fic dump
50 word fics--
Norse myth/Greek myth, Loki + Hermes, trickster
"So you're the me from up north, huh?" One surveys the other with a critical eye.
"Not really," says the other, with a smirk and a scowl in one, somehow. "I'm no pigeon."
"Hey, don't diss the boots. Being a messenger is important work, iceman."
"Of course. Fly away, bird."
Animorphs, David, black and blue (tw: child abuse)
Powerlessness is not a new feeling. Fuck knows how many hours he's spent on the floor, black and blue and purple and green and all the colors of the rainbow blooming across his back and shoulders, Dad bellowing somewhere far off. So he'll take power where he can get it, thanks, and damn the people who try to take it away.
*
100 word fics--
Animorphs, Elena, let the darkness come down
She finds it hard to move in Rachel's body. Rachel is taller, for one thing, all long limbs and easy grace. But with eyes wide she's blinded by the brilliance of color after every blink; she finds herself startling when something moves unexpectedly in her line of sight. She sees the black outline of a raptor far above, and is momentarily frozen by the breathtaking crispness of wings against the blue before she remembers to wave. She thinks of herself to demorph, an image in her mind's eye composed of form and texture, and lets the darkness descend once again.
Arrow, Oliver, bloodlust
He never felt like this before, before wind and rain and rock. He never knew the way his heart could surge when he flipped onto a roof, the way his pulse could stop when he lined up an arrow, the way his fingers could freeze and the world could quiver around him and hold its breath, and sigh and guide the arrow to its mark. A spike of adrenaline, turning the world razor-sharp like the edge of an arrowhead, and muscles straining, bloodlust raging. If he'd known anything could feel like this, he would have started a long time ago.
Wrinkle in Time series, Sandy, the moon and stars fade to ghosts (Divya Srininasan)
Sandy doesn't hear the stars anymore.
Sometimes he will walk out to the stargazing rock, alone with the world standing still around him, and fold into himself and close his eyes, and
--nothing.
On the very clearest nights, when the moon is full and the valley behind him all but obscured by trees, he thinks there is a faint whisper, a sound so soft that you're not even sure it's there.
He hasn't asked Dennys. They haven't spoken about those months at all, not since they got back; Sandy's starting to wonder if it was all a dream.
(He listens.)
*
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Harry, Tom Riddle
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: Harry Potter, Voldemort + Harry, monsters aren’t born - they’re made
Somewhere, there is a world where a little boy without a home is extended a hand on a train, and takes it. Somewhere, too, there is a world where a little boy in a cupboard under the stairs grows bitter and hard, and learns to hate, unequivocally and irrevocably.
There are worlds where two little boys grow up to be monsters, and worlds where they become paragons of good. There are worlds where a handsome young man was given a job and forgot to shroud himself in darkness, worlds where an angry young man returned to right the wrongs that had been done to him in a little house on Privet Drive.
Yes, these worlds exist, and more besides -- but in this world, a monster raises a wand to a child in its crib, and a not-quite-man tries to protect those who hurt him. This world turns on, as they all do -- monsters, after all, are rarely born that way.
*
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: teen!Dean, wee!Sam
Rating: PG
Prompt: any, any tough guy, somehow, they got roped into running the school bake sale
Dean wasn't exactly sure how he ended up here. There had been something about Sammy and puppy dog eyes and a promise of leftover pie, and now here he was, passing out brownies to ten-year-olds.
One of the little snots had reached over and snagged a cookie without paying. "Hey, kid, get back here!" Dean found himself yelling. His longer legs brought him up level with the pint-sized thief in moments and he grabbed at the back of the boy's shirt, pulling him to a halt. He leaned down and looked the kid straight in the eye. "So you gonna pay for that, or what?"
Dean returned to the table a minute later and triumphantly dropped a pair of Washingtons in the money box. "Well, Sammy, this isn't so bad after all."
The two leftover slices of pie were even better.
*
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Characters: Willow/Tara
Rating: PG
Spoilers: s5 finale through to the end of s6
Prompt: Any, any, conversations held via post-it notes or other small notes because the characters haven't been in the same place at the same time for a while
They're tough, those months. Willow's got daytime classes and homework and research late at night, and Tara has a part-time job and homework and research and nightschool, and then there's Dawn and the Buffybot to look after, and it starts with the fridge:
Need OJ. Morning functions impaired. -W
Stopped at Safeway's. Got the extra pulpy stuff. -T
You know me too well.
And then on a stack of books:
Think there might be something in these. Take a look. -T
Skimmed to page 360 in this one. Nothing yet. -W
Think this spell might do it? -T
Giles says some of the ingredients don't exist anymore, but he lent me this book. Off to class, flip through when you get the chance. -W
And there are mundane conversations, too, in the bathroom:
Your shampoo smells nice. I'm using some.
On the closet:
Wear the blue one today.
In the hallway:
Smile.
And in the kitchen:
Got those cookies you like. Top shelf to the right.
You're the best.
I know.
And there are hurried moments in between, as one gulps down her breakfast on the way out and the other trudges in. A brush of fingers as they pass, and the first will find when she returns:
How was your cereal?
Better when you pour the milk.
Or when one crawls into bed at two in the morning, a whispered hello and a sleepy murmur in reply, and in daylight she will find on the empty pillow:
Love you.
Love you too.
Even when Buffy comes back, and their lives are not so hectic (more hectic in that there are monsters, of course, but there is time for conversations and kisses and more), they will leave little notes around the house. The others learn to ignore them; they are private conversations, spoken in colored whispers of pen and paper.
I like your hair today.
Thanks for lunch. You make good sandwiches.
Have you seen the remote?
(I'm sorry. I'll try to be better.
I know you will.)
But then there are bullets and blood and creeping darkness, and it is months before Willow wakes up in that bed again. The other side is empty and cold, and there are no notes on the pillow, no fresh imprint in the mattress of a body just a few rooms away. She finds a post-it and a pen and writes:
Miss you.
There is no reply.
*
Fandom: Animorphs
Characters: David, team
Rating: PG
Prompt: Animorphs, any, But no, I was out for stars;
I would not come in.
I meant not even if asked;
And I hadn't been.
-Robert Frost, "Come In"
They don't want him.
They don't say it, of course, out loud, to his face. Marco has had to be forcibly dissuaded from doing so more than once, he's sure, and Rachel says everything with her eyes.
But he's always the new kid, and his father is (was) a spy -- he knows how to know what people don't say.
They've given him a gift, an incredible gift that they didn't want to let go of, but it's his now, and he doesn't plan to let it go to waste. (He doesn't want to die.) He doesn't want to be part of their little clique; he doesn't want to belong with a group like this, so self-righteous and noble and holier-than-thou-because-we-have-higher-morals-than-you.
He doesn't want to hurt anyone. (He doesn't want to be hurt.) He just wants to be allowed to leave.
*
Fandom: Good Omens
Characters: Aziraphale, Crawly
Rating: PG
Prompt: Any, any,
As leaf subsides to leaf,
So Eden sank to grief.
- Robert Frost, "Nothing Gold Can Stay"
"You're ssstill here?" hissed the serpent, head rising above the tall grass. "I thought you'd be long gone."
"Oh, it's you," said the angel, not sounding particularly disappointed. "Yes. I thought I'd best keep an eye on things. I'm still the Guardian of the Eastern Gate, you know."
"Not much to guard, is there?" The serpent turned its yellow eyes to what once was Paradise. "It's dead."
"Dying," the angel said firmly, and turned to look at the Garden as well, with rather less regret. "I expect you're pleased."
The serpent's head weaved from side to side. "Not as much as you might think, angel. I liked Eden. You never had to go far to find trouble to stir up."
"Don't you think you've stirred up quite enough trouble?" asked the angel, without much conviction.
"I think," said the serpent, taking in the tangled, overgrown jungle, abandoned to Nature and forgotten by most, "I think, angel, that the trouble is just beginning."
*
Fandom: Original
Rating: PG
Prompt: Any, any, sing me to sleep
She has a lovely voice, this robot of mine.
She doesn't sing like a robot, or look like one, or even feel like one when her hands cover mine. She sounds, depending on the song, like a cool mountain stream, burbling softly over stone; or like a tongue of flame, bursting out of her as a volcano erupting. She sings rock and lullabies, country and electro. She sings what I ask her to. Her voice is my wake-up in the morning and the last thing I hear every night, but as she sits in her chair and sings me to sleep, I sometimes wish she could smile.
Yes, she has a lovely voice, this robot of mine. I only wish once, just once, I could sing her to sleep instead.
*
Fandom: Animorphs
Characters: Rachel
Rating: PG
Prompt: Animorphs, any, bruise
Of all the things you might miss these days -- sleep, downtime, normality -- you are surprised to find that bruises are one of the things you miss the most.
Not just bruises, really, but all the little injuries that normal people accumulate over a normal day in their normal lives. Scrapes, papercuts, sore muscles. All gone by the next time you morph, never far away.
You had a bad day yesterday at gymnastics. Fell off the balance beam, skidded over the vault, banged your ankle on the uneven bars. Coach just shook her head; Melissa patted you on the back in the locker room and told you everyone has bad days sometime. Yes, you wanted to say, but what if my next bad day gets everyone killed? You nodded and smiled, as fake as the smiles her parents give her, and went home.
Now you strip and stand in front of your mirror, your fair hair falling across your bare shoulders. You push it away, and examine closely the spots of purple that have bloomed over your upper arm and over your thigh. You crouch to prod at the swelling on your ankle, brush your fingers over the stinging raw patch on your hip. You reach across yourself to cover the bruise on your shoulder with a hand, hiding it from the world, and press down with the heel of your palm. You don't even wince; the pain is nothing.
You check that the door is locked, padding barefoot across the room, and then return to the mirror and begin to morph. You keep your eyes open, watching your palms lengthen, your skin sprout fur. You see every second of girl to cat, and do it again the other way. You reach across yourself and press down on your shoulder with the heel of your palm. You feel nothing.
*
Fandom: Avengers movieverse
Characters: Loki, Thor
Rating: PG
Prompt: Avengers, Thor and/or Loki, You taught me Language / and my gain from that Is / I know how to curse
You taught me language
And my gain from that is
I know how to curse your name
You taught me strategy
And my gain from that is
I know how to win against you
You taught me violence
And my gain from that is
I know how to keep you away
You taught me hate
And my gain from that is
I know how to feel about you
You taught me lies
And my gain from that is
I know how to tell you I hate you.
*
Fandom: Animorphs
Characters: Taylor
Rating: PG
Prompt: Animorphs, Taylor The lunatic is on the grass
Remembering games and daisy chains and laughs
-Pink Floyd, "Brain Damage"
There were times, she thinks, when perhaps she was happy. She's not quite sure when, but there must have been, she tells herself.
Before the fire--? Before the flames and the burning and the scarring, before they murmured promises into her ear and shoved a slug in afterwards? (Her mother always said not to have dessert before dinner. Taylor rarely listened.)
She will have to go farther back, she decides. It's so hard to remember, because when she tries, a wall of flame rises in her mind, flickering and hissing and--
It's hard to remember, but she thinks she may have been happy once, before-- Before she knew what beauty was, before she hit puberty and started turning heads and other bits. Before, when a grown-up would tell her she was such a cute little girl, and Taylor would smile sweetly and say thank you, because her mother always told her to -- and then she would skip off to play in the grass, and smear dirt over her cheeks instead of makeup.
She can't quite remember, but she thinks maybe she was happy, then.
Norse myth/Greek myth, Loki + Hermes, trickster
"So you're the me from up north, huh?" One surveys the other with a critical eye.
"Not really," says the other, with a smirk and a scowl in one, somehow. "I'm no pigeon."
"Hey, don't diss the boots. Being a messenger is important work, iceman."
"Of course. Fly away, bird."
Animorphs, David, black and blue (tw: child abuse)
Powerlessness is not a new feeling. Fuck knows how many hours he's spent on the floor, black and blue and purple and green and all the colors of the rainbow blooming across his back and shoulders, Dad bellowing somewhere far off. So he'll take power where he can get it, thanks, and damn the people who try to take it away.
*
100 word fics--
Animorphs, Elena, let the darkness come down
She finds it hard to move in Rachel's body. Rachel is taller, for one thing, all long limbs and easy grace. But with eyes wide she's blinded by the brilliance of color after every blink; she finds herself startling when something moves unexpectedly in her line of sight. She sees the black outline of a raptor far above, and is momentarily frozen by the breathtaking crispness of wings against the blue before she remembers to wave. She thinks of herself to demorph, an image in her mind's eye composed of form and texture, and lets the darkness descend once again.
Arrow, Oliver, bloodlust
He never felt like this before, before wind and rain and rock. He never knew the way his heart could surge when he flipped onto a roof, the way his pulse could stop when he lined up an arrow, the way his fingers could freeze and the world could quiver around him and hold its breath, and sigh and guide the arrow to its mark. A spike of adrenaline, turning the world razor-sharp like the edge of an arrowhead, and muscles straining, bloodlust raging. If he'd known anything could feel like this, he would have started a long time ago.
Wrinkle in Time series, Sandy, the moon and stars fade to ghosts (Divya Srininasan)
Sandy doesn't hear the stars anymore.
Sometimes he will walk out to the stargazing rock, alone with the world standing still around him, and fold into himself and close his eyes, and
--nothing.
On the very clearest nights, when the moon is full and the valley behind him all but obscured by trees, he thinks there is a faint whisper, a sound so soft that you're not even sure it's there.
He hasn't asked Dennys. They haven't spoken about those months at all, not since they got back; Sandy's starting to wonder if it was all a dream.
(He listens.)
*
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Harry, Tom Riddle
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: Harry Potter, Voldemort + Harry, monsters aren’t born - they’re made
Somewhere, there is a world where a little boy without a home is extended a hand on a train, and takes it. Somewhere, too, there is a world where a little boy in a cupboard under the stairs grows bitter and hard, and learns to hate, unequivocally and irrevocably.
There are worlds where two little boys grow up to be monsters, and worlds where they become paragons of good. There are worlds where a handsome young man was given a job and forgot to shroud himself in darkness, worlds where an angry young man returned to right the wrongs that had been done to him in a little house on Privet Drive.
Yes, these worlds exist, and more besides -- but in this world, a monster raises a wand to a child in its crib, and a not-quite-man tries to protect those who hurt him. This world turns on, as they all do -- monsters, after all, are rarely born that way.
*
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: teen!Dean, wee!Sam
Rating: PG
Prompt: any, any tough guy, somehow, they got roped into running the school bake sale
Dean wasn't exactly sure how he ended up here. There had been something about Sammy and puppy dog eyes and a promise of leftover pie, and now here he was, passing out brownies to ten-year-olds.
One of the little snots had reached over and snagged a cookie without paying. "Hey, kid, get back here!" Dean found himself yelling. His longer legs brought him up level with the pint-sized thief in moments and he grabbed at the back of the boy's shirt, pulling him to a halt. He leaned down and looked the kid straight in the eye. "So you gonna pay for that, or what?"
Dean returned to the table a minute later and triumphantly dropped a pair of Washingtons in the money box. "Well, Sammy, this isn't so bad after all."
The two leftover slices of pie were even better.
*
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Characters: Willow/Tara
Rating: PG
Spoilers: s5 finale through to the end of s6
Prompt: Any, any, conversations held via post-it notes or other small notes because the characters haven't been in the same place at the same time for a while
They're tough, those months. Willow's got daytime classes and homework and research late at night, and Tara has a part-time job and homework and research and nightschool, and then there's Dawn and the Buffybot to look after, and it starts with the fridge:
Need OJ. Morning functions impaired. -W
Stopped at Safeway's. Got the extra pulpy stuff. -T
You know me too well.
And then on a stack of books:
Think there might be something in these. Take a look. -T
Skimmed to page 360 in this one. Nothing yet. -W
Think this spell might do it? -T
Giles says some of the ingredients don't exist anymore, but he lent me this book. Off to class, flip through when you get the chance. -W
And there are mundane conversations, too, in the bathroom:
Your shampoo smells nice. I'm using some.
On the closet:
Wear the blue one today.
In the hallway:
Smile.
And in the kitchen:
Got those cookies you like. Top shelf to the right.
You're the best.
I know.
And there are hurried moments in between, as one gulps down her breakfast on the way out and the other trudges in. A brush of fingers as they pass, and the first will find when she returns:
How was your cereal?
Better when you pour the milk.
Or when one crawls into bed at two in the morning, a whispered hello and a sleepy murmur in reply, and in daylight she will find on the empty pillow:
Love you.
Love you too.
Even when Buffy comes back, and their lives are not so hectic (more hectic in that there are monsters, of course, but there is time for conversations and kisses and more), they will leave little notes around the house. The others learn to ignore them; they are private conversations, spoken in colored whispers of pen and paper.
I like your hair today.
Thanks for lunch. You make good sandwiches.
Have you seen the remote?
(I'm sorry. I'll try to be better.
I know you will.)
But then there are bullets and blood and creeping darkness, and it is months before Willow wakes up in that bed again. The other side is empty and cold, and there are no notes on the pillow, no fresh imprint in the mattress of a body just a few rooms away. She finds a post-it and a pen and writes:
Miss you.
There is no reply.
*
Fandom: Animorphs
Characters: David, team
Rating: PG
Prompt: Animorphs, any, But no, I was out for stars;
I would not come in.
I meant not even if asked;
And I hadn't been.
-Robert Frost, "Come In"
They don't want him.
They don't say it, of course, out loud, to his face. Marco has had to be forcibly dissuaded from doing so more than once, he's sure, and Rachel says everything with her eyes.
But he's always the new kid, and his father is (was) a spy -- he knows how to know what people don't say.
They've given him a gift, an incredible gift that they didn't want to let go of, but it's his now, and he doesn't plan to let it go to waste. (He doesn't want to die.) He doesn't want to be part of their little clique; he doesn't want to belong with a group like this, so self-righteous and noble and holier-than-thou-because-we-have-higher-morals-than-you.
He doesn't want to hurt anyone. (He doesn't want to be hurt.) He just wants to be allowed to leave.
*
Fandom: Good Omens
Characters: Aziraphale, Crawly
Rating: PG
Prompt: Any, any,
As leaf subsides to leaf,
So Eden sank to grief.
- Robert Frost, "Nothing Gold Can Stay"
"You're ssstill here?" hissed the serpent, head rising above the tall grass. "I thought you'd be long gone."
"Oh, it's you," said the angel, not sounding particularly disappointed. "Yes. I thought I'd best keep an eye on things. I'm still the Guardian of the Eastern Gate, you know."
"Not much to guard, is there?" The serpent turned its yellow eyes to what once was Paradise. "It's dead."
"Dying," the angel said firmly, and turned to look at the Garden as well, with rather less regret. "I expect you're pleased."
The serpent's head weaved from side to side. "Not as much as you might think, angel. I liked Eden. You never had to go far to find trouble to stir up."
"Don't you think you've stirred up quite enough trouble?" asked the angel, without much conviction.
"I think," said the serpent, taking in the tangled, overgrown jungle, abandoned to Nature and forgotten by most, "I think, angel, that the trouble is just beginning."
*
Fandom: Original
Rating: PG
Prompt: Any, any, sing me to sleep
She has a lovely voice, this robot of mine.
She doesn't sing like a robot, or look like one, or even feel like one when her hands cover mine. She sounds, depending on the song, like a cool mountain stream, burbling softly over stone; or like a tongue of flame, bursting out of her as a volcano erupting. She sings rock and lullabies, country and electro. She sings what I ask her to. Her voice is my wake-up in the morning and the last thing I hear every night, but as she sits in her chair and sings me to sleep, I sometimes wish she could smile.
Yes, she has a lovely voice, this robot of mine. I only wish once, just once, I could sing her to sleep instead.
*
Fandom: Animorphs
Characters: Rachel
Rating: PG
Prompt: Animorphs, any, bruise
Of all the things you might miss these days -- sleep, downtime, normality -- you are surprised to find that bruises are one of the things you miss the most.
Not just bruises, really, but all the little injuries that normal people accumulate over a normal day in their normal lives. Scrapes, papercuts, sore muscles. All gone by the next time you morph, never far away.
You had a bad day yesterday at gymnastics. Fell off the balance beam, skidded over the vault, banged your ankle on the uneven bars. Coach just shook her head; Melissa patted you on the back in the locker room and told you everyone has bad days sometime. Yes, you wanted to say, but what if my next bad day gets everyone killed? You nodded and smiled, as fake as the smiles her parents give her, and went home.
Now you strip and stand in front of your mirror, your fair hair falling across your bare shoulders. You push it away, and examine closely the spots of purple that have bloomed over your upper arm and over your thigh. You crouch to prod at the swelling on your ankle, brush your fingers over the stinging raw patch on your hip. You reach across yourself to cover the bruise on your shoulder with a hand, hiding it from the world, and press down with the heel of your palm. You don't even wince; the pain is nothing.
You check that the door is locked, padding barefoot across the room, and then return to the mirror and begin to morph. You keep your eyes open, watching your palms lengthen, your skin sprout fur. You see every second of girl to cat, and do it again the other way. You reach across yourself and press down on your shoulder with the heel of your palm. You feel nothing.
*
Fandom: Avengers movieverse
Characters: Loki, Thor
Rating: PG
Prompt: Avengers, Thor and/or Loki, You taught me Language / and my gain from that Is / I know how to curse
You taught me language
And my gain from that is
I know how to curse your name
You taught me strategy
And my gain from that is
I know how to win against you
You taught me violence
And my gain from that is
I know how to keep you away
You taught me hate
And my gain from that is
I know how to feel about you
You taught me lies
And my gain from that is
I know how to tell you I hate you.
*
Fandom: Animorphs
Characters: Taylor
Rating: PG
Prompt: Animorphs, Taylor The lunatic is on the grass
Remembering games and daisy chains and laughs
-Pink Floyd, "Brain Damage"
There were times, she thinks, when perhaps she was happy. She's not quite sure when, but there must have been, she tells herself.
Before the fire--? Before the flames and the burning and the scarring, before they murmured promises into her ear and shoved a slug in afterwards? (Her mother always said not to have dessert before dinner. Taylor rarely listened.)
She will have to go farther back, she decides. It's so hard to remember, because when she tries, a wall of flame rises in her mind, flickering and hissing and--
It's hard to remember, but she thinks she may have been happy once, before-- Before she knew what beauty was, before she hit puberty and started turning heads and other bits. Before, when a grown-up would tell her she was such a cute little girl, and Taylor would smile sweetly and say thank you, because her mother always told her to -- and then she would skip off to play in the grass, and smear dirt over her cheeks instead of makeup.
She can't quite remember, but she thinks maybe she was happy, then.