Commentfic Dump (Animorphs, BBC Sherlock, Supernatural, Percy Jackson/Harry Potter)
Title: Said I Wished That I'd Seen Hendrix Play
Fandom: Animorphs, AU
Characters: Tobias/Rachel
Rating: PG-13 for underaged drinking
Summary: Tobias goes to his high school graduation party and ends up in conversation with that tall blonde girl he sort of had a crush on in junior high.
Notes: AU where the Yeerks never came to Earth so Elfangor never crashed there. For drabble365days who requested a T/R fic on my Kick Start Me meme. The title is lyrics from "Loud Music" by Michelle Branch.
The bass rhythm pulses in his feet, the mass of bodies on the makeshift dance floor swaying along with it. His back presses against the cool plaster of the wall and he shivers despite the oppressive heat of the party. There's a red plastic cup in his hand, flashing in the strobe lights, the drink inside untouched. It's probably been spiked.
"Hey," remarks a voice at his shoulder, hardly straining to be heard above the music, and he jumps, splashing a little of his drink over his hand. He turns to discover that the voice belongs to that tall blonde he sort of had a crush on in junior high. He can certainly appreciate his younger self's instincts, he observes now, noting the modest top over shorts that show off her rather impressive legs. What was her name again? Rachel, that was it.
"Um, hi." He eyes the empty cup in her hand. She doesn't seem to be too drunk, but what sober girl with a face like that would come over to talk to him?
"So, Tobias," and he tries not to look too shocked that she knows his name, "graduation, huh? Going anywhere special next year?"
It takes him a moment to get his voice back. "I -- uh, no. Can't afford it yet." He feels his face heat -- it's just the lights, they're starting to get to him -- and takes a gulp of his punch. Definitely spiked. Good, he needs it. "I'm hoping to get into Berkeley."
She smiles easily, her foot tapping along with the beat. "That's cool. My mom wanted me to do Pre-law at Columbia, but I decided to take the year off."
"Law." He can only too easily picture her in a skirt suit and heels, tearing into witnesses and picking apart the defense's case piece by piece. "That's . . . fitting."
She huffs a laugh through her nose and plucks the cup from his hands, taking a swig before passing it back. "And my dad wants me to go into journalism."
He mimics her actions, whatever had been added to the beverage already starting to burn in his stomach and bolster his courage. "Reporter?"
"Anchor." Her voice lowers into a mockery of a man's, her shoulders straightening formally. "This is Dan Berenson, News at Six, live from Chicago . . . " With another chuckle, she knocks back the last of his drink, her head tipping slightly to one side. "So how about you? Any parental input on your career choice?"
"Not really." His expression is carefully neutral as he slides around the real question with practiced ease. "English is the only thing I'm good at anyway." He shrugs.
"Sure it isn't. We worked that science project together in tenth grade."
"That's right, we did," he realizes, recalling how intimidated he'd been by this tall, popular girl he'd been partnered with. "What was that, the potatoes?"
"The potatoes," she agrees with a laugh, a full one this time. "Jake and Marco tried to come up with an alternative energy source and almost set fire to the school."
"Shame they didn't," he says, shaking his head.
"Hey, you want another drink?" she asks, holding up the empty cups.
"Sure," he says, but she's already gone, vanished into the swaying crowd like a bird lost from view in the trees.
**
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Characters: Sherlock/John
Rating: PG
Prompt: Mini-fill or sentence fill for characters making a poor excuse for a reply to a declaration of love, you know what I mean, like "That's nice?" or "Whatever for." or "Do not." ( Here on the kinkmeme)
Sherlock glanced down at the pale face of his flatmate. His hands were no longer red, but John's blood still stained his front. (A pity. He'd liked that shirt.)
He stood, making as if to leave the hospital room, but a hand shot out and grasped his wrist in a grip surprisingly firm.
"Sh'lock," John slurred, his eyes half open. They were glassy and unfocused, but seemed to be more or less trained on the consulting detective himself. "Sh'lock -- you 'kay?"
"Yes, John," Sherlock assured him, although the doctor would forget almost immediately, heavily medicated as he was. "I'm perfectly fine."
"Sh'lock -- wanted to say -- love you, Sh'lock."
The detective stared at his flatmate in shock, then swept his eyes around the room in a way that clearly pleaded help me. When no help was forthcoming, he patted John's hand awkwardly. "That's -- er. That's very nice, John." Carefully prying the doctor’s fingers from his sleeve, he fled to the hallway. These were the times that he really needed a smoke, damn it.
**
Title: You Should Know By Now, Winchesters Take Pleasure in Defiance
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Castiel, Adam
Spoilers: sort of s6 finale
Rating: PG-13 for an f-bomb
Prompt: Love = 42 (words): Supernatural; Castiel/Adam; not afraid.
"Fear me," he says. "I am your God."
The boy looks at him, looks up from the ground (it's right that he should look up) and gives him the same look that Dean gave, the same look that Sam gave.
"Fuck you."
**
Fandom: Animorphs
Characters: Tobias (with a bit of Tobias/Ax in the second one if you squint)
Spoilers: #54
Rating: PG
Summary: Angsty!Tobias returns!
Note: These were originally one drabble for "Grow Old Together" on drabble365days but I decided they worked better separately.
Sometimes he wishes it had never ended.
Not Rachel, no, she wouldn't have lasted much longer anyway. She would have lost herself, or died in another battle, in another place, for another reason, and they'd have kept going without her because what choice did they have anymore, really?
But sometimes he wishes the war had kept going, had not been won or lost that day. That it would have kept raging, and simply faded into background noise in their lives. It already had, in a way, so much so that it was worse after it had ended.
They could have lived, the six of them, lived until they went out fighting, instead of sitting and drowning oh-so-slowly in the things they couldn't fix.
-
Most days he misses Ax more than Rachel. Ax because he chose to leave. Ax because he could understand. Ax because if Tobias had had to choose, back in that final moment, who he would have put on that Blade Ship, he doesn't think he'd have changed a thing.
He knew, once the war was over, that Ax couldn't stay. His family was waiting for him, and his people, and he couldn't understand anymore what Tobias felt, what it's like not to remember what you are. Something broke the day that Ax returned to space. Rachel, she was his heart, but Ax was everything else, until he wasn't.
Any way he looks at it, Tobias has only ever had two futures. In this one, in reality, Tobias-the-human dies. So does Tobias-the-Andalite, and Tobias-the-hawk. The only thing left is the sky, and a bird that can dream.
In the other, Rachel dies, but the war goes on, and Ax stays with Tobias, two minds and five bodies all as one in the forest. Human, Andalite, human, hawk, they'd teeter on the edge, backandforthandbackandforth, and they'd never have to decide so they'd never have to leave.
**
Fandom: Animorphs
Characters: Jean, Steve, Tom, Jake, Homer
Spoilers: #54
Rating: PG
Prompt: Hurt/comfort: any, any +/ any, grieving the loss of a pet
Tom went first.
Tom always went first. Tom was born, and so Jake was born. Tom played basketball, and so Jake played basketball. Tom joined a secret war, and so Jake joined a secret war. Tom died on the Blade Ship, and so Jake died chasing after the Blade Ship.
And Homer; faithful little Homer, trotting after his masters with a wagging tail and lolling tongue. Jean recalls how Tom had begged for a dog -- seven years old, he'd looked up at her with those big childish eyes and promised to feed it, and clean up after it, and take it for walks. Steve remembers how Jake had added his own promises -- four years old, he was hardly bigger than most dogs, but Tom wanted a dog and so Jake wanted one too.
Thus, Homer. The shelter had named him. Jean remembers how Jake had clung to the puppy, so determined to keep it safe. Steve recalls that Tom kept his promises for nearly a month before the chores fell to the parents, as they always did in such matters.
Fifteen years later, and all that's left is Jean and Steve and a dog with a broken heart. It isn't long after Jake leaves that Homer finally gives in -- he's old, after all, and his masters are gone now: Tom first, and then Jake. Isn't it always the way?
Jean remembers how Jake had clung to Homer in that first year after the war, fingers curled in shaggy fur, anchoring a lost boy to reality. But even a cold wet nose against the crook of his elbow isn't enough to take away the pain of anything more than a scraped knee. Steve recalls the things explained in one of Jake's rare talkative moods, how Homer was his very first morph and how incredibly blissful it was, being a dog. He didn't smile as he said it, but it was the happiest Steve had seen him in years.
But Homer is gone now, taking that last little bit of their sons with him. They think about burying him in the backyard, but instead they have him cremated, and scatter his ashes a handful at a time into the wind. Maybe, if they're lucky, he'll be blown up to the stars, where his masters wait to welcome him home.
**
Fandom: Animorphs
Characters: Marco, Tobias, Ax, Rachel, Toby, Jake
Rating: PG for bad puns and poop joke or two
Prompt: Light: Any, Any, light bulb joke
"Hey Tobias. How many birds does it take to change a lightbulb?"
< You're going to finish this joke no matter what I say, aren't you? >
"One can't, three can't -- but toucan!"
< I cannot believe you just said that. >
--
"Hey Ax-man, want to hear a human joke?"
< Say no, Ax. >
< I am always willing to hear human jokes, Marco. >
< Don't say I didn't warn you. >
"How many Andalites does it take to change a lightbulb?"
< What is a lightbulb? >
"Exactly!"
< I fail to see the humor in that. >
< Everyone but Marco fails to see the humor in that. Just walk away, Ax-man. Walk away. >
--
"Here's a good one, Rachel. How many blondes does it take to change a lightbulb?"
"Are you sure you want to finish that joke, Marco? I will hurt you."
"I'm an artist. I suffer for my work."
< And may I remind you that I am also blonde and as a hawk, I have full bowels and excellent aim. >
"Two. One to hold the bulb, and the other to rotate the ladder-- augh, no, Tobias, what are you doing?!"
--
"Hey, guys! How many Yeerks does it take to-- wait, where are you going? Come back!"
--
"Hey Toby, how many Hork-Bajir does it take to change a lightbulb?"
. . .
"Marco? Why are you hiding in a log?"
"Annoying the scary lady with the wrist blades was not the best idea I've ever had."
**
Fandom: Animorphs
Characters: Tobias/Rachel
Spoilers: #54
Rating: PG
Prompt: Birthdays: Animorphs, Rachel/Tobias, she has no idea this is the last birthday she'll ever have, so she spends it unexpectedly happy for all it might not have been
You didn't know what was coming for you.
If you had, maybe you'd have thought well, this is it and maybe you'd have noted seventeen, i'll never get any older and maybe you'd have wondered what would it be like to be a legal adult and you definitely would have partied for all it was worth, because hell -- it's not every day that you turn as old as you'll ever be.
He didn't know what was coming for you either.
If he had, maybe he'd have said happy birthday, rach and maybe he'd have noted seventeen, you'll stay beautiful like this forever and maybe he'd have wondered what will it be like when you're gone and he definitely would have whispered i love you in the dead of night when there were only the stars to hear it.
**
Fandom: Percy Jackson/Harry Potter
Characters: Percy, Sally, Annabeth, Luke, Thalia, Grover
Rating: PG
Prompt: What could have been: Percy Jackson & the Olympians(/Harry Potter), Percy(/) Luke & others, they were wizards, not demigods
He isn't sure what to make of all this.
First the letter (by owl, no less) and he says, "Oh please, this is a prank, right?" And his mother looks at him and he knows it's not.
Then he finds out his father -- his absent father, his father who he's never met -- is a wizard. A really famous wizard. Well, crap. Couldn't have sent some child support every now and then, could he?
And then a man, who's dressed like he just came tumbling out of the pages of a clothing catalog wearing pieces from every section (including, it seems, women's lingerie), comes to take him to London, and brings him to a pub no one else on the street is able to see. They go out back and there's nothing but a wall and he decides this is definitely a prank, but then the man pulls out a wand -- a real, honest-to-goodness wand -- and makes the wall open, and Percy decides now is a really good time to wake up from this bizarre-o dream.
Then a train station hidden behind a wall that isn’t there, and crowds and crowds of people with the oddest mismatches of clothing, luggage, and animals he's ever seen.
He boards the train and finds himself in a compartment with three people: Luke Castellan, a fifth-year from something called Slytherin; Thalia Grace, a third-year from something else called Gryffindor; and Annabeth Chase, a fellow first-year who, like Percy, is something called a half-blood -- one parent magical and the other not, from what he's able to gather. But unlike Percy she grew up with the magical side and seems totally at ease, chatting with Luke and Thalia like she's known them for years. Maybe she has, it wouldn't surprise him.
They're on the train all day, and when it finally rumbles to a stop all he wants is to stuff his face and find his bed. They disembark, joining the crowd shivering in the evening chill.
"Hey -- first years! Over this way, first years!" A boy who looks hardly older than Percy ambles up, wearing a t-shirt and, well, nothing else. Percy doesn't even do a double take at the goat legs and hooves. At this point, not much will surprise him, not even the horns he can just see poking through curly hair.
"Hey Luke, Thalia." The goat-boy grins. "Got some fresh meat for me, huh?" Percy doesn't like the sound of that.
Thalia chuckles. "Grover, this is Annabeth and Percy. Guys, this is Grover. Don't worry, his bleat's worse than his bite."
"Bite? I don't bite. I'm a vegetarian."
"We'll see you at the castle," Luke says with a wink, and steers Thalia off in the direction of a line of horseless carriages. Percy wonders whether the horses will be brought out later, or if they'll just pull themselves. Judging by the way his day is going, probably the latter.
"The school is a castle?" Percy wonders, and Annabeth sends him a look that plainly says Well of course it is, Seaweed Brain, what else would it be?
"Got everyone?" Grover says finally, scanning the knot of first years gathered around him. "Awesome."
He leads them down to the lake and they clamber into little rowboats that don't have oars. They glide smoothly over the dark water on their own power -- of course they do.
"What are those?" Percy asks, pointing to the pale faces peering up through the black.
"Naiads," Annabeth says. She frowns. "No, merpeople -- look, you can see their tails."
He doesn't bother looking.
Finally they reach the castle, but there's no food, or even beds -- first, apparently, they have to try on a hat, of all things.
He realizes very quickly (he's not stupid, after all) that this is no ordinary hat. For one thing, it sings.
Who enchants a hat to sing?
Half a dozen people are called up before Annabeth, peeling off from the group one by one to join one or another of the four tables lined up and down the hall.
When it's Annabeth's turn, she sits on the stool for nearly four minutes. Finally it spits out "Ravenclaw!" and she goes to join the cheering table on the second-to-left side of the hall.
Another ten, fifteen people -- some are Sorted right away, others it takes a while, but Annabeth's was by far the longest. Finally he hears, "Jackson, Perseus!" and puts on the stupid hat.
It's hardly touched his head before it screams "Gryffindor!" and he slides into the seat between Thalia and an older student he doesn't know, relieved to be out of the spotlight.
"Where's the damn food?" he mutters, scowling at his empty plate.
Thalia laughs. "Just watch, you're going to love this."
He does not, in fact, love it when the food appears spontaneously up and down the table, nearly giving him a heart attack, but he does indeed love it when that same food disappears nearly as quickly into his mouth.
There are a few rules and reminders after dessert, but Percy hardly listens. Finally they're led up to the Gryffindor dormitories and he practically flings himself into bed. It's been a very, very long day.
***
The following four fics were all written for drabble365days with the claim "Animorphs: Elfangor & Family". Assume spoilers for The Andalite Chronicles.
Pass Slowly
Nearly a year has passed since I last stood in this field. (In Earth years it’s nearer to five.) It's all the same as I remember -- the grass, the sky, my hala fala on the hill's crest and the family scoop at its foot. The scoop that housed three, and then two -- and now three again.
The child stands before me, clumsy and long-legged, stalk eyes waggling in what I believe is meant to be a threatening manner and his bladeless stub of a tail waving over his head.
< Who are you? > he demands of me, his legs spread wide for balance he has yet to master. < Go away. > He is, any way you look at it, quite adorable.
(I wonder, for one moment, whether my son will be the same. In my head, I hear Loren laughing, as if it's the most ridiculous thing in the world, and of course he will be, Elfangor, he's yours, after all.)
I smile with my eyes, lowering my tail blade as a sign of peace. I am no threat to him, and never will be. < Don't you recognize me, little brother? > We have never met, the two of us, but I recall the wishflower in my quarters, and that strand of golden light that gives me such hope for the future.
His head tips to the side in that babyish fashion some Andalite children keep well into adolescence, and the gesture is so very human that I want to cry. < Are you . . . a spirit? >
I laugh. < No, little brother. I'm still very much alive. >
Nearly a year has passed since I last stood in this field, and though little is different, nothing is the same.
*
I'm Worried About You
< Good morning, Father. > I twisted one stalk eye to watch his approach from behind, continuing my strengthening exercises. I missed my strong human arms with their ten thick fingers. It wasn't nearly as acute of a loss as my tail blade and stalk eyes had been, but it was much more difficult to remember. Just as during my first few human years I had been reluctant to move things, I now found myself attempting to lift objects far too heavy for Andalite limbs.
< Good morning. > He trotted up to the bank of the stream to begin his morning ritual, and I felt a deep sense of loss in my core. I may have regained my birth form, but I no longer felt like an Andalite, no longer felt the spiritual comforts our rituals are meant to provide.
When he had finished, he stood, gazing with all four eyes out across the grazing fields. I stood several tail-lengths behind, stalk eyes fixed on the ground between my hooves like a child waiting for punishment. I knew what was coming.
< I wish you would tell us what happened to you. > I had anticipated the question, but I expected more anger and less sorrow.
< I was stranded on a primitive planet, > I recited. It was only half a lie and I hated it -- but how do you tell your family you abandoned them for another planet, another people? How do you break it to them that you have a son -- a human son -- that you have never met? How do you explain that you created The Abomination, the single greatest victory for the Yeerks since Seerow's Kindness?
< It's more than that, > he said, both stalk eyes turning to fix me with that disappointed stare that had prompted me into good behavior so often as a child. < You're drifting, Elfangor. Where is your courage? Your faith? Your love? >
< I -- > I had no response.
< A parent can sense when his child's hearts break, Elfangor. I only hope she was worth the pain. >
*
Everything Burns
It's an ancient Andalite tradition that upon his death, the body of a great warrior is burned into ash and then borne on a small shuttle into the nearest sun. My father used to tell me that Andalite heroes bear flames in their hearts, and only by allowing the inner and outer flames to meet can they truly be honored.
I have always wondered what it might be like, to have fire in my hearts. On the homeworld, our flames burn yellower than they do on Earth, a result of the atmosphere as well as altered chemical makeups through separate evolution. I imagined my veins warming, lighting up my fur with yellow aura.
I was only a child then, of course. I know now that's it's only a legend -- what you on Earth would call a fairy tale.
When you first showed me an image of your human religious icons, I was shocked. Yellow flames circled their heads, licking at their hair: you told me it was called a halo, used to distinguish saints and angels from the rest of humanity.
The first time I saw you in Earth's yellow sunlight, Loren, your hair was loose and long, and it shone golden in the sun. I recalled the old legend, dredging it up from childhood memories. Watching you dance, flickering and glowing like a flame of your own, I thought maybe you didn't need to be a warrior to be a hero, and I discovered that it's not only Andalites that burn bright.
*
Shock
I have never seen Tobias so distressed as when he returned from his meeting with the human DeGroot.
< Hello, Tobias, > I said, one stalk eye tilted upwards to watch his approach. He did not reply, instead choosing to morph human before collapsing on the sofa I keep in my scoop, his limbs tangled carelessly. The television remote lay on the cushion beside him but he made no move towards it.
< Tobias? > I am no expert on human emotions, by any means, but I believe I am correct in saying that he was upset. My stalk eyes bobbed in confusion. < Are you perhaps distressed that I have not yet wished you a happy birthday? >
He let out a kind of choking laugh, the meaning of which I could not decipher.
"Did you know, Ax?" His voice was thick, and muffled by the upholstery. "Did you know who my father was?"
My hoof scuffed anxiously in the dirt. Family was always been a sensitive topic with Tobias.
< How could I know that? > I wasn't sure I wanted to hear the answer. My stalk eyes began to shrivel, my tail as well. Tobias only morphed human in the forest when he needed human comfort. He waited to speak until I was fully morphed, and had curled up on the other end of the couch so that our feet nearly touched.
"Elfangor." The appearance of my brother's name alone sent a jolt through my human body, and it took me several seconds to recall the start of the conversation and make the connection. But that was impossible. Obviously I had misunderstood.
"I do not understand. And."
"Yes you do, Ax," he whispered, so that I could barely hear him.
"It isn't possible." But no, that was a lie. I recalled being very young when my brother returned from his long absence, refusing to tell anyone where he'd been. Could he have been living on Earth?
"And the worst part is," he went on, with a kind of mirthless laugh, "I don't even know whether I should be proud, or freaked out that even human I wasn't human."
"My brother was a great warrior," I found myself saying, although the majority of my being was still busy working through the shock. I didn’t even remember to play with mouthsounds. "You should be proud of the legacy he left behind."
"Oh I am," he said bitterly. "Breaking laws and being eaten alive. Can't wait to follow in his footsteps." We were silent for several seconds before he seemed to realize what he'd said. "Sorry. I-- Sorry."
I smiled sadly. "It's quite all right, Tobias." He did not speak again, and we lay on the couch with our feet not quite touching, as human as either of us ever could be, for longer than I care to admit.
Fandom: Animorphs, AU
Characters: Tobias/Rachel
Rating: PG-13 for underaged drinking
Summary: Tobias goes to his high school graduation party and ends up in conversation with that tall blonde girl he sort of had a crush on in junior high.
Notes: AU where the Yeerks never came to Earth so Elfangor never crashed there. For drabble365days who requested a T/R fic on my Kick Start Me meme. The title is lyrics from "Loud Music" by Michelle Branch.
The bass rhythm pulses in his feet, the mass of bodies on the makeshift dance floor swaying along with it. His back presses against the cool plaster of the wall and he shivers despite the oppressive heat of the party. There's a red plastic cup in his hand, flashing in the strobe lights, the drink inside untouched. It's probably been spiked.
"Hey," remarks a voice at his shoulder, hardly straining to be heard above the music, and he jumps, splashing a little of his drink over his hand. He turns to discover that the voice belongs to that tall blonde he sort of had a crush on in junior high. He can certainly appreciate his younger self's instincts, he observes now, noting the modest top over shorts that show off her rather impressive legs. What was her name again? Rachel, that was it.
"Um, hi." He eyes the empty cup in her hand. She doesn't seem to be too drunk, but what sober girl with a face like that would come over to talk to him?
"So, Tobias," and he tries not to look too shocked that she knows his name, "graduation, huh? Going anywhere special next year?"
It takes him a moment to get his voice back. "I -- uh, no. Can't afford it yet." He feels his face heat -- it's just the lights, they're starting to get to him -- and takes a gulp of his punch. Definitely spiked. Good, he needs it. "I'm hoping to get into Berkeley."
She smiles easily, her foot tapping along with the beat. "That's cool. My mom wanted me to do Pre-law at Columbia, but I decided to take the year off."
"Law." He can only too easily picture her in a skirt suit and heels, tearing into witnesses and picking apart the defense's case piece by piece. "That's . . . fitting."
She huffs a laugh through her nose and plucks the cup from his hands, taking a swig before passing it back. "And my dad wants me to go into journalism."
He mimics her actions, whatever had been added to the beverage already starting to burn in his stomach and bolster his courage. "Reporter?"
"Anchor." Her voice lowers into a mockery of a man's, her shoulders straightening formally. "This is Dan Berenson, News at Six, live from Chicago . . . " With another chuckle, she knocks back the last of his drink, her head tipping slightly to one side. "So how about you? Any parental input on your career choice?"
"Not really." His expression is carefully neutral as he slides around the real question with practiced ease. "English is the only thing I'm good at anyway." He shrugs.
"Sure it isn't. We worked that science project together in tenth grade."
"That's right, we did," he realizes, recalling how intimidated he'd been by this tall, popular girl he'd been partnered with. "What was that, the potatoes?"
"The potatoes," she agrees with a laugh, a full one this time. "Jake and Marco tried to come up with an alternative energy source and almost set fire to the school."
"Shame they didn't," he says, shaking his head.
"Hey, you want another drink?" she asks, holding up the empty cups.
"Sure," he says, but she's already gone, vanished into the swaying crowd like a bird lost from view in the trees.
**
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Characters: Sherlock/John
Rating: PG
Prompt: Mini-fill or sentence fill for characters making a poor excuse for a reply to a declaration of love, you know what I mean, like "That's nice?" or "Whatever for." or "Do not." ( Here on the kinkmeme)
Sherlock glanced down at the pale face of his flatmate. His hands were no longer red, but John's blood still stained his front. (A pity. He'd liked that shirt.)
He stood, making as if to leave the hospital room, but a hand shot out and grasped his wrist in a grip surprisingly firm.
"Sh'lock," John slurred, his eyes half open. They were glassy and unfocused, but seemed to be more or less trained on the consulting detective himself. "Sh'lock -- you 'kay?"
"Yes, John," Sherlock assured him, although the doctor would forget almost immediately, heavily medicated as he was. "I'm perfectly fine."
"Sh'lock -- wanted to say -- love you, Sh'lock."
The detective stared at his flatmate in shock, then swept his eyes around the room in a way that clearly pleaded help me. When no help was forthcoming, he patted John's hand awkwardly. "That's -- er. That's very nice, John." Carefully prying the doctor’s fingers from his sleeve, he fled to the hallway. These were the times that he really needed a smoke, damn it.
**
Title: You Should Know By Now, Winchesters Take Pleasure in Defiance
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Castiel, Adam
Spoilers: sort of s6 finale
Rating: PG-13 for an f-bomb
Prompt: Love = 42 (words): Supernatural; Castiel/Adam; not afraid.
"Fear me," he says. "I am your God."
The boy looks at him, looks up from the ground (it's right that he should look up) and gives him the same look that Dean gave, the same look that Sam gave.
"Fuck you."
**
Fandom: Animorphs
Characters: Tobias (with a bit of Tobias/Ax in the second one if you squint)
Spoilers: #54
Rating: PG
Summary: Angsty!Tobias returns!
Note: These were originally one drabble for "Grow Old Together" on drabble365days but I decided they worked better separately.
Sometimes he wishes it had never ended.
Not Rachel, no, she wouldn't have lasted much longer anyway. She would have lost herself, or died in another battle, in another place, for another reason, and they'd have kept going without her because what choice did they have anymore, really?
But sometimes he wishes the war had kept going, had not been won or lost that day. That it would have kept raging, and simply faded into background noise in their lives. It already had, in a way, so much so that it was worse after it had ended.
They could have lived, the six of them, lived until they went out fighting, instead of sitting and drowning oh-so-slowly in the things they couldn't fix.
-
Most days he misses Ax more than Rachel. Ax because he chose to leave. Ax because he could understand. Ax because if Tobias had had to choose, back in that final moment, who he would have put on that Blade Ship, he doesn't think he'd have changed a thing.
He knew, once the war was over, that Ax couldn't stay. His family was waiting for him, and his people, and he couldn't understand anymore what Tobias felt, what it's like not to remember what you are. Something broke the day that Ax returned to space. Rachel, she was his heart, but Ax was everything else, until he wasn't.
Any way he looks at it, Tobias has only ever had two futures. In this one, in reality, Tobias-the-human dies. So does Tobias-the-Andalite, and Tobias-the-hawk. The only thing left is the sky, and a bird that can dream.
In the other, Rachel dies, but the war goes on, and Ax stays with Tobias, two minds and five bodies all as one in the forest. Human, Andalite, human, hawk, they'd teeter on the edge, backandforthandbackandforth, and they'd never have to decide so they'd never have to leave.
**
Fandom: Animorphs
Characters: Jean, Steve, Tom, Jake, Homer
Spoilers: #54
Rating: PG
Prompt: Hurt/comfort: any, any +/ any, grieving the loss of a pet
Tom went first.
Tom always went first. Tom was born, and so Jake was born. Tom played basketball, and so Jake played basketball. Tom joined a secret war, and so Jake joined a secret war. Tom died on the Blade Ship, and so Jake died chasing after the Blade Ship.
And Homer; faithful little Homer, trotting after his masters with a wagging tail and lolling tongue. Jean recalls how Tom had begged for a dog -- seven years old, he'd looked up at her with those big childish eyes and promised to feed it, and clean up after it, and take it for walks. Steve remembers how Jake had added his own promises -- four years old, he was hardly bigger than most dogs, but Tom wanted a dog and so Jake wanted one too.
Thus, Homer. The shelter had named him. Jean remembers how Jake had clung to the puppy, so determined to keep it safe. Steve recalls that Tom kept his promises for nearly a month before the chores fell to the parents, as they always did in such matters.
Fifteen years later, and all that's left is Jean and Steve and a dog with a broken heart. It isn't long after Jake leaves that Homer finally gives in -- he's old, after all, and his masters are gone now: Tom first, and then Jake. Isn't it always the way?
Jean remembers how Jake had clung to Homer in that first year after the war, fingers curled in shaggy fur, anchoring a lost boy to reality. But even a cold wet nose against the crook of his elbow isn't enough to take away the pain of anything more than a scraped knee. Steve recalls the things explained in one of Jake's rare talkative moods, how Homer was his very first morph and how incredibly blissful it was, being a dog. He didn't smile as he said it, but it was the happiest Steve had seen him in years.
But Homer is gone now, taking that last little bit of their sons with him. They think about burying him in the backyard, but instead they have him cremated, and scatter his ashes a handful at a time into the wind. Maybe, if they're lucky, he'll be blown up to the stars, where his masters wait to welcome him home.
**
Fandom: Animorphs
Characters: Marco, Tobias, Ax, Rachel, Toby, Jake
Rating: PG for bad puns and poop joke or two
Prompt: Light: Any, Any, light bulb joke
"Hey Tobias. How many birds does it take to change a lightbulb?"
< You're going to finish this joke no matter what I say, aren't you? >
"One can't, three can't -- but toucan!"
< I cannot believe you just said that. >
--
"Hey Ax-man, want to hear a human joke?"
< Say no, Ax. >
< I am always willing to hear human jokes, Marco. >
< Don't say I didn't warn you. >
"How many Andalites does it take to change a lightbulb?"
< What is a lightbulb? >
"Exactly!"
< I fail to see the humor in that. >
< Everyone but Marco fails to see the humor in that. Just walk away, Ax-man. Walk away. >
--
"Here's a good one, Rachel. How many blondes does it take to change a lightbulb?"
"Are you sure you want to finish that joke, Marco? I will hurt you."
"I'm an artist. I suffer for my work."
< And may I remind you that I am also blonde and as a hawk, I have full bowels and excellent aim. >
"Two. One to hold the bulb, and the other to rotate the ladder-- augh, no, Tobias, what are you doing?!"
--
"Hey, guys! How many Yeerks does it take to-- wait, where are you going? Come back!"
--
"Hey Toby, how many Hork-Bajir does it take to change a lightbulb?"
. . .
"Marco? Why are you hiding in a log?"
"Annoying the scary lady with the wrist blades was not the best idea I've ever had."
**
Fandom: Animorphs
Characters: Tobias/Rachel
Spoilers: #54
Rating: PG
Prompt: Birthdays: Animorphs, Rachel/Tobias, she has no idea this is the last birthday she'll ever have, so she spends it unexpectedly happy for all it might not have been
You didn't know what was coming for you.
If you had, maybe you'd have thought well, this is it and maybe you'd have noted seventeen, i'll never get any older and maybe you'd have wondered what would it be like to be a legal adult and you definitely would have partied for all it was worth, because hell -- it's not every day that you turn as old as you'll ever be.
He didn't know what was coming for you either.
If he had, maybe he'd have said happy birthday, rach and maybe he'd have noted seventeen, you'll stay beautiful like this forever and maybe he'd have wondered what will it be like when you're gone and he definitely would have whispered i love you in the dead of night when there were only the stars to hear it.
**
Fandom: Percy Jackson/Harry Potter
Characters: Percy, Sally, Annabeth, Luke, Thalia, Grover
Rating: PG
Prompt: What could have been: Percy Jackson & the Olympians(/Harry Potter), Percy(/) Luke & others, they were wizards, not demigods
He isn't sure what to make of all this.
First the letter (by owl, no less) and he says, "Oh please, this is a prank, right?" And his mother looks at him and he knows it's not.
Then he finds out his father -- his absent father, his father who he's never met -- is a wizard. A really famous wizard. Well, crap. Couldn't have sent some child support every now and then, could he?
And then a man, who's dressed like he just came tumbling out of the pages of a clothing catalog wearing pieces from every section (including, it seems, women's lingerie), comes to take him to London, and brings him to a pub no one else on the street is able to see. They go out back and there's nothing but a wall and he decides this is definitely a prank, but then the man pulls out a wand -- a real, honest-to-goodness wand -- and makes the wall open, and Percy decides now is a really good time to wake up from this bizarre-o dream.
Then a train station hidden behind a wall that isn’t there, and crowds and crowds of people with the oddest mismatches of clothing, luggage, and animals he's ever seen.
He boards the train and finds himself in a compartment with three people: Luke Castellan, a fifth-year from something called Slytherin; Thalia Grace, a third-year from something else called Gryffindor; and Annabeth Chase, a fellow first-year who, like Percy, is something called a half-blood -- one parent magical and the other not, from what he's able to gather. But unlike Percy she grew up with the magical side and seems totally at ease, chatting with Luke and Thalia like she's known them for years. Maybe she has, it wouldn't surprise him.
They're on the train all day, and when it finally rumbles to a stop all he wants is to stuff his face and find his bed. They disembark, joining the crowd shivering in the evening chill.
"Hey -- first years! Over this way, first years!" A boy who looks hardly older than Percy ambles up, wearing a t-shirt and, well, nothing else. Percy doesn't even do a double take at the goat legs and hooves. At this point, not much will surprise him, not even the horns he can just see poking through curly hair.
"Hey Luke, Thalia." The goat-boy grins. "Got some fresh meat for me, huh?" Percy doesn't like the sound of that.
Thalia chuckles. "Grover, this is Annabeth and Percy. Guys, this is Grover. Don't worry, his bleat's worse than his bite."
"Bite? I don't bite. I'm a vegetarian."
"We'll see you at the castle," Luke says with a wink, and steers Thalia off in the direction of a line of horseless carriages. Percy wonders whether the horses will be brought out later, or if they'll just pull themselves. Judging by the way his day is going, probably the latter.
"The school is a castle?" Percy wonders, and Annabeth sends him a look that plainly says Well of course it is, Seaweed Brain, what else would it be?
"Got everyone?" Grover says finally, scanning the knot of first years gathered around him. "Awesome."
He leads them down to the lake and they clamber into little rowboats that don't have oars. They glide smoothly over the dark water on their own power -- of course they do.
"What are those?" Percy asks, pointing to the pale faces peering up through the black.
"Naiads," Annabeth says. She frowns. "No, merpeople -- look, you can see their tails."
He doesn't bother looking.
Finally they reach the castle, but there's no food, or even beds -- first, apparently, they have to try on a hat, of all things.
He realizes very quickly (he's not stupid, after all) that this is no ordinary hat. For one thing, it sings.
Who enchants a hat to sing?
Half a dozen people are called up before Annabeth, peeling off from the group one by one to join one or another of the four tables lined up and down the hall.
When it's Annabeth's turn, she sits on the stool for nearly four minutes. Finally it spits out "Ravenclaw!" and she goes to join the cheering table on the second-to-left side of the hall.
Another ten, fifteen people -- some are Sorted right away, others it takes a while, but Annabeth's was by far the longest. Finally he hears, "Jackson, Perseus!" and puts on the stupid hat.
It's hardly touched his head before it screams "Gryffindor!" and he slides into the seat between Thalia and an older student he doesn't know, relieved to be out of the spotlight.
"Where's the damn food?" he mutters, scowling at his empty plate.
Thalia laughs. "Just watch, you're going to love this."
He does not, in fact, love it when the food appears spontaneously up and down the table, nearly giving him a heart attack, but he does indeed love it when that same food disappears nearly as quickly into his mouth.
There are a few rules and reminders after dessert, but Percy hardly listens. Finally they're led up to the Gryffindor dormitories and he practically flings himself into bed. It's been a very, very long day.
***
The following four fics were all written for drabble365days with the claim "Animorphs: Elfangor & Family". Assume spoilers for The Andalite Chronicles.
Pass Slowly
Nearly a year has passed since I last stood in this field. (In Earth years it’s nearer to five.) It's all the same as I remember -- the grass, the sky, my hala fala on the hill's crest and the family scoop at its foot. The scoop that housed three, and then two -- and now three again.
The child stands before me, clumsy and long-legged, stalk eyes waggling in what I believe is meant to be a threatening manner and his bladeless stub of a tail waving over his head.
< Who are you? > he demands of me, his legs spread wide for balance he has yet to master. < Go away. > He is, any way you look at it, quite adorable.
(I wonder, for one moment, whether my son will be the same. In my head, I hear Loren laughing, as if it's the most ridiculous thing in the world, and of course he will be, Elfangor, he's yours, after all.)
I smile with my eyes, lowering my tail blade as a sign of peace. I am no threat to him, and never will be. < Don't you recognize me, little brother? > We have never met, the two of us, but I recall the wishflower in my quarters, and that strand of golden light that gives me such hope for the future.
His head tips to the side in that babyish fashion some Andalite children keep well into adolescence, and the gesture is so very human that I want to cry. < Are you . . . a spirit? >
I laugh. < No, little brother. I'm still very much alive. >
Nearly a year has passed since I last stood in this field, and though little is different, nothing is the same.
*
I'm Worried About You
< Good morning, Father. > I twisted one stalk eye to watch his approach from behind, continuing my strengthening exercises. I missed my strong human arms with their ten thick fingers. It wasn't nearly as acute of a loss as my tail blade and stalk eyes had been, but it was much more difficult to remember. Just as during my first few human years I had been reluctant to move things, I now found myself attempting to lift objects far too heavy for Andalite limbs.
< Good morning. > He trotted up to the bank of the stream to begin his morning ritual, and I felt a deep sense of loss in my core. I may have regained my birth form, but I no longer felt like an Andalite, no longer felt the spiritual comforts our rituals are meant to provide.
When he had finished, he stood, gazing with all four eyes out across the grazing fields. I stood several tail-lengths behind, stalk eyes fixed on the ground between my hooves like a child waiting for punishment. I knew what was coming.
< I wish you would tell us what happened to you. > I had anticipated the question, but I expected more anger and less sorrow.
< I was stranded on a primitive planet, > I recited. It was only half a lie and I hated it -- but how do you tell your family you abandoned them for another planet, another people? How do you break it to them that you have a son -- a human son -- that you have never met? How do you explain that you created The Abomination, the single greatest victory for the Yeerks since Seerow's Kindness?
< It's more than that, > he said, both stalk eyes turning to fix me with that disappointed stare that had prompted me into good behavior so often as a child. < You're drifting, Elfangor. Where is your courage? Your faith? Your love? >
< I -- > I had no response.
< A parent can sense when his child's hearts break, Elfangor. I only hope she was worth the pain. >
*
Everything Burns
It's an ancient Andalite tradition that upon his death, the body of a great warrior is burned into ash and then borne on a small shuttle into the nearest sun. My father used to tell me that Andalite heroes bear flames in their hearts, and only by allowing the inner and outer flames to meet can they truly be honored.
I have always wondered what it might be like, to have fire in my hearts. On the homeworld, our flames burn yellower than they do on Earth, a result of the atmosphere as well as altered chemical makeups through separate evolution. I imagined my veins warming, lighting up my fur with yellow aura.
I was only a child then, of course. I know now that's it's only a legend -- what you on Earth would call a fairy tale.
When you first showed me an image of your human religious icons, I was shocked. Yellow flames circled their heads, licking at their hair: you told me it was called a halo, used to distinguish saints and angels from the rest of humanity.
The first time I saw you in Earth's yellow sunlight, Loren, your hair was loose and long, and it shone golden in the sun. I recalled the old legend, dredging it up from childhood memories. Watching you dance, flickering and glowing like a flame of your own, I thought maybe you didn't need to be a warrior to be a hero, and I discovered that it's not only Andalites that burn bright.
*
Shock
I have never seen Tobias so distressed as when he returned from his meeting with the human DeGroot.
< Hello, Tobias, > I said, one stalk eye tilted upwards to watch his approach. He did not reply, instead choosing to morph human before collapsing on the sofa I keep in my scoop, his limbs tangled carelessly. The television remote lay on the cushion beside him but he made no move towards it.
< Tobias? > I am no expert on human emotions, by any means, but I believe I am correct in saying that he was upset. My stalk eyes bobbed in confusion. < Are you perhaps distressed that I have not yet wished you a happy birthday? >
He let out a kind of choking laugh, the meaning of which I could not decipher.
"Did you know, Ax?" His voice was thick, and muffled by the upholstery. "Did you know who my father was?"
My hoof scuffed anxiously in the dirt. Family was always been a sensitive topic with Tobias.
< How could I know that? > I wasn't sure I wanted to hear the answer. My stalk eyes began to shrivel, my tail as well. Tobias only morphed human in the forest when he needed human comfort. He waited to speak until I was fully morphed, and had curled up on the other end of the couch so that our feet nearly touched.
"Elfangor." The appearance of my brother's name alone sent a jolt through my human body, and it took me several seconds to recall the start of the conversation and make the connection. But that was impossible. Obviously I had misunderstood.
"I do not understand. And."
"Yes you do, Ax," he whispered, so that I could barely hear him.
"It isn't possible." But no, that was a lie. I recalled being very young when my brother returned from his long absence, refusing to tell anyone where he'd been. Could he have been living on Earth?
"And the worst part is," he went on, with a kind of mirthless laugh, "I don't even know whether I should be proud, or freaked out that even human I wasn't human."
"My brother was a great warrior," I found myself saying, although the majority of my being was still busy working through the shock. I didn’t even remember to play with mouthsounds. "You should be proud of the legacy he left behind."
"Oh I am," he said bitterly. "Breaking laws and being eaten alive. Can't wait to follow in his footsteps." We were silent for several seconds before he seemed to realize what he'd said. "Sorry. I-- Sorry."
I smiled sadly. "It's quite all right, Tobias." He did not speak again, and we lay on the couch with our feet not quite touching, as human as either of us ever could be, for longer than I care to admit.