comment_fic 1161 - 1165
Oct. 31st, 2015 06:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tigriswolfTitle: the cost (be careful what you wish for)
Fandom: DCU animated
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: violence, death,
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 450
Point of view: third
Prompt: Dcu, jason todd (/+ any), monkey paw
This isn't at all what he wanted, he thinks, kneeling in a spreading puddle of blood, gasping for air, watching it all play out. But he was given the chance and he took it, and there's always a cost. Should've remembered that, Dickie-boy, he hears in his mind, in a voice—
If this is the price...
.
Bruce comes home without Jason. He doesn't call Dick; he leaves that to Alfred. Dick hadn't thought much of Jason, too wrapped up in being tossed aside, but now that Jason is gone, Dick realizes what's been lost.
No, not lost. Stolen. He screams at Bruce until his voice is hoarse and then goes to Barbara and they shout at each other before falling into bed, even though they've both sworn to move on.
It's when he's listening to her breathe, counting the breaths, that he remembers what old Helena, back in the circus, used to talk about, about magic and wishes.
He never really believes it will work.
.
The first wish is for the Joker to die.
There's a riot at Arkham and the Joker ends up gutted, bleeds out before any medical aid reaches him.
.
The second wish is for Jason to come back.
.
When the murders start, the only thing that keeps Batman from being accused is that he was with Commissioner Gordon during both the fourth and the sixth. Every victim is someone Batman had taken down, some of them still in prison, some of them out.
Dick doesn't know when Bruce figures out the connection but it takes until the tenth attack for Dick.
He visits the grave which hasn't been disturbed at all—except that someone has scratched out the death date.
.
Bruce, as far as Dick knows, never told anyone what happened, if he even knew, between the Joker and Jason. But Jason died and the Joker didn't.
Jason remembers. He kneels in front of Dick, cradles Dick's face in cold hands, and whispers, "There's one wish left, big brother. I know you want to."
Bruce is god-knows-where, and there was a bombing earlier, and Barbara is trying to evacuate Gotham PD's headquarters. Jason makes a terrifying bad guy, Dick thinks with a hysterical chuckle, listing forward into Jason's hold.
"You weren't supposed to be here," Jason admits, bringing one of those cold hands up to stroke Dick's forehead. "You're not a part of this, really."
Is this the price for bringing him back, life for life? Dick's willing...
"You have one more wish," Jason says again, tilting Dick's face so that their gazes meet. His body feels far away. Everything does. "Make it, Dick. I'm tired."
Dick blinks, and blinks again, and wishes—
Title: (d)evolution
Fandom: Highlander
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: references to violence
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 230
Point of view: third
Prompt: any (besides Supernatural), any, I gave you all your scars but you gave me mine.
As the ages pass, the stories change. Evolve, devolve, it doesn't matter, really. Translations as the dominant languages become something else, and language is always shifting, isn't it? The world was different then. Were the people?
Of course they weren't. People are the one thing you can depend on to stay the same, across continents and eons, from one ocean to the next.
Death is remembered, because Death is eternal. It's why he chose the name. His brothers—
Language changes. Here in this civilized age, he sits inside an air-conditioned apartment on the hottest day of the year and sips sweet tea while a hurricane forms in the Gulf, and he watches on the flat-screen TV he won in a contest as two Biblical scholars debate about who the four horsemen of Revelation truly were.
He laughs, closing his eyes to better picture how it was, the desert beneath the hooves, a hot sun at their back, and all the world before them. His brothers had laughed, each louder than the last, and here, over a decade into yet another new century, he is the only one left.
It is fitting, he thinks, saluting the debaters with his tea. The only Horseman with a name that cannot be debated.
In three days, when the evacuation order is given, he will leave this apartment and flee. He won't come back.
Title: the horse and the rider
Fandom: Highlander
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: future!fic, references to death/violence
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 695
Point of view: third
Prompt: any TV show. any. Don't blame me for what you've lost.
Kronos, Caspian, Silas, Byron. Others over the years, as Duncan has won many challenges. Rebecca and Darius cannot be laid at his door, though Methos could argue it, of course. Language is a slippery thing.
Kronos and Byron. He has loved others, hundreds of them, but Kronos had been the greatest and Byron's words had captured it. The memories mingle, now. Or perhaps he has just grown old.
He feels old, watching Duncan argue with his new Watcher the way he once argued with Joe. The girl has a sharp tongue and doesn't fall for Duncan's charm. She also doesn't recognize Methos.
He'd fooled them all, towards the end of the last century. Adam Pierson suffered his first death while a Watcher and it was embarrassing for them all. He wasn't Methos, of course; Joe had helped him, realizing it was safer for everyone involved.
Joe had seen, Methos thinks sometimes, just how much Methos hid. What had to be hidden, to have survived so much. Before Kronos came back, bringing the Horsemen with him. Joe understood.
Even now, thirty years after Methos tested the child, Duncan still doesn't. Even after Methos killed his brothers.
So many of them dead. There can be only one is a crock of shit. For a thousand years, four rode together; for three thousand, they lived in peace with each other. Had Kronos only adapted—
Sarafina wins the argument and turns back to her tablet. Duncan pouts at her before stomping back to Methos.
He is but a child, as all of them are. So few old ones remain because they were mostly like Kronos: unable or unwilling to adapt. Mortals grow cleverer every year and soon enough there will be no more hiding.
There were days when immortals walked amongst mortals and everyone knew what they were. God-kings and children of gods; wisemen and sages; pilgrims who were given the best place at the table.
Four men on horseback who terrorized a continent. So much history. Even more lost.
There were good days and there were bad days, and Methos does not know how these modern mortals will react when it all comes to light.
He feels so very old. Tired. He misses his brothers.
Inside, Kronos murmurs, you know how easy it would be. Silas begs for a horse to ride.
It is not Duncan's fault, not truly, but it would be so easy to blame him.
The Watchers think Adam Pierson is Duncan's student, and has been for nearly three decades. Perhaps it is not that he is tired, simply bored of this life.
There is much that is known, now. Very few places to hide.
But he doesn't need to hide for long, does he? Once, he ruled nations. And for all that the world has changed—people haven't.
"I'm gonna turn in," Adam Pierson tells his teacher and friend. He nods to Sarafina, shrugs on his coat, and steps into the night.
People don't change. They haven't in over five thousand years. They adapt, yes, but who they are at their core, in their very soul?
Kronos laughs as Methos' blood sings at the thought of the plan he quickly works through, walking in a city younger than Methos can truly fathom. Everything is so young, now.
I'll start with horses, Methos decides, for Silas.
Methos does not take with force, when he can avoid it. Taking with force is easy, and often leads to unrest, to rebellion. It is always best to work in the shadows, to be a friend of the people, and then, when you sit on the throne, they love you.
And if that doesn't work, as it doesn't always, you strike quickly.
Adam Pierson disappears. On the other side of the world, a warlord who adores horses learns that there is a young man who works magic with them. He says that his name is Silvano, when the warlord's men come for him, and he's only ever wanted to work with horses.
Technology will reveal immortals soon, and Silvano's 'uncle' offers him the best place at the table, and the horses dance as they have not danced in three thousand years.
Title: Once
Fandom: Cinderella (2015)
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: spoilers for the film
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 112
Point of view: first
Prompt: any, any, broken
Once, my dear,
I was young like you.
I was hopeful like you.
I dreamed like you.
Once, my dear,
I thought I had it all -
oh, so happily,
the light of my life
held my hand as we danced,
clutched me at night,
promised all the world would be mine.
Once, my dear, I was like you.
One day, my dear, should your
lovely husband pass as did both of mine,
I do wish you feel as I have felt
watching you all these years,
how brightly you shine.
Cling tightly, my dear,
for one day it may all pass away.
Remember, my dear,
once, I was young like you.
Untitled
Fandom: Tangled/Sleeping Beauty
Warnings: dub-con, dark, AU
Pairings: Maleficent/Flynn Ryder
Rating: PG13
Wordcount: 240
Point of view: third
Prompt: any, any hero/villain pair, Tell me a story that ends with death.
"Tell me a story," she says, reaching for his hand, stroking from wrist to fingertip.
"What kind?" he asks, shifting so that he's slightly closer.
"Oh, any will do," she says. "Just speak—I do so love your voice."
.
Once, there was a prince, heir of a mighty kingdom.
Or perhaps, he was a thief.
Yes, forgive me, I misspoke. He was a thief, an orphan, a liar. (Maybe, he was born a prince, but he was not raised as one. And what came before the streets is lost.)
Once, there was a thief who sought shelter in a tower.
.
"Such a lovely story," she murmurs, trailing her fingers along his torso. He shudders but does not pull away. "The ending, though, was a bit... sweet."
"Shall a tell another, milady?" he asks.
"Yes," she says. "But this time, a bit more truthful, I think."
.
Once, there was a thief who sought shelter in a tower. What he did not know—in fact, what no one knew, was that a beast slumbered beneath the tower, and the thief's exploration of his sanctuary woke the dragon.
.
"Much better," she says, kissing his throat. "Now, I should like to hear... hmm. Yes." He is no longer fun, since he has been broken to her will.
Her nails sharpen. "Tell me, my dear," she says, all the power of hell in her voice, "a story that ends with death."
Fandom: DCU animated
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: violence, death,
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 450
Point of view: third
Prompt: Dcu, jason todd (/+ any), monkey paw
This isn't at all what he wanted, he thinks, kneeling in a spreading puddle of blood, gasping for air, watching it all play out. But he was given the chance and he took it, and there's always a cost. Should've remembered that, Dickie-boy, he hears in his mind, in a voice—
If this is the price...
.
Bruce comes home without Jason. He doesn't call Dick; he leaves that to Alfred. Dick hadn't thought much of Jason, too wrapped up in being tossed aside, but now that Jason is gone, Dick realizes what's been lost.
No, not lost. Stolen. He screams at Bruce until his voice is hoarse and then goes to Barbara and they shout at each other before falling into bed, even though they've both sworn to move on.
It's when he's listening to her breathe, counting the breaths, that he remembers what old Helena, back in the circus, used to talk about, about magic and wishes.
He never really believes it will work.
.
The first wish is for the Joker to die.
There's a riot at Arkham and the Joker ends up gutted, bleeds out before any medical aid reaches him.
.
The second wish is for Jason to come back.
.
When the murders start, the only thing that keeps Batman from being accused is that he was with Commissioner Gordon during both the fourth and the sixth. Every victim is someone Batman had taken down, some of them still in prison, some of them out.
Dick doesn't know when Bruce figures out the connection but it takes until the tenth attack for Dick.
He visits the grave which hasn't been disturbed at all—except that someone has scratched out the death date.
.
Bruce, as far as Dick knows, never told anyone what happened, if he even knew, between the Joker and Jason. But Jason died and the Joker didn't.
Jason remembers. He kneels in front of Dick, cradles Dick's face in cold hands, and whispers, "There's one wish left, big brother. I know you want to."
Bruce is god-knows-where, and there was a bombing earlier, and Barbara is trying to evacuate Gotham PD's headquarters. Jason makes a terrifying bad guy, Dick thinks with a hysterical chuckle, listing forward into Jason's hold.
"You weren't supposed to be here," Jason admits, bringing one of those cold hands up to stroke Dick's forehead. "You're not a part of this, really."
Is this the price for bringing him back, life for life? Dick's willing...
"You have one more wish," Jason says again, tilting Dick's face so that their gazes meet. His body feels far away. Everything does. "Make it, Dick. I'm tired."
Dick blinks, and blinks again, and wishes—
Title: (d)evolution
Fandom: Highlander
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: references to violence
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 230
Point of view: third
Prompt: any (besides Supernatural), any, I gave you all your scars but you gave me mine.
As the ages pass, the stories change. Evolve, devolve, it doesn't matter, really. Translations as the dominant languages become something else, and language is always shifting, isn't it? The world was different then. Were the people?
Of course they weren't. People are the one thing you can depend on to stay the same, across continents and eons, from one ocean to the next.
Death is remembered, because Death is eternal. It's why he chose the name. His brothers—
Language changes. Here in this civilized age, he sits inside an air-conditioned apartment on the hottest day of the year and sips sweet tea while a hurricane forms in the Gulf, and he watches on the flat-screen TV he won in a contest as two Biblical scholars debate about who the four horsemen of Revelation truly were.
He laughs, closing his eyes to better picture how it was, the desert beneath the hooves, a hot sun at their back, and all the world before them. His brothers had laughed, each louder than the last, and here, over a decade into yet another new century, he is the only one left.
It is fitting, he thinks, saluting the debaters with his tea. The only Horseman with a name that cannot be debated.
In three days, when the evacuation order is given, he will leave this apartment and flee. He won't come back.
Title: the horse and the rider
Fandom: Highlander
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: future!fic, references to death/violence
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 695
Point of view: third
Prompt: any TV show. any. Don't blame me for what you've lost.
Kronos, Caspian, Silas, Byron. Others over the years, as Duncan has won many challenges. Rebecca and Darius cannot be laid at his door, though Methos could argue it, of course. Language is a slippery thing.
Kronos and Byron. He has loved others, hundreds of them, but Kronos had been the greatest and Byron's words had captured it. The memories mingle, now. Or perhaps he has just grown old.
He feels old, watching Duncan argue with his new Watcher the way he once argued with Joe. The girl has a sharp tongue and doesn't fall for Duncan's charm. She also doesn't recognize Methos.
He'd fooled them all, towards the end of the last century. Adam Pierson suffered his first death while a Watcher and it was embarrassing for them all. He wasn't Methos, of course; Joe had helped him, realizing it was safer for everyone involved.
Joe had seen, Methos thinks sometimes, just how much Methos hid. What had to be hidden, to have survived so much. Before Kronos came back, bringing the Horsemen with him. Joe understood.
Even now, thirty years after Methos tested the child, Duncan still doesn't. Even after Methos killed his brothers.
So many of them dead. There can be only one is a crock of shit. For a thousand years, four rode together; for three thousand, they lived in peace with each other. Had Kronos only adapted—
Sarafina wins the argument and turns back to her tablet. Duncan pouts at her before stomping back to Methos.
He is but a child, as all of them are. So few old ones remain because they were mostly like Kronos: unable or unwilling to adapt. Mortals grow cleverer every year and soon enough there will be no more hiding.
There were days when immortals walked amongst mortals and everyone knew what they were. God-kings and children of gods; wisemen and sages; pilgrims who were given the best place at the table.
Four men on horseback who terrorized a continent. So much history. Even more lost.
There were good days and there were bad days, and Methos does not know how these modern mortals will react when it all comes to light.
He feels so very old. Tired. He misses his brothers.
Inside, Kronos murmurs, you know how easy it would be. Silas begs for a horse to ride.
It is not Duncan's fault, not truly, but it would be so easy to blame him.
The Watchers think Adam Pierson is Duncan's student, and has been for nearly three decades. Perhaps it is not that he is tired, simply bored of this life.
There is much that is known, now. Very few places to hide.
But he doesn't need to hide for long, does he? Once, he ruled nations. And for all that the world has changed—people haven't.
"I'm gonna turn in," Adam Pierson tells his teacher and friend. He nods to Sarafina, shrugs on his coat, and steps into the night.
People don't change. They haven't in over five thousand years. They adapt, yes, but who they are at their core, in their very soul?
Kronos laughs as Methos' blood sings at the thought of the plan he quickly works through, walking in a city younger than Methos can truly fathom. Everything is so young, now.
I'll start with horses, Methos decides, for Silas.
Methos does not take with force, when he can avoid it. Taking with force is easy, and often leads to unrest, to rebellion. It is always best to work in the shadows, to be a friend of the people, and then, when you sit on the throne, they love you.
And if that doesn't work, as it doesn't always, you strike quickly.
Adam Pierson disappears. On the other side of the world, a warlord who adores horses learns that there is a young man who works magic with them. He says that his name is Silvano, when the warlord's men come for him, and he's only ever wanted to work with horses.
Technology will reveal immortals soon, and Silvano's 'uncle' offers him the best place at the table, and the horses dance as they have not danced in three thousand years.
Title: Once
Fandom: Cinderella (2015)
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: spoilers for the film
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 112
Point of view: first
Prompt: any, any, broken
Once, my dear,
I was young like you.
I was hopeful like you.
I dreamed like you.
Once, my dear,
I thought I had it all -
oh, so happily,
the light of my life
held my hand as we danced,
clutched me at night,
promised all the world would be mine.
Once, my dear, I was like you.
One day, my dear, should your
lovely husband pass as did both of mine,
I do wish you feel as I have felt
watching you all these years,
how brightly you shine.
Cling tightly, my dear,
for one day it may all pass away.
Remember, my dear,
once, I was young like you.
Untitled
Fandom: Tangled/Sleeping Beauty
Warnings: dub-con, dark, AU
Pairings: Maleficent/Flynn Ryder
Rating: PG13
Wordcount: 240
Point of view: third
Prompt: any, any hero/villain pair, Tell me a story that ends with death.
"Tell me a story," she says, reaching for his hand, stroking from wrist to fingertip.
"What kind?" he asks, shifting so that he's slightly closer.
"Oh, any will do," she says. "Just speak—I do so love your voice."
.
Once, there was a prince, heir of a mighty kingdom.
Or perhaps, he was a thief.
Yes, forgive me, I misspoke. He was a thief, an orphan, a liar. (Maybe, he was born a prince, but he was not raised as one. And what came before the streets is lost.)
Once, there was a thief who sought shelter in a tower.
.
"Such a lovely story," she murmurs, trailing her fingers along his torso. He shudders but does not pull away. "The ending, though, was a bit... sweet."
"Shall a tell another, milady?" he asks.
"Yes," she says. "But this time, a bit more truthful, I think."
.
Once, there was a thief who sought shelter in a tower. What he did not know—in fact, what no one knew, was that a beast slumbered beneath the tower, and the thief's exploration of his sanctuary woke the dragon.
.
"Much better," she says, kissing his throat. "Now, I should like to hear... hmm. Yes." He is no longer fun, since he has been broken to her will.
Her nails sharpen. "Tell me, my dear," she says, all the power of hell in her voice, "a story that ends with death."
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Date: 2015-11-01 01:00 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2015-11-02 06:15 pm (UTC)Thank you!