.
But they are children, yet, and Thor laughs at Loki’s pranks, and Loki follows Thor into all sorts of trouble, and the future is eons away.
Title: The Revolution Will Not Be Televised
Fandom: Inception/Hunger Games
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: AU; character death; mentions of violence
Pairings: Arthur/Eames
Rating: PG13
Wordcount: 980
Point of view: third
Prompt: Author's choice, author's choice, Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose
"So," the smirking tribute from District 3 asks, "what'd you do to end up here?"
Arthur shrugs. "Better me than someone with a family to mourn."
"No," his companion says, glancing over, eyes flashing in the firelight. "Better no one at all."
In the morning, one of them will have to die.
...
The other tribute from District 8 was a little girl named Rosalie. Arthur did what he could for her; her twelfth birthday was only a month before the Reaping. Arthur knows because she cried about in his arms on the train and he held her until she fell asleep.
Arthur is two months away from nineteen. He’s good with a knife, but better with a gun, and he promised himself, watching the fat judges watch him with unimpressed eyes, that he wouldn’t go down easy. He doesn’t expect to win; no one except the Careers expect to win. But he’ll decide who gets to kill him.
Rosalie dies first, of course, at the Cornucopia. “Rose,” Arthur had shouted, moving backwards. “C’mon!” He’d looked past her, to a smirking Career, and he’d known -
Arthur cursed and turned to run into the woods. That night, he snuck into the Careers’ camp and stuck a knife in the bastard who killed Rosalie’s eye.
That was the first time he saw the tribute from District 3, smirking. The boy inclined his head and didn’t raise the alarm as Arthur melted back into the night.
…
Arthur has no family. Back home, he’d work and then he’d sleep, having left school when he was fourteen. His mother worked herself to death and he never knew his father; his older sister died in the Games six years ago. She hadn’t even fought to live, just as tired as Arthur is.
But Arthur’s anger is stronger than his weariness and when he wasn’t sleeping or working, he researched. He knows how every winner in the past thirty years won. He knows wilderness survival, battle tactics, and how to throw a knife. It’s all theoretical, yes, but that’s better than some of the children here.
And they are children. Only one younger than fourteen is left, and Arthur spends three days shadowing her, killing two of the older ones who go after her.
He wonders what the audience thinks. Decides he doesn’t care. He’s giving them a show, after all. The fuckers.
…
“I can honestly admit,” the boy says, “that I knew this would happen.”
He’s Arthur’s age, but with a bit more muscle. Arthur hasn’t had enough to eat in years. “That first night,” he continues, “when you brazenly came into our camp.” He laughs. “They were all in tizzy that morning.”
He’s holding a spear; Arthur’s got a knife. There’s one pack of food left, and them. That’s it for this Game.
“Let’s share and fight it out in the morning, yeah?” he offers, spear pointed at the ground.
Arthur nods. The boy smiles, holding out a hand. “I’m Eames.”
“Arthur,” Arthur says, clasping his hand.
…
Eames is half a year away from nineteen. He’s got two younger sisters and a mother. He volunteered when his sister’s name was called. Like Arthur, he was given a low rating and expected to die early on.
“Like I’d give them the satisfaction,” he hissed, and Arthur nodded.
“They want a show,” Arthur murmurs, watching Eames glut himself on the remaining supplies.
“Oh, yes,” Eames says. “A brutal fight to the death and what-all.” His grin is razor-sharp and cold. “I have a better idea.” He lowers his head, flicks his eyes to the bush a few feet away.
Arthur smiles.
They want a show. Entertainment. Twenty-two children have died for it, die every year for it.
“Will they go after your family?” he asks.
Eames shrugs. “It’s possible. But they’d understand, I think, and I know that I couldn’t – ” He bites off the words. “I’ve done horrible things in here.”
There is nothing back home for Arthur. And if the only one he’d allow to kill him doesn’t want to…
“I’ll see you in the morning,” Eames says.
“Good night,” Arthur whispers.
They curl up with each other and it’s the best sleep Arthur has gotten since his mother died.
…
In the morning, Eames plucks the berries from the bush. “Let’s have a treat afore we fight, yeah?” he says brightly.
Arthur smiles. “Sounds like a wonderful idea,” he adds.
After all, both of them are from urban districts. What do they know about surviving in the wild? Absolutely nothing.
“What will you do, if you win?” Eames asks him.
Arthur drops his berries into his mash, stirring them in. “Take a long, luxurious bath, I think,” he says. “Read for days, until my eyes hurt too much to keep on. You?”
“I like the thought of a bath,” Eames muses, dropping the berries one by one into his mouth.
Arthur wonders if anyone has caught on yet. They all have to be watching. Only two left – this is what they’ve all been waiting for.
“What are your sisters’ names?” he asks. “Mine was Amalie.” He thinks that might be why he tried to save Rosalie – they even had the same color eyes, the same exact shade of dark chocolate.
“Evie, she’s fourteen,” Eames says. “Etta is only ten.” He smiles, dropping one more berry in his mouth. “If I win, they’ll be safe from this place forever.”
Arthur’s smile is as bittersweet as the berries flavoring the mash he just finished. “Their children won’t be,” he says. “Or yours.” He starts shuddering; fire is building in his stomach. Tears are leaking out of Eames’ eyes.
Eames leans over, presses his mouth to Arthur’s. “I’d’ve let you kill me, you know,” he mumbles, as they both go tumbling down.
Yeah, Arthur knows that. His tongue isn’t working right, or he’d tell Eames so.
Title: lips as red
Fandom: fairy tales (Sleeping Beauty/Snow White)
Disclaimer: mostly my characters? They’re open domain now, right?
Warnings: modern-day AU
Pairings: Sleeping Beauty/Snow White
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 875
Point of view: third
Prompt: any, any,
I remember the face but I can't recall the name
Now I wonder how whatshername has been.
(Green Day, Whatshername)
Hey, Stefan, do you remember those girls? One of ‘em was Blondie – long blonde hair, those fuck me eyes.
Oh, yeah, bluer than the sky, weren’t they? Man. Haven’t thought of her in a while. And her girlfriend – brunette, right? With those ooh, so green eyes. And that skin! Damn, it was so pale. Remember? Dude.
I know, right? Shit. What ever happened to them?
I dunno. Maybe Evan does? He had a crush the size of Everest on Blondie. Damnit. What was their names?
…
The first day of high-school, Rosalind doesn’t want to get out of the car. She sinks low into the seat, not meeting Auntie Bella’s eyes.
“Sweetheart, I’ll be right here when the bell rings,” Auntie Bella promises. “I’ll even bring Auntie Raven if you like, and Auntie Em.” She reaches over to pat Rosalind’s shoulder. “Nothing bad will happen. You’re just growing up, is all.”
Rosalind takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to grow up,” she mumbles, brushing her hair out of her face. It’s already escaping the ponytail; maybe she should’ve had Auntie Em braid it back.
“Oh, baby girl,” Auntie Bella laughs softly. “No one wants to grow up, but time doesn’t wait for anyone. Not even princesses.”
At the reminder of her favorite childhood game, Rosalind smiles. Remembering how she used to pretend to be a fairy princess, she sits up straight, opens the door, and slides from the car. “Aunt Belladonna,” she says, leaning back down to look in, “Please bring Aunt Ravenna and Aunt Merryn with you this afternoon. I’m sure that I’ll have stories to tell.”
“Of course, Rosalind,” Auntie Bella says. “We’ll see you this afternoon.” She sends one more encouraging smile. “Try to have fun.”
Rosalind nods, shoulders her booksack, and marches into the school.
.
For the first three hours, Rosalind is too nervous to speak to anybody. But then a girl sits beside her in English and says brightly, “Hi! I’m Bianca.”
“Rosalind,” she mumbles, ducking her head down. “Hi.”
“Rosalind,” Bianca repeats. “That’s pretty. Want to hear a joke one of my uncles told me? I have seven of them and they’re always trying to one-up each other.”
The teacher starts to call roll, but by the time she gets to Rosalind, Rosalind is trying to keep her giggles down and can’t say anything, so Bianca says, “She’s here, ma’am.”
“And you are?” the teacher asks.
“Bianca Klin, ma’am,” she says. “Uncle Burt just registered me yesterday.”
The teacher jots something down just as Rosalind catches her breath. Bianca smiles at her and Rosalind can’t help smiling back.
.
Bianca finds her again in the cafeteria. They have all of their afternoon classes together. Bianca is all smiles and giggles, and Rosalind tries a few jokes that Auntie Em has told her over the years. Bianca’s laugh has Rosalind smiling all through civics.
“Let’s meet out front tomorrow,” Bianca says at the end of the day. Rosalind sees her aunts waiting and she’s so excited to tell them about her friend.
“Yes,” she agrees. “And I’ll bring that book for you.”
“And I’ll bring you Uncle Jem’s celebration cookies,” Bianca promises. She pulls Rosalind into a quick hug and then hurries off, to a car somewhere behind the aunts’. Rosalind watches her go and then runs to the car, where she throws herself into the backseat and her arms around Auntie Raven.
“I have a friend!” she shouts.
All three of her aunts stare at her as she pulls back from Auntie Raven, and then they start speaking at the same time.
Rosalind just laughs.
.
In their freshman year, Rosalind and Bianca are just those two girls, the ones at the edge of every crowd, always off by themselves. In their sophomore year, Bianca’s skin clears up and she starts wearing her hair down, and finally hits a growth spurt, which gives her a few more inches and also quite a few curves. In their junior year, Rosalind tries out for the spring play, finally finds confidence, and everyone seems to notice that her face isn’t half bad looking. (Bianca calls her beautiful, not for the first time, as the final show closes. And Bianca leans down to gently kiss her lips, and Rosalind can’t breathe, looking up at her, and then it’s like her heart explodes, and she can’t stop smiling, and Bianca leans back down, and they’re late for the afterparty.)
In their senior year, everyone is suddenly their friend, but Bianca and Rosalind have eyes only for each other. They don’t campaign but are voted co-prom queens; for the class superlatives, Rosalind has best eyes and Bianca best smile.
After graduation, everyone loses track of them. But they’re off doing something extraordinary, for sure. With their brains and their looks – ain’t no one and nothing that could slow them down.
…
“It’s like magic or something,” Ravenna tells Lenny. Lenny’s brothers are ranged around the house, mostly in the den with the TV (some sports thing, probably; Merryn is in there, too). Belladonna and Jem are preparing dinner while Ravenna and Lenny take care of the animals outside. “Those two finding each other, I mean.”
Lenny laughs. “Yup, it sure is,” he agrees. “Just like magic.”
Title: she’ll dye her dress, she’ll dye it red
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from a folk song
Warnings: AU; mentions of death/destruction
Pairings: Methos/Kronos
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 710
Point of view: third
Prompt: Highlander, always female Methos, the oldest Immortal
She never tells the truth of her age. She is researching the legendary Methos and the Highlander lets himself into her flat, and she simply laughs when he asks, "Methos?"
"Of course not," she lies. "I'm Eve Pierson."
Methos the legend must always be male.
.
She lets Duncan convince her that she is pre-immortal, and raves at him afterwards, stripping paint from the walls with her stringency. Of course her job is lost the moment Kalas comes for her, but Duncan sees only a helpless damsel and swoops in, takes her back to Seacouver under the shelter of his protection.
Joe sometimes watches her (hah, Watches) but she mastered the art of bullshitting back when there were merely a handful of languages in the world.
.
Evelyn Pierson is the (adopted) daughter of John and Marietta Pierson. She attended Oxford on scholarship. There are people in her hometown who will swear until the cows come home that she was the sweetest girl they ever met. Her teachers adored her. Even with the Watchers, she was beloved.
“Maybe,” she tells Duncan after she calms, “I’ll be able to meet Methos!”
Duncan laughs and pats her shoulder. “Maybe you will, at that.”
.
Kronos, Silas, Methos, Caspian. Pestilence, War, Death, Famine – two men and two women, the end of the world.
Oh, Kronos had loved her. And she had loved him. In blood and in terror, in dust and in peace. She had found him as a boy, had sensed the lightning in him, had taken him with her when she left the village on fire. Silas came later, with his cattle and his horses. And Caspian they found at the edge of the sea, washing the blood of two continents off her skin.
What finally drove Methos away from her brothers and sister was Kronos’ jealousy. He could never stand her with another – and she could not stand being owned like one of their slaves, not by that boy who lived only by her mercy.
Kronos, Silas, and Caspian would always blame the woman Cassandra for the end of their reign. But it was Methos finally growing tired of Kronos and wanting her own life.
.
When the fake Methos comes to town and preaches his philosophy of peace, Eve Pierson visits him with Richie, just two students of the Highlander. Richie falls for it, hook, line, and sinker. Eve laughs.
When Cassandra tries to attack Eve Pierson, tries to claim that she is Methos, Duncan believes it means her age has finally caught up with her.
When Kronos kills her in the parking lot, she wakes with a sigh and lets him hold her. It’s been three thousand years since she was Methos.
“You haven’t changed at all, brother,” she whispers into his neck, twining her hands in his too-short hair. She lets him rant, lets him rave, listens to his madness as she always has –
She remembers when there was no civilization at all, just pockets of people here and there, family units trying to survive amidst the beasts. She remembers dying and waking and dying again and again and again. She remembers the Mother Goddess, and when religion became everything, when the Nazarene spread to every corner of the world.
“Kronos,” she says now, when he finally falls silent. “Your plan will not work.”
No, he hasn’t changed at all, not in four thousand years. And while Eve Pierson is a darling, she does not enjoy being babied, patted on the head, and sent into the kitchen.
Kronos remembers the woman who found him, kept him, and taught him to kill.
“Then tell me what will, Methos,” he begs, falling to his knees beside her, clutching her hand. “I have missed you.”
She stares down at him. “Do you remember when we tore down kingdoms?” she asks. His smile spreads across his face and she adds, “The kingdoms are bigger, but they’ll fall just as easily.”
.
Richie and Duncan tear apart Seacouver looking for her, but Joe flips through the Methos files, dreading what might come next.
“I told you!” Cassandra screams while Europe is ravaged by a plague. “I told you!”
.
Methos rides out of the sun with her brothers and sister, and feels freer than she has in three thousand years.