fic dump
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Harry, Draco, Voldemort
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: child abuse
Prompt Harry Potter, author’s choice, Vernon and Petunia Dursley doomed the world because of how they ‘raised’ their nephew
When a child huddles in the dark, with tears drying on his cheeks and bruises blooming on his skin, and nobody hears his sobs -- it can be borne. It can be borne, if it is all he has ever known, but callouses form where once was tenderness, anger where once was love. There is no breaking point, no final snap, but one day there are no tears, no sobs; nor the next; nor the next. Helplessness is the worst thing you can feel, Harry decides for himself, and bears it until perhaps one day he can make them feel helpless instead.
So when a blonde-haired boy talks of power, and superiority, and putting Muggles in their place (under the stairs, he thinks, I'll keep them under the stairs, see how they like it) and extends a hand, Harry takes it. Why wouldn't he? Draco can offer him power, can bring him out of helplessness. The Hat shouts Slytherin! and the Hall falls silent, but Harry's head is high and a smile dances about his lips as he takes his seat beside Draco. Blue eyes peer sharply and anxiously over half-moon spectacles, but Harry doesn't notice.
When Madame Hooch leaves to escort Longbottom to the hospital wing, and Draco snatches the Remembrall from the grass and shouts Harry, catch! and Harry does, he holds it in his hand and it blazes red. He doesn't know what it means and doesn't much care, and hops on his broom and tosses it back. Draco rises to catch it and then Harry does too, and they circle higher and higher and Harry can look down and see the others so far below, a few shouting ineffectually but all of them too anxious to get near their brooms -- some courage. They look so small, like ants. He wants to crush them all under his heel. Power, he thinks, and feels a thrill. He grins at Draco; Draco grins back. Then McGonagall sees and there are points lost and detentions gained, but Harry doesn't care. Later that night he and Draco go down to the broom shed and steal the brooms they had been riding. Harry hides his in his trunk, and leaves it there, but every time his fingers brush its splintered wood he remembers, and smiles.
Gryffindor forfeits the first Quidditch match of the year for want of a Seeker; Slytherin wins by default. Harry thinks next year he would like to try out for Seeker. The most important player, Draco tells him, above it all, can win the game in a single stroke. Power.
When Christmas holidays come, Draco invites him to Malfoy Manor. There's a House Elf called Dobby who bows and scrapes and Harry can't think of anything better than a being who wants to be inferior. On his second night he orders the thing into a cupboard and tells him not to make a sound, and doesn't come back for him for two days. Draco's mother is angry at him for that, but Harry thinks it's mostly because there was no one to do the chores. On Christmas morning, Harry wakes to a large pile of packages (though Draco's is larger) from the Malfoys at the foot of his bed, and nothing from anyone else.
Harry and Draco are worse together than either could be on his own. They egg each other on, bolster confidence, encourage ideas. By Easter they've had detentions with every teacher, including a few whose classes they aren't in (Kettleburn catches them trying to steal a niffler to smuggle into Gryffindor Tower) and once they were even sent to the headmaster, who peered at Harry disapprovingly over his spectacles and (Harry swears) didn't look at Draco once.
Near the end of term, Harry wakes to find a cold, pale, noseless man looming over him. His arms and legs are stuck to the bed, and sounds seem to die in his throat. There is an introduction, an offer. The only word Harry hears is power.
*
Fandom: Animorphs
Characters: Ax, Elfangor
Rating: PG
Prompt Animorphs, Ax, goodness and light
There is a time, long ago (red grass under his hooves a brother at his side stars and planets spinning by overhead) when the whole universe shines. Everything glowing with its goodness, whole and uncorrupted. The military burns red, brave and strong and just, protecting the homeworld and many more from the Yeerk threat. His parents glow warmly blue, shining with their love. They know everything, he thinks then. They will teach him everything they know. But nothing shines brighter than Elfangor -- Elfangor with his broad shoulders and razor-sharp tailblade, Elfangor of the kindest eyes. (Later he will recall so much sadness in them, as well, and wonder how the light could have blinded him to that.) Elfangor shines white, and seems to light up the whole world every time he smiles.
But now (a bridge under his hooves subordinates at his side everything he loves left behind) the whole universe has gone dark. He has no faith in the military; he knows its corruption and the horrors of war. The warm glow of his parents' love is a memory, faded and distant. Elfangor, he knows now, was only an Andalite, only a human, just as flawed as anyone. What light is left in him is only a faint glow, softened by perspective and tainted by sorrow.
The stars around him burn brightly, but the space between them is dark. The light has gone out of the universe and that, Ax thinks, is what the loss of innocence means.
*
Fandom: Go Get a Roomie
Characters: Roomie/Lillian
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: First date: Any fandom, any pairing, a date in a dream plane/parallel universe
"Is this one of your dreams, LT?" Roomie says, her voice stretching up and up and up.
"I suppose it must be," murmurs Lillian, as the sky turns green below their heads.
"I like it." Fingers stretch, touch her shoulder. "It's nice."
Lillian squints. Wingtips touch each end of the world. "I suppose it's too much to ask for you to wear clothes even in my dreams."
"Oh, but that's the best time to be naked."
"May I remind you that you're a guest in my head?"
"I'm a guest in your home, too," Roomie says, with a grin that seems to stretch for miles. She sighs, "Oh, all right," and is wearing Lillian's pajamas.
"You actually listened to me," Lillian laughs, pink clouds wrapping themselves around her.
"There's a first time for everything," Roomie seems to say, but time twists and echoes in on itself. "Is this one of your dreams, LT?"
"I suppose it must be."
*
Fandom: Avengers
Characters: Tony/Pepper, Steve
Rating: PG
Prompt: First time: Avengers (MCU), Pepper/Steve/Tony, There's more than one type of "first"
It's a natural progression of cause and effect. He's talking to Pepper and says something -- he can't remember what, now, but he knows he was feeling particularly lonely that day -- and she doesn't so much invite him over for dinner as commandeer his presence. And a few weeks later someone makes a pop culture reference that Steve doesn't understand, so Tony tells him they're having a movie night, no ifs ands or buts. ("Though there will be butts," Tony adds. He can't seem to help himself.)
And a week after that Tony reveals that movie had a sequel and Pepper makes a ridiculous amount of popcorn. And the next week Pepper asks what movie they're going to watch and she and Tony both seem surprised that Steve didn't know they were watching anything -- like it's already become a regular thing that doesn't need to be discussed.
And it's not until a few movie nights later, nestled snugly between Tony and Pepper on the sofa with the frankly Thor-sized bowl of popcorn on his lap, that Steve realizes: this, here, is the first time in a long time that he doesn't feel out of place.
*
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam/Ruby
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: sex, blood, addiction
Prompt Supernatural, Sam/Ruby, addiction
It's not a physical addiction, not at first-- it's the heat of her, pressed against his body, flaming, scorching, making him forget that this body isn't hers; it's the way the smell of her blood fills his nose and makes his lungs heave with hers, against hers, into hers-- it's the firmness of her movements, the confidence and aggression that he never gets from any of the nice girls he usually prefers-- it's all of that. And then it's the blood.
*
Fandom: Animorphs
Characters: Rachel
Rating: PG
Prompt Favorites: Animorphs, Rachel, her favorite morph
There's the incredible grace and poise of a cat, for one. There's the enhanced senses of her eagle, thermals wafting beneath her wide brown wings. There's the barreling heat of the grizzly, the screaming stomping rage of the elephant. The speed of a cheetah, the massive strength of a polar bear, the serene wave that seems to wash across her mind as a whale.
All this, at a thought. And her favorite morph? Bipedal, golden-haired, tall and well-dressed.
She prowls the mall, a hunter stalking her prey.
*
Fandom: Greek mythology
Characters: Apollo/Cassandra
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: implied non-con
Prompt Greek Mythology, Cassandra/Apollo, better run girl
Her crime is composing poetry.
The words flow from her lips like a summer's breeze, bobbing across the chamber and out the window, to escape above the city. She lies back on her bed and recites fully-formed stanzas to the ceiling (she thinks); the lines take shape on the way from her self to her tongue and unravel again once spoken.
And then suddenly he is there, in lowly human form and a burst of sunlight, poised gracefully on a stool and strumming his lyre to fit to her words.
She sits, the unfinished poem festering like a half-healed wound inside her. "My lord," she says to the god in her bedchamber. She has been taught how to speak to princes and kings and lords from a thousand distant lands, but none of her tutors ever told her how to speak to a god in her bedchamber.
"Your poetry pleases me, my lady." He smiles like the sun. "I should like to listen to it forever."
"I fear your lord uncle may have something to say about that, my lord. We mortals are, generally speaking, quite mortal."
"Bah, Hades." He strokes two fingers down her cheek. She feels briefly dizzy, as though from too much time spent in the sun. "He could not touch you on Olympus."
"Would you take me then, my lord, and leave King Priam with only eleven daughters?"
"He has two and threescore children. He will not miss you."
"Perhaps not." She frowns. "And would you take me to wife, my lord? Would I be by your side always? Or would I be locked away, a forgotten princess in a lonely tower? Forgive me, my lord, but the gods have never been kind to their mortal consorts."
"Your beauty has captured me. Your verse has no equal among men and gods alike, and the words fall from your tongue like sunlight. How could I help but love one such as you until the very fall of Olympus?"
"I have many sisters, my lord. I have seen men promise them wealth and marriage, only to leave them weeping. Like the sun, love must rise and set, but in between it seems as if it will hang in the sky forever. No. Forgive me, my lord, but I must decline."
And suddenly -- like a bolt of thunder, like a quarrel from Apollo's golden bow -- she is struck with the knowledge of what those words have (will) cost her. "My lord," she whispers. "Please, you cannot . . ."
"I can," he murmurs, brushing a lock of hair from her eyes. His smile is as cold and biting as a winter's day. "One of the many benefits of being a god. I can."
Now satisfied, he picks up his lyre and straightens his laurels. "A forgotten princess in a lonely tower," he echoes back to her. "You know everything, now."
"Yes," she whispers, the flames of Troy roaring behind her eyelids. He is gone then. The unfinished poem still lingers within her, but the rest will not come. And now -- now, only -- she sheds a tear for all the things that have been (will be) lost.
Characters: Harry, Draco, Voldemort
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: child abuse
Prompt Harry Potter, author’s choice, Vernon and Petunia Dursley doomed the world because of how they ‘raised’ their nephew
When a child huddles in the dark, with tears drying on his cheeks and bruises blooming on his skin, and nobody hears his sobs -- it can be borne. It can be borne, if it is all he has ever known, but callouses form where once was tenderness, anger where once was love. There is no breaking point, no final snap, but one day there are no tears, no sobs; nor the next; nor the next. Helplessness is the worst thing you can feel, Harry decides for himself, and bears it until perhaps one day he can make them feel helpless instead.
So when a blonde-haired boy talks of power, and superiority, and putting Muggles in their place (under the stairs, he thinks, I'll keep them under the stairs, see how they like it) and extends a hand, Harry takes it. Why wouldn't he? Draco can offer him power, can bring him out of helplessness. The Hat shouts Slytherin! and the Hall falls silent, but Harry's head is high and a smile dances about his lips as he takes his seat beside Draco. Blue eyes peer sharply and anxiously over half-moon spectacles, but Harry doesn't notice.
When Madame Hooch leaves to escort Longbottom to the hospital wing, and Draco snatches the Remembrall from the grass and shouts Harry, catch! and Harry does, he holds it in his hand and it blazes red. He doesn't know what it means and doesn't much care, and hops on his broom and tosses it back. Draco rises to catch it and then Harry does too, and they circle higher and higher and Harry can look down and see the others so far below, a few shouting ineffectually but all of them too anxious to get near their brooms -- some courage. They look so small, like ants. He wants to crush them all under his heel. Power, he thinks, and feels a thrill. He grins at Draco; Draco grins back. Then McGonagall sees and there are points lost and detentions gained, but Harry doesn't care. Later that night he and Draco go down to the broom shed and steal the brooms they had been riding. Harry hides his in his trunk, and leaves it there, but every time his fingers brush its splintered wood he remembers, and smiles.
Gryffindor forfeits the first Quidditch match of the year for want of a Seeker; Slytherin wins by default. Harry thinks next year he would like to try out for Seeker. The most important player, Draco tells him, above it all, can win the game in a single stroke. Power.
When Christmas holidays come, Draco invites him to Malfoy Manor. There's a House Elf called Dobby who bows and scrapes and Harry can't think of anything better than a being who wants to be inferior. On his second night he orders the thing into a cupboard and tells him not to make a sound, and doesn't come back for him for two days. Draco's mother is angry at him for that, but Harry thinks it's mostly because there was no one to do the chores. On Christmas morning, Harry wakes to a large pile of packages (though Draco's is larger) from the Malfoys at the foot of his bed, and nothing from anyone else.
Harry and Draco are worse together than either could be on his own. They egg each other on, bolster confidence, encourage ideas. By Easter they've had detentions with every teacher, including a few whose classes they aren't in (Kettleburn catches them trying to steal a niffler to smuggle into Gryffindor Tower) and once they were even sent to the headmaster, who peered at Harry disapprovingly over his spectacles and (Harry swears) didn't look at Draco once.
Near the end of term, Harry wakes to find a cold, pale, noseless man looming over him. His arms and legs are stuck to the bed, and sounds seem to die in his throat. There is an introduction, an offer. The only word Harry hears is power.
*
Fandom: Animorphs
Characters: Ax, Elfangor
Rating: PG
Prompt Animorphs, Ax, goodness and light
There is a time, long ago (red grass under his hooves a brother at his side stars and planets spinning by overhead) when the whole universe shines. Everything glowing with its goodness, whole and uncorrupted. The military burns red, brave and strong and just, protecting the homeworld and many more from the Yeerk threat. His parents glow warmly blue, shining with their love. They know everything, he thinks then. They will teach him everything they know. But nothing shines brighter than Elfangor -- Elfangor with his broad shoulders and razor-sharp tailblade, Elfangor of the kindest eyes. (Later he will recall so much sadness in them, as well, and wonder how the light could have blinded him to that.) Elfangor shines white, and seems to light up the whole world every time he smiles.
But now (a bridge under his hooves subordinates at his side everything he loves left behind) the whole universe has gone dark. He has no faith in the military; he knows its corruption and the horrors of war. The warm glow of his parents' love is a memory, faded and distant. Elfangor, he knows now, was only an Andalite, only a human, just as flawed as anyone. What light is left in him is only a faint glow, softened by perspective and tainted by sorrow.
The stars around him burn brightly, but the space between them is dark. The light has gone out of the universe and that, Ax thinks, is what the loss of innocence means.
*
Fandom: Go Get a Roomie
Characters: Roomie/Lillian
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: First date: Any fandom, any pairing, a date in a dream plane/parallel universe
"Is this one of your dreams, LT?" Roomie says, her voice stretching up and up and up.
"I suppose it must be," murmurs Lillian, as the sky turns green below their heads.
"I like it." Fingers stretch, touch her shoulder. "It's nice."
Lillian squints. Wingtips touch each end of the world. "I suppose it's too much to ask for you to wear clothes even in my dreams."
"Oh, but that's the best time to be naked."
"May I remind you that you're a guest in my head?"
"I'm a guest in your home, too," Roomie says, with a grin that seems to stretch for miles. She sighs, "Oh, all right," and is wearing Lillian's pajamas.
"You actually listened to me," Lillian laughs, pink clouds wrapping themselves around her.
"There's a first time for everything," Roomie seems to say, but time twists and echoes in on itself. "Is this one of your dreams, LT?"
"I suppose it must be."
*
Fandom: Avengers
Characters: Tony/Pepper, Steve
Rating: PG
Prompt: First time: Avengers (MCU), Pepper/Steve/Tony, There's more than one type of "first"
It's a natural progression of cause and effect. He's talking to Pepper and says something -- he can't remember what, now, but he knows he was feeling particularly lonely that day -- and she doesn't so much invite him over for dinner as commandeer his presence. And a few weeks later someone makes a pop culture reference that Steve doesn't understand, so Tony tells him they're having a movie night, no ifs ands or buts. ("Though there will be butts," Tony adds. He can't seem to help himself.)
And a week after that Tony reveals that movie had a sequel and Pepper makes a ridiculous amount of popcorn. And the next week Pepper asks what movie they're going to watch and she and Tony both seem surprised that Steve didn't know they were watching anything -- like it's already become a regular thing that doesn't need to be discussed.
And it's not until a few movie nights later, nestled snugly between Tony and Pepper on the sofa with the frankly Thor-sized bowl of popcorn on his lap, that Steve realizes: this, here, is the first time in a long time that he doesn't feel out of place.
*
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam/Ruby
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: sex, blood, addiction
Prompt Supernatural, Sam/Ruby, addiction
It's not a physical addiction, not at first-- it's the heat of her, pressed against his body, flaming, scorching, making him forget that this body isn't hers; it's the way the smell of her blood fills his nose and makes his lungs heave with hers, against hers, into hers-- it's the firmness of her movements, the confidence and aggression that he never gets from any of the nice girls he usually prefers-- it's all of that. And then it's the blood.
*
Fandom: Animorphs
Characters: Rachel
Rating: PG
Prompt Favorites: Animorphs, Rachel, her favorite morph
There's the incredible grace and poise of a cat, for one. There's the enhanced senses of her eagle, thermals wafting beneath her wide brown wings. There's the barreling heat of the grizzly, the screaming stomping rage of the elephant. The speed of a cheetah, the massive strength of a polar bear, the serene wave that seems to wash across her mind as a whale.
All this, at a thought. And her favorite morph? Bipedal, golden-haired, tall and well-dressed.
She prowls the mall, a hunter stalking her prey.
*
Fandom: Greek mythology
Characters: Apollo/Cassandra
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: implied non-con
Prompt Greek Mythology, Cassandra/Apollo, better run girl
Her crime is composing poetry.
The words flow from her lips like a summer's breeze, bobbing across the chamber and out the window, to escape above the city. She lies back on her bed and recites fully-formed stanzas to the ceiling (she thinks); the lines take shape on the way from her self to her tongue and unravel again once spoken.
And then suddenly he is there, in lowly human form and a burst of sunlight, poised gracefully on a stool and strumming his lyre to fit to her words.
She sits, the unfinished poem festering like a half-healed wound inside her. "My lord," she says to the god in her bedchamber. She has been taught how to speak to princes and kings and lords from a thousand distant lands, but none of her tutors ever told her how to speak to a god in her bedchamber.
"Your poetry pleases me, my lady." He smiles like the sun. "I should like to listen to it forever."
"I fear your lord uncle may have something to say about that, my lord. We mortals are, generally speaking, quite mortal."
"Bah, Hades." He strokes two fingers down her cheek. She feels briefly dizzy, as though from too much time spent in the sun. "He could not touch you on Olympus."
"Would you take me then, my lord, and leave King Priam with only eleven daughters?"
"He has two and threescore children. He will not miss you."
"Perhaps not." She frowns. "And would you take me to wife, my lord? Would I be by your side always? Or would I be locked away, a forgotten princess in a lonely tower? Forgive me, my lord, but the gods have never been kind to their mortal consorts."
"Your beauty has captured me. Your verse has no equal among men and gods alike, and the words fall from your tongue like sunlight. How could I help but love one such as you until the very fall of Olympus?"
"I have many sisters, my lord. I have seen men promise them wealth and marriage, only to leave them weeping. Like the sun, love must rise and set, but in between it seems as if it will hang in the sky forever. No. Forgive me, my lord, but I must decline."
And suddenly -- like a bolt of thunder, like a quarrel from Apollo's golden bow -- she is struck with the knowledge of what those words have (will) cost her. "My lord," she whispers. "Please, you cannot . . ."
"I can," he murmurs, brushing a lock of hair from her eyes. His smile is as cold and biting as a winter's day. "One of the many benefits of being a god. I can."
Now satisfied, he picks up his lyre and straightens his laurels. "A forgotten princess in a lonely tower," he echoes back to her. "You know everything, now."
"Yes," she whispers, the flames of Troy roaring behind her eyelids. He is gone then. The unfinished poem still lingers within her, but the rest will not come. And now -- now, only -- she sheds a tear for all the things that have been (will be) lost.