[Fic] Various drabbles
I'd forgotten about these. Ten drabbles varying from Amy/Rory/Eleven to Aqua traipsing through Rapture and then to Godstiel trying to make sense of himself (written before the new season, of course.)
1.) Turn your iTunes (or whatever music player you use) and set it to shuffle
2.) For each of the first ten songs that plays, write the first thing that comes to mind.
3.) When the song switches over, you have to start writing something new.
4.) Post the resulting drabble-y bits in your journal, with the titles of each song you ended up using.
5.) Tag three people to do the same!
1. Just the Way You Are-Bruno Mars
Rory/Amy/Eleven
Rory Williams first met Amelia Pond when he was ten years old. He had never been bothered like the other boys with tales of cooties, and later, by the rumors that Amelia Pond was madder than Alice and her Wonderland. He'd thought her beautiful, even when Jeff and Colin had mocked her for her hair- for her pale skin and the faint smattering of freckles across her nose.
They were children, and she was the mad little ginger down the street, but when she curled chapped lips into a smile and pressed a faintly pudgy hand to his, giggling "Do you want to play a game?" his heart beat a little faster.
When he meets the Doctor, he can't understand what she sees in him. Not at first, anyway.
Then the Doctor pops out of the cake at stag night and says a load of tosh about his fiancee kissing him, like he hadn't just seen Amy yesterday. He goes on about angels and the blitz and eventually takes Rory by the hand and tugs him past the doors of a blue police box. It's bigger on the inside, of course, and though Amy sulks at their "forced date" she also shrieks with laughter at his face when his eyes first light on the control panels.
Time passes, or it doesn't pass, or it goes backwards; but soon, Rory finds out just what Amy sees in the Doctor, and maybe he starts falling too. Amy is his fairytale; his princess in her tower, and the Doctor is his funny sidekick, or maybe even his prince. Maybe he's the funny sidekick, and the Doctor and Amy are both out of his reach. But no- no, when Amy tumbles them both back onto the TARDIS' floor on their wedding night, he realizes that they were never out of reach.
Most men aren't fortunate enough to say that they've been in love with someone for the entirety of their life, but Rory has two thousand years of love curling around his heart like a vine- the thorns digging in, drawing the blood; but in the end, the blossoms are worth it.
o2. Snakes on a Plane (Bring It)-Cobra Starship
Axel&Roxas; to burn a hole in the sky verse
There's a saying somewhere, maybe you're familiar with it-to be careful what you wish for. Axel, for his part, has apparently never heard of such a saying, because when the Doctor bursts into their room in the middle of the night and Axel tightens his arms around Roxas' waist, muttering darkly, "I wish you'd just fuck off already," he clearly hadn't thought that the Doctor would go and do just that.
It isn't that he'd had much of a choice in the matter. They'd barely opened their eyes to the Doctor's frightened face before he'd blinked out of sight in a wash of color.
Being alone in the TARDIS might have seemed interesting years ago, when Axel and Roxas didn't know firsthand how terrible the things were that hated the Doctor, but now it was just terrifying. Piloting her would never be an issue, but finding the Doctor was another matter entirely.
Picking planets randomly gets tiresome after the eleventh one, as does conferring quietly with past companions.
In the end, they build an instrument that's blueprints had been shoved into the wardrobe, and when Roxas has gotten the equations right, they activate it.
The stars may get a bit rearranged in the process, but at least they get the Doctor back.
o3. Together We Will Live Forever-Clint Mansell
Axel/Roxas; ghosts
She takes his hand, on the cold nights where he can't remember whether his heart is beating or not. Her hand is warm; all soft flesh and firelight heat. It doesn't feel like Axel's, not quite. Hers is a candle's wick compared to his firestorm heat, but it's comforting nonetheless that she wakes and rolls from the comfort of Riku's arms to wrap him in hers. She calls him by his name-not the way the others had, but quietly, earnest. Roxas.
He can see why she is a princess of heart the same way that he can see the briefest flicker of Namine in her eyes.
Sora's body feels alien to him, too warm, heart churning liters of blood through veins that are not his. He's taller, as Sora. His frame too gawky; skinny where Roxas had a few extra pounds of baby fat.
From all the ice cream, probably, a voice whispers.
He clenches Sora's eyes tight and hangs on tightly to Kairi's hand; centering himself by listening to the soft sound of Riku's breath-Kairi's mumbled, half asleep enquires as to whether he's alright. He isn't all right. He isn't, he isn't. He should be nothing, just a spare part of Sora's heart, but instead he is here, waking every night between lovers who are not his to the voice of one who once was.
He opens his eyes, briefly, and over Kairi's shoulder he can see him, silhouetted against the window. He's reclining there, lit cigarette weaving smoke between the moonbeams, an affectionate half smile on his face.
"You aren't real," he whispers into the pillow, stroking Sora's leg against Riku's beneath the sheets. Ground yourself. You'll be okay. Even his ghost wouldn't hurt you.
The image of Axel sighs, and pushes off the window; leaning over Kairi so Roxas can't look away from his face-from Axel's hair mixing with Kairi's on her bare shoulder. He's still smiling, but his eyes are sad. Kairi sighs in her sleep and mumbles a name, something that might have been his, if she was more awake. Axel looks at her for a moment, and strokes her hair back, away from his. I am real, he whispers, so quiet that the sifting of the palms in the wind nearly drown him out.
I am real, he says again, and when Roxas looks up, there's determination there. Your memories let me live forever. Don't you get it Roxas? As long as you remember me, I'm immortal.
He turns his smile out the window, and reaches over to brush a knuckle across Sora's cheek-unconcerned when his fingers tangle in Riku's hair as well. Together, he whispers, we will live forever.
o4. Parade-Susumu Hirasawa
Axel&Roxas; Spirited Away Fusion
There's a boy on the bridge, the sun glinting off his tousled golden curls-warming blue iris' and setting them aglow. This boy is no spirit and for seconds Axel is perilously close to setting the boy alight and saving Yubaba the trouble of yet another swine for her pen. But the seconds tick by and in the fading light the boy starts to look familiar; a remnant of a life long gone. And Axel thinks, if he reaches-and ah, yes. Roxas, he thinks.
There's a lot in the memory that comes to him then; the crackle of burning wood and the smell of singed flesh. Crying, as well, from deep within the house he was in the process of consuming. A babe, surely, he remembers thinking-based on the pitch of its squalls. He'd let himself carry on, coming to a halt only when the very edges of his flame neared the child. Not quite a babe, but hardly fully grown, perhaps three mortal years. He had gone to consume the child then, only to stop, manifesting scales and flesh; a serpentine form for this purpose would suit them fine.
He'd guided the child from the flames even as the child's parents turned to ash in his belly, and the boy had turned and waved; Axel had caught the thought, brief though it was. I'm Roxas and then thank you.
And now this boy is on his bridge, caught in the dusk of the spirits that clatter behind Axel, noisy with their urgency to be swallowed up by the palace of rest.
This boy who should by all means be consumed by the spirits-a human. There is fear in the boy's eyes; fear and a desperate desire to flee. Well then, he shall coax that small flame of fear into an inferno, and guide the boy to the other side of the river where he will be safe from Yubaba and her thieving ways. That heart of his will be safe and whole.
His human form is wavering around the edges, smoke drifting from where his skin meets cloth and he lets the fire lick up his arms-lets it set him aflame. The boy cringes away, and Axel takes the moment to fling a spell at the spirits coming up behind him; those that are looking for this boy. They will not realize it is him casting spells, not this night, but first-
"They're lighting the lamps! Go boy, get across the river and you'll be safe!"
The boy hesitates and Axel turns, letting a flicker of scales creep across his brow. "Go, now!" he snarls, and the boy gasps, stumbling quickly away.
Axel sighs, shuddering with his desire to consume something. To let his magic wrap something up and devour it. He turns toward the confused spirits, and lets his rage simmer, plastering a polite smile on his face as he greets their guests.
o5. Liza-Bioshock Ambient
Aqua; Bioshock Fusion
The walls are cracked in this room; the wallpaper peeling. Somewhere, a record is playing on loop, a fast paced happy song that doesn't match the gore of this place-the sweet rotting stink of the corpses sitting at the dining room table. She's walked over the corpses before, taking stumbling dance steps around so the chalky blood won't touch the heel of her boots. She's created the corpses; the point of her blade digging into the hollows of stitched up flesh to tear through and get to the gore, spilling intestine all across the floor for someone else to dodge around.
The city is too quiet, save for the screams of its madmen, and it frightens her the way that darkness coagulates around this place.
A child is humming ahead of her, a somber little tune about angels, and she's already reaching (little girl! little girl, are you all right?!) when she registers the yellow of the girl's eyes-the hulking shadow taking shape above her. She shrieks and hurls herself away, rolling into a corpse in her haste to remove herself from the path of the metal man's drill. The child is wailing now, clutching a little doll to her chest with one hand and an injection needle with another, screaming, "Kill it, Daddy! Kill it!"
She snaps back to her feet just in time to avoid a blow to the face, feeling the grit of the ground wash up to brush over her skin. The metal man is coming at her again and again and again, and she tries to shout a warning, anything, and instead watches as the splicers that had been lurking in the shadows pounce on the little girl, and her wailing begins anew.
The air still smells like corpses, and now the copper stink of fresh blood and viscera is added to the rot. The little girl rots on the floor as well, but the vultures didn't get what they came for. Adam, they had called the substance in her hands-they wanted the little girl's Adam. The metal man watches her as she takes the needle and presses it to her arm.
Last chance, Aqua, get out of here while you can.
Ven sounds so logical in her head. Perhaps his ghost is wandering around this place while his body is smeared across the floor in the lobby. She misses Terra already, at least he would know what to do.
She presses the needle forward and lets it slide into her vein. Lightning curls around her fist, and something in her hurts.
o6. All the Right Moves-OneRepublic
Snape/Harry
The thing that most people don't understand about Severus Snape is that once upon a time, he respected James Potter. The misconception was cleared up the moment he offered up a tentative smile and a nervous greeting and was promptly laughed away. He shouldn't have expected much from him, considering, but he was eleven and was still under the delusion that the rest of humanity may not be quite as bad as his family.
The fact that the person he had the most hopes for turned out to be his main tormentor for all of his school years is a subtle slap of irony that he will never find amusing.
Lily, though-Lily Evans was perfection. She was the embodiment of all those quickly stifled surges of naivety; the one golden shining thing about Severus' life that he could say was perfect.
And then she married James Potter.
And then they died.
The guilt surrounding their deaths will never be something he'll forget, just how he will always think that if she'd married him, maybe things could have been different. Maybe it wouldn't have mattered-maybe his loyalties wouldn't be so divided between Dumbledore and the Dark Lord. Maybe he could have had a life, as a husband and a mentor. Maybe he could have been happy; finding that hope when he taught his students rather than seeing a little bit of James Potter in all of them.
Guilt is something he is far too intimate with. Guilt is every moment that he sees Lily in her sons eyes, and tries to quickly stifle those thoughts. Harry Potter is not Lily Evans, and though he is loathe to admit it-he isn't James Potter either. He's clever, for all that Severus likes to heap blame upon him, as if Harry Potter is the sole reason behind losing Lily.
Harry Potter though, is a boy-a boy that is also a byproduct of Severus' guilt. Maybe it wouldn't be so if Harry's lips weren't as sweet as his hate. Because the thing is, Harry Potter is a teenager, and teenagers love to hate themselves. He tells himself that this is the reason that Harry came to him; the reason that Harry likes to scowl and snap bitter words even as he's settling into Severus' lap. Harry Potter hates himself, and as a teacher-a mentor, Severus should discourage that hatred. He should reassure the boy that though the world is burning itself up around them, it has never been his fault. That it's not his sole responsibility to put out the fires.
But Severus Snape has always been a weak man when it comes to his heart, so he watches this boychild build his army-watches Lily's son hate himself so much that the only solace he finds is in the arms of a man he claims to hate, and he waits. The world will end for him, but he wants it to last long enough for Harry Potter to remember how to live.
o7. Ohio Is For Lovers-Hawthorne Heights
Karofsky/Kurt
He never thought of Hummel as a screamer. He'd always figured he'd be one of those types who bit their lips until they bled rather than let out the hums of pleasure caught in their throats. He'd been with girls like that; too ashamed of the sounds they made to just let it out. Back then, he'd considered it a good thing. If they were quiet, it was easier to pretend that their hips were a bit more narrow, their skin a bit more brittle. But now-what could it have done to them? Maybe he should have encouraged a bit less self loathing.
Irony, that's all it was. Him considering lecturing past fucks in the horrors of self hatred.
But Hummel-because that's what this is really about. Hummel and the fact that he certainly has no qualms about keeping himself quiet. Hummel, and how Dave is definitely going to get a noise complaint from the nosy old cat lady next door.
He's soft, too. All smooth lines and pale skin; he's not as tiny as he used to be. Dave remembers the year that he'd shot up, suddenly taller than that disney freak boyfriend of his and on par with even Noah and Finn. But like this, Hummel isn't ashamed of himself.
That probably makes sense. As difficult as things were for him, he never once (well, maybe once) shied away from who he was.
Dave wraps a hand around one hip and hoists him up a bit, higher up the wall and yeah, the angle changes things for Hummel, because he's definitely managed to get louder.
(yes, yes, harder faster, please, just like that, fuck, I can't)
When Hummel comes, he nearly howls it to the ceiling. A crescendo of pornographic whimpers and grunts that sounds like it belongs on Skinemax, not wrapped up around Dave's cock.
He'll leave Dave's apartment with his spine straight and his chin in the air, and maybe he'll pink a bit when the cat lady pokes her head out the door and scowls at him, but when he looks back, he'll smile and mouth "next time."
Yes. Next time, indeed.
o8. First Transformation-Jekyll & Hyde Broadway Original Cast
Sora&Roxas; ZombieJekyllHydeverse
When Kairi first came to him with the idea, he'd laughed at her. Right in her face; specks of spittle flecking her cheeks as she stared at him, helpless with the pain of their world. You're a hero, she'd said. You're a hero to them. It can't be anyone but you, she'd whispered, agony in her voice.
It wasn't just him though. Riku's formula, Riku's notes, Riku's voice whispering to him through a recorder. Riku, back when he'd had a voice. Before his body had changed with the virus. Before-well; before.
The vial is cool in his hands, the liquid a viscous dark substance that makes the hair on the back of his neck prickle. A cure, she'd called it. A solution, he'd whispered back, blade still dripping with ichor.
It's a new moon tonight, something that they both thought Riku would maybe appreciate. It makes the stars seem brighter, dotting a night sky no longer plagued by the many lights of the cities. No lights in the cities, after all.
"3:58 AM. It is done. I have injected five centiliters of the newly fused formula. A slight feeling of euphoria. Lightheadedness. No noticeable behavior differences." A giggle wells up in his throat and he chokes it back down, past that bubbling sensation in his chest. Euphoria, indeed.
He watches a lone wolf wander past the lab's window with a rabbit clenched in its jaws. The sight makes his own jaw ache with the need to bite-to crunch. To tear down into the soft tissue and shatter the bone, suck out the marrow. He breathes in deep; cracks his neck.
What is that sensation? That fire in his veins? What is-
Pain.
Fire.
Agony.
It rips him apart from the inside; his internal organs boiling. His own bones feel like they're shattering. Something inside. Something.
Suddenly, the agony.
There's a voice in his head, whispering. A voice and a name.
Roxas, he goes by, he'll learn later. Roxas, whose eyes and face are so similar to his own. Roxas, whose heart does not dare beat in his chest. Roxas, who will be responsible for a new breed of monster to plague humanity, worse than the newly risen dead. Worse than the long fallen, the decomposing monsters that wander the streets with a loved ones visage.
Roxas of the Nobodies, roaming the streets with the Hero's face.
He watches the mirror as his vision darkens, the mad glint in his eyes growing brighter and brighter-the voice growing louder. Laughing at him, in his head.
Who is this creature that I see?
The voice is no longer a whisper confined to his head. It opens his mouth and smiles. Whispers to his reflection, "Free."
o9. Dream On-Glee Cast feat. Neil Patrick Harris
Castiel/Dean
There is no mention of a Castiel in the bible. Leviticus, John, Peter, The Corinthians; nary a word. Understandable, considering that for thousands of years he was no more than the angelic equivalent of a foot soldier. Expendable. Meaningless. An angel who presides over the fall of kings, and in thousands of pages in hundreds of languages, there is no mention of the angel who watched the fall of the Great Kings.
Dean would find it funny, he thinks.
But then, nowadays, Dean doesn't think much of anything is funny.
It is possible that he may deserve the derision though. In the months past, he has not treated him very well.
A good god, he'd told them. A better one, he'd boasted.
And all for this. For a man who dares not look him in the eye for fear of his brother's life. Castiel thinks that maybe if he'd known it would be like this, he would have heeded Dean's warnings. The past is gone, and if he were the Castiel he used to be, he would give all the souls in the world to have Dean look at him once more. To have Dean look at him and think, family.
But he is no longer that Castiel. He is a different one. A better one, he'll tell himself. One who has no family, and is better for it.
Lies upon lies upon lies.
Dream it til' the dream comes true, a human once sang. He looks at Dean now, cowed and hurting, and thinks that maybe it wouldn't hurt to be that Castiel again. Just for a day. A year.
Maybe tomorrow the good lord will take it away, the song had gone.
Maybe tomorrow he could take the memory of it away. Give up the souls once the Winchesters had forgotten his crimes. He'd raised the Titanic for them. Stitched Dean's skin whole again. Betrayed his brothers and become human. Died twice-no, thrice if you counted Sam putting a sword through his spine. There is nothing he wouldn't do for them.
So maybe it's worth it; giving up a Castiel of power-a Castiel who will have songs sung of his might to become the Castiel who was forgotten. The Castiel who watched the fall of Kings.
Maybe it's worth it to watch himself fall.
10. We Are Stars-The Pierces
Castiel(/Dean, Leviathan
At the core of every reactor there is something that powers it. It works this way for all manners of weapons, so why should it be different for him? Because at this point, he is that-a weapon stuck in his own flesh, trapped beneath layers upon layers of a monster that wears his skin.
He doesn't know if he will live to show Dean the things he wished to show him. He is unsure as to whether he will have the time to tell Dean the things he should have, long ago. He wishes he would have the chance to watch Dean grow old, to see him be happy-to navigate the Winchesters to their own happy ending. An entire universe at his disposal, and all he wants is the love of one man. But angels never get happy endings; traitors even less so. And he is both, his guilt written into the ink on his skin.
He is a monster now; once a loyal soldier, then a beloved friend, then a tyrant god. And now this. His limbs are no longer his own, his consciousness steeped in thoughts that choke the breath from him. They will destroy this world if they get their way, and he may not know if he will live, but he knows one thing.
He will never let it be his hand that chokes the life from Dean Winchester.
1.) Turn your iTunes (or whatever music player you use) and set it to shuffle
2.) For each of the first ten songs that plays, write the first thing that comes to mind.
3.) When the song switches over, you have to start writing something new.
4.) Post the resulting drabble-y bits in your journal, with the titles of each song you ended up using.
5.) Tag three people to do the same!
1. Just the Way You Are-Bruno Mars
Rory/Amy/Eleven
Rory Williams first met Amelia Pond when he was ten years old. He had never been bothered like the other boys with tales of cooties, and later, by the rumors that Amelia Pond was madder than Alice and her Wonderland. He'd thought her beautiful, even when Jeff and Colin had mocked her for her hair- for her pale skin and the faint smattering of freckles across her nose.
They were children, and she was the mad little ginger down the street, but when she curled chapped lips into a smile and pressed a faintly pudgy hand to his, giggling "Do you want to play a game?" his heart beat a little faster.
When he meets the Doctor, he can't understand what she sees in him. Not at first, anyway.
Then the Doctor pops out of the cake at stag night and says a load of tosh about his fiancee kissing him, like he hadn't just seen Amy yesterday. He goes on about angels and the blitz and eventually takes Rory by the hand and tugs him past the doors of a blue police box. It's bigger on the inside, of course, and though Amy sulks at their "forced date" she also shrieks with laughter at his face when his eyes first light on the control panels.
Time passes, or it doesn't pass, or it goes backwards; but soon, Rory finds out just what Amy sees in the Doctor, and maybe he starts falling too. Amy is his fairytale; his princess in her tower, and the Doctor is his funny sidekick, or maybe even his prince. Maybe he's the funny sidekick, and the Doctor and Amy are both out of his reach. But no- no, when Amy tumbles them both back onto the TARDIS' floor on their wedding night, he realizes that they were never out of reach.
Most men aren't fortunate enough to say that they've been in love with someone for the entirety of their life, but Rory has two thousand years of love curling around his heart like a vine- the thorns digging in, drawing the blood; but in the end, the blossoms are worth it.
o2. Snakes on a Plane (Bring It)-Cobra Starship
Axel&Roxas; to burn a hole in the sky verse
There's a saying somewhere, maybe you're familiar with it-to be careful what you wish for. Axel, for his part, has apparently never heard of such a saying, because when the Doctor bursts into their room in the middle of the night and Axel tightens his arms around Roxas' waist, muttering darkly, "I wish you'd just fuck off already," he clearly hadn't thought that the Doctor would go and do just that.
It isn't that he'd had much of a choice in the matter. They'd barely opened their eyes to the Doctor's frightened face before he'd blinked out of sight in a wash of color.
Being alone in the TARDIS might have seemed interesting years ago, when Axel and Roxas didn't know firsthand how terrible the things were that hated the Doctor, but now it was just terrifying. Piloting her would never be an issue, but finding the Doctor was another matter entirely.
Picking planets randomly gets tiresome after the eleventh one, as does conferring quietly with past companions.
In the end, they build an instrument that's blueprints had been shoved into the wardrobe, and when Roxas has gotten the equations right, they activate it.
The stars may get a bit rearranged in the process, but at least they get the Doctor back.
o3. Together We Will Live Forever-Clint Mansell
Axel/Roxas; ghosts
She takes his hand, on the cold nights where he can't remember whether his heart is beating or not. Her hand is warm; all soft flesh and firelight heat. It doesn't feel like Axel's, not quite. Hers is a candle's wick compared to his firestorm heat, but it's comforting nonetheless that she wakes and rolls from the comfort of Riku's arms to wrap him in hers. She calls him by his name-not the way the others had, but quietly, earnest. Roxas.
He can see why she is a princess of heart the same way that he can see the briefest flicker of Namine in her eyes.
Sora's body feels alien to him, too warm, heart churning liters of blood through veins that are not his. He's taller, as Sora. His frame too gawky; skinny where Roxas had a few extra pounds of baby fat.
From all the ice cream, probably, a voice whispers.
He clenches Sora's eyes tight and hangs on tightly to Kairi's hand; centering himself by listening to the soft sound of Riku's breath-Kairi's mumbled, half asleep enquires as to whether he's alright. He isn't all right. He isn't, he isn't. He should be nothing, just a spare part of Sora's heart, but instead he is here, waking every night between lovers who are not his to the voice of one who once was.
He opens his eyes, briefly, and over Kairi's shoulder he can see him, silhouetted against the window. He's reclining there, lit cigarette weaving smoke between the moonbeams, an affectionate half smile on his face.
"You aren't real," he whispers into the pillow, stroking Sora's leg against Riku's beneath the sheets. Ground yourself. You'll be okay. Even his ghost wouldn't hurt you.
The image of Axel sighs, and pushes off the window; leaning over Kairi so Roxas can't look away from his face-from Axel's hair mixing with Kairi's on her bare shoulder. He's still smiling, but his eyes are sad. Kairi sighs in her sleep and mumbles a name, something that might have been his, if she was more awake. Axel looks at her for a moment, and strokes her hair back, away from his. I am real, he whispers, so quiet that the sifting of the palms in the wind nearly drown him out.
I am real, he says again, and when Roxas looks up, there's determination there. Your memories let me live forever. Don't you get it Roxas? As long as you remember me, I'm immortal.
He turns his smile out the window, and reaches over to brush a knuckle across Sora's cheek-unconcerned when his fingers tangle in Riku's hair as well. Together, he whispers, we will live forever.
o4. Parade-Susumu Hirasawa
Axel&Roxas; Spirited Away Fusion
There's a boy on the bridge, the sun glinting off his tousled golden curls-warming blue iris' and setting them aglow. This boy is no spirit and for seconds Axel is perilously close to setting the boy alight and saving Yubaba the trouble of yet another swine for her pen. But the seconds tick by and in the fading light the boy starts to look familiar; a remnant of a life long gone. And Axel thinks, if he reaches-and ah, yes. Roxas, he thinks.
There's a lot in the memory that comes to him then; the crackle of burning wood and the smell of singed flesh. Crying, as well, from deep within the house he was in the process of consuming. A babe, surely, he remembers thinking-based on the pitch of its squalls. He'd let himself carry on, coming to a halt only when the very edges of his flame neared the child. Not quite a babe, but hardly fully grown, perhaps three mortal years. He had gone to consume the child then, only to stop, manifesting scales and flesh; a serpentine form for this purpose would suit them fine.
He'd guided the child from the flames even as the child's parents turned to ash in his belly, and the boy had turned and waved; Axel had caught the thought, brief though it was. I'm Roxas and then thank you.
And now this boy is on his bridge, caught in the dusk of the spirits that clatter behind Axel, noisy with their urgency to be swallowed up by the palace of rest.
This boy who should by all means be consumed by the spirits-a human. There is fear in the boy's eyes; fear and a desperate desire to flee. Well then, he shall coax that small flame of fear into an inferno, and guide the boy to the other side of the river where he will be safe from Yubaba and her thieving ways. That heart of his will be safe and whole.
His human form is wavering around the edges, smoke drifting from where his skin meets cloth and he lets the fire lick up his arms-lets it set him aflame. The boy cringes away, and Axel takes the moment to fling a spell at the spirits coming up behind him; those that are looking for this boy. They will not realize it is him casting spells, not this night, but first-
"They're lighting the lamps! Go boy, get across the river and you'll be safe!"
The boy hesitates and Axel turns, letting a flicker of scales creep across his brow. "Go, now!" he snarls, and the boy gasps, stumbling quickly away.
Axel sighs, shuddering with his desire to consume something. To let his magic wrap something up and devour it. He turns toward the confused spirits, and lets his rage simmer, plastering a polite smile on his face as he greets their guests.
o5. Liza-Bioshock Ambient
Aqua; Bioshock Fusion
The walls are cracked in this room; the wallpaper peeling. Somewhere, a record is playing on loop, a fast paced happy song that doesn't match the gore of this place-the sweet rotting stink of the corpses sitting at the dining room table. She's walked over the corpses before, taking stumbling dance steps around so the chalky blood won't touch the heel of her boots. She's created the corpses; the point of her blade digging into the hollows of stitched up flesh to tear through and get to the gore, spilling intestine all across the floor for someone else to dodge around.
The city is too quiet, save for the screams of its madmen, and it frightens her the way that darkness coagulates around this place.
A child is humming ahead of her, a somber little tune about angels, and she's already reaching (little girl! little girl, are you all right?!) when she registers the yellow of the girl's eyes-the hulking shadow taking shape above her. She shrieks and hurls herself away, rolling into a corpse in her haste to remove herself from the path of the metal man's drill. The child is wailing now, clutching a little doll to her chest with one hand and an injection needle with another, screaming, "Kill it, Daddy! Kill it!"
She snaps back to her feet just in time to avoid a blow to the face, feeling the grit of the ground wash up to brush over her skin. The metal man is coming at her again and again and again, and she tries to shout a warning, anything, and instead watches as the splicers that had been lurking in the shadows pounce on the little girl, and her wailing begins anew.
The air still smells like corpses, and now the copper stink of fresh blood and viscera is added to the rot. The little girl rots on the floor as well, but the vultures didn't get what they came for. Adam, they had called the substance in her hands-they wanted the little girl's Adam. The metal man watches her as she takes the needle and presses it to her arm.
Last chance, Aqua, get out of here while you can.
Ven sounds so logical in her head. Perhaps his ghost is wandering around this place while his body is smeared across the floor in the lobby. She misses Terra already, at least he would know what to do.
She presses the needle forward and lets it slide into her vein. Lightning curls around her fist, and something in her hurts.
o6. All the Right Moves-OneRepublic
Snape/Harry
The thing that most people don't understand about Severus Snape is that once upon a time, he respected James Potter. The misconception was cleared up the moment he offered up a tentative smile and a nervous greeting and was promptly laughed away. He shouldn't have expected much from him, considering, but he was eleven and was still under the delusion that the rest of humanity may not be quite as bad as his family.
The fact that the person he had the most hopes for turned out to be his main tormentor for all of his school years is a subtle slap of irony that he will never find amusing.
Lily, though-Lily Evans was perfection. She was the embodiment of all those quickly stifled surges of naivety; the one golden shining thing about Severus' life that he could say was perfect.
And then she married James Potter.
And then they died.
The guilt surrounding their deaths will never be something he'll forget, just how he will always think that if she'd married him, maybe things could have been different. Maybe it wouldn't have mattered-maybe his loyalties wouldn't be so divided between Dumbledore and the Dark Lord. Maybe he could have had a life, as a husband and a mentor. Maybe he could have been happy; finding that hope when he taught his students rather than seeing a little bit of James Potter in all of them.
Guilt is something he is far too intimate with. Guilt is every moment that he sees Lily in her sons eyes, and tries to quickly stifle those thoughts. Harry Potter is not Lily Evans, and though he is loathe to admit it-he isn't James Potter either. He's clever, for all that Severus likes to heap blame upon him, as if Harry Potter is the sole reason behind losing Lily.
Harry Potter though, is a boy-a boy that is also a byproduct of Severus' guilt. Maybe it wouldn't be so if Harry's lips weren't as sweet as his hate. Because the thing is, Harry Potter is a teenager, and teenagers love to hate themselves. He tells himself that this is the reason that Harry came to him; the reason that Harry likes to scowl and snap bitter words even as he's settling into Severus' lap. Harry Potter hates himself, and as a teacher-a mentor, Severus should discourage that hatred. He should reassure the boy that though the world is burning itself up around them, it has never been his fault. That it's not his sole responsibility to put out the fires.
But Severus Snape has always been a weak man when it comes to his heart, so he watches this boychild build his army-watches Lily's son hate himself so much that the only solace he finds is in the arms of a man he claims to hate, and he waits. The world will end for him, but he wants it to last long enough for Harry Potter to remember how to live.
o7. Ohio Is For Lovers-Hawthorne Heights
Karofsky/Kurt
He never thought of Hummel as a screamer. He'd always figured he'd be one of those types who bit their lips until they bled rather than let out the hums of pleasure caught in their throats. He'd been with girls like that; too ashamed of the sounds they made to just let it out. Back then, he'd considered it a good thing. If they were quiet, it was easier to pretend that their hips were a bit more narrow, their skin a bit more brittle. But now-what could it have done to them? Maybe he should have encouraged a bit less self loathing.
Irony, that's all it was. Him considering lecturing past fucks in the horrors of self hatred.
But Hummel-because that's what this is really about. Hummel and the fact that he certainly has no qualms about keeping himself quiet. Hummel, and how Dave is definitely going to get a noise complaint from the nosy old cat lady next door.
He's soft, too. All smooth lines and pale skin; he's not as tiny as he used to be. Dave remembers the year that he'd shot up, suddenly taller than that disney freak boyfriend of his and on par with even Noah and Finn. But like this, Hummel isn't ashamed of himself.
That probably makes sense. As difficult as things were for him, he never once (well, maybe once) shied away from who he was.
Dave wraps a hand around one hip and hoists him up a bit, higher up the wall and yeah, the angle changes things for Hummel, because he's definitely managed to get louder.
(yes, yes, harder faster, please, just like that, fuck, I can't)
When Hummel comes, he nearly howls it to the ceiling. A crescendo of pornographic whimpers and grunts that sounds like it belongs on Skinemax, not wrapped up around Dave's cock.
He'll leave Dave's apartment with his spine straight and his chin in the air, and maybe he'll pink a bit when the cat lady pokes her head out the door and scowls at him, but when he looks back, he'll smile and mouth "next time."
Yes. Next time, indeed.
o8. First Transformation-Jekyll & Hyde Broadway Original Cast
Sora&Roxas; ZombieJekyllHydeverse
When Kairi first came to him with the idea, he'd laughed at her. Right in her face; specks of spittle flecking her cheeks as she stared at him, helpless with the pain of their world. You're a hero, she'd said. You're a hero to them. It can't be anyone but you, she'd whispered, agony in her voice.
It wasn't just him though. Riku's formula, Riku's notes, Riku's voice whispering to him through a recorder. Riku, back when he'd had a voice. Before his body had changed with the virus. Before-well; before.
The vial is cool in his hands, the liquid a viscous dark substance that makes the hair on the back of his neck prickle. A cure, she'd called it. A solution, he'd whispered back, blade still dripping with ichor.
It's a new moon tonight, something that they both thought Riku would maybe appreciate. It makes the stars seem brighter, dotting a night sky no longer plagued by the many lights of the cities. No lights in the cities, after all.
"3:58 AM. It is done. I have injected five centiliters of the newly fused formula. A slight feeling of euphoria. Lightheadedness. No noticeable behavior differences." A giggle wells up in his throat and he chokes it back down, past that bubbling sensation in his chest. Euphoria, indeed.
He watches a lone wolf wander past the lab's window with a rabbit clenched in its jaws. The sight makes his own jaw ache with the need to bite-to crunch. To tear down into the soft tissue and shatter the bone, suck out the marrow. He breathes in deep; cracks his neck.
What is that sensation? That fire in his veins? What is-
Pain.
Fire.
Agony.
It rips him apart from the inside; his internal organs boiling. His own bones feel like they're shattering. Something inside. Something.
Suddenly, the agony.
There's a voice in his head, whispering. A voice and a name.
Roxas, he goes by, he'll learn later. Roxas, whose eyes and face are so similar to his own. Roxas, whose heart does not dare beat in his chest. Roxas, who will be responsible for a new breed of monster to plague humanity, worse than the newly risen dead. Worse than the long fallen, the decomposing monsters that wander the streets with a loved ones visage.
Roxas of the Nobodies, roaming the streets with the Hero's face.
He watches the mirror as his vision darkens, the mad glint in his eyes growing brighter and brighter-the voice growing louder. Laughing at him, in his head.
Who is this creature that I see?
The voice is no longer a whisper confined to his head. It opens his mouth and smiles. Whispers to his reflection, "Free."
o9. Dream On-Glee Cast feat. Neil Patrick Harris
Castiel/Dean
There is no mention of a Castiel in the bible. Leviticus, John, Peter, The Corinthians; nary a word. Understandable, considering that for thousands of years he was no more than the angelic equivalent of a foot soldier. Expendable. Meaningless. An angel who presides over the fall of kings, and in thousands of pages in hundreds of languages, there is no mention of the angel who watched the fall of the Great Kings.
Dean would find it funny, he thinks.
But then, nowadays, Dean doesn't think much of anything is funny.
It is possible that he may deserve the derision though. In the months past, he has not treated him very well.
A good god, he'd told them. A better one, he'd boasted.
And all for this. For a man who dares not look him in the eye for fear of his brother's life. Castiel thinks that maybe if he'd known it would be like this, he would have heeded Dean's warnings. The past is gone, and if he were the Castiel he used to be, he would give all the souls in the world to have Dean look at him once more. To have Dean look at him and think, family.
But he is no longer that Castiel. He is a different one. A better one, he'll tell himself. One who has no family, and is better for it.
Lies upon lies upon lies.
Dream it til' the dream comes true, a human once sang. He looks at Dean now, cowed and hurting, and thinks that maybe it wouldn't hurt to be that Castiel again. Just for a day. A year.
Maybe tomorrow the good lord will take it away, the song had gone.
Maybe tomorrow he could take the memory of it away. Give up the souls once the Winchesters had forgotten his crimes. He'd raised the Titanic for them. Stitched Dean's skin whole again. Betrayed his brothers and become human. Died twice-no, thrice if you counted Sam putting a sword through his spine. There is nothing he wouldn't do for them.
So maybe it's worth it; giving up a Castiel of power-a Castiel who will have songs sung of his might to become the Castiel who was forgotten. The Castiel who watched the fall of Kings.
Maybe it's worth it to watch himself fall.
10. We Are Stars-The Pierces
Castiel(/Dean, Leviathan
At the core of every reactor there is something that powers it. It works this way for all manners of weapons, so why should it be different for him? Because at this point, he is that-a weapon stuck in his own flesh, trapped beneath layers upon layers of a monster that wears his skin.
He doesn't know if he will live to show Dean the things he wished to show him. He is unsure as to whether he will have the time to tell Dean the things he should have, long ago. He wishes he would have the chance to watch Dean grow old, to see him be happy-to navigate the Winchesters to their own happy ending. An entire universe at his disposal, and all he wants is the love of one man. But angels never get happy endings; traitors even less so. And he is both, his guilt written into the ink on his skin.
He is a monster now; once a loyal soldier, then a beloved friend, then a tyrant god. And now this. His limbs are no longer his own, his consciousness steeped in thoughts that choke the breath from him. They will destroy this world if they get their way, and he may not know if he will live, but he knows one thing.
He will never let it be his hand that chokes the life from Dean Winchester.