So here's some more
comment_fic:
Title: Revelation, Interrupted
Fandom: Highlander: The Series
Word count: 660
Disclaimer: Nothing related to the Highlander franchise belongs to me
Warnings: Possibly disturbing imagery right out of the Bible, and this story's existence just might be blasphemy. Also, crack.
Prompt: Methos, is trying to sleep through judgement day (but Jesus comes and gets him himself)
When people started disappearing into the sky, most people assumed that it was aliens.
"Aliens," said Joe Dawson, shaking his head. "I never thought I'd see..."
"I hate prophecies," Methos muttered in Ancient Egyptian as he downed another beer.
"What was that, old man?"
"I'm going to get some sleep. Wake me up when it's over, if the world's still intact by then."
"What...?"
But Methos was already opening the bar door and slipping outside. He passed through the streets of Seacouver with his eyes wide open, not wanting to miss anything, and thought to himself that it really was a pity that all this probably wouldn't be here when he next woke up.
Ancient prophecies and religion really don't have enough respect for civilisation.
Once inside his apartment, he looked around mournfully for awhile, and then collapsed onto his bed. It was time to get some sleep, and he simply refused to wake up before it was all over. There was a certain trick to regulations of sleep like that, which one was only really able to learn after practicing for multiple millennia.
He didn't count on being woken up before things even really had a chance to get properly started, let alone by a lamb with seven eyes and seven horns, and blood on its otherwise-snow-white wool, as though it had recently been slaughtered.
"You need to wake up," said the bloody mutant lamb.
Ugh, the prophecy mentioned this as well, didn't it?
"I take it you've opened the book, then?"
"Not yet, but soon. You must be prepared to play your part."
"No, I don't want to. Find someone else."
"It must be you. You are the fourth rider, Death on a pale horse."
Methos was just about to argue some more, but he was cut off by the nickering of a horse. Slowly, he turned his head, and there she was. His beloved pale mare from long ago, although she seemed to be a bit undead.
"You don't eat brains now, do you, girl?" he asked, looking into her eyes. She gazed back, solemn and innocent. He didn't trust that look. "If you've decided to imitate Caspian, I won't be happy," he added. His dear, dead horse only looked more innocent.
Turning to glare at the lamb, Methos said, "I refuse to take any part in the Apocalypse, and that's that."
"You must," said the lamb, stubbornness apparent in his voice and body language and every one of his seven eyes.
Methos folded his arms and continued to glare, no less stubborn. It occurred to him that if he wasn't allowed to sleep through the Apocalypse, well, holding it off indefinitely by refusing to participate might be even better.
"The other Horsemen are dead, you know," he said after awhile. "What were you planning to do about that?"
"That can be taken care of."
"Like your death was 'taken care of'? Great. I don't think anyone will be happy about that, you know."
"Making people happy is not the point of the Apocalypse."
Methos snorted in what might have been agreement or disdain, and ambled over to his fridge to take out a couple of beers. "Want one?" he offered the lamb.
"No."
"Your loss." Methos shrugged and opened his own, then sprawled on his couch and got to drinking. He eyed the fridge as he did, and wondered if there was enough beer in there to give him alcohol poisoning. Probably, and it might make time pass more quickly, but did he really want to be dead right now?
Yes, yes he did. Let the lamb, or Jesus or whoever or whatever he was, do what he liked. If Methos wasn't allowed to sleep, he wouldn't let anyone stop him from dying... over and over and over.
With a bit of luck the lamb would give up within the next millennium, and Methos would feel as though it had only been a century or two.
Title: Blood In The Water
Fandom: Dracula
Word count: 560
Warnings: Vampires being bloodthirsty, AU (because I should probably start warning for that)
Pairing: Lucy/Mina
Prompt: author's choice, author's choice,
blood in the waterNote: Set in the same AU as
The Vampire Waltz "I think we're a bit like sharks," says Lucy, shortly after the celebration of their first century.
"Sharks?" says Mina, with a quizzical tilt of her head. She does not understand why they would be like sharks in particular, out of all creatures that stalk or kill.
"Sharks," says Lucy, and gives a firm nod, clearly warming to her own idea. "It's blood, you see. If I do this..." And she bites into her own wrist.
It has been awhile since Mina fed, and her Lucy's blood has always had a certain something. Her nose twitches as the scent reaches it, and she's twitching forward before she can stop herself.
Lucy smiles and holds her wrist over the water, allowing her precious blood to drip onto the surface and disperse. Mina almost growls at the waste, almost.
Lucy laughs, feral and triumphant. "You see? I do enough of this and sharks will come, it's what all those wildlife documentaries say. And then there's you. Come and get it, Mina, my shark."
Mina need not be told twice; she immediately steps up to Lucy, and kneels so that she can better reach that pale, dainty wrist now painted with red. She laps at the blood, and it is wonderful, and she does not care that sand and salt water are probably ruining her expensive dress.
Then the blood dries up, but Mina has just been called a shark so she may as well act like one, and that's a stupid excuse, but she bites down anyway.
She hears Lucy draw in a sharp breath, in spite of the fact that she has not needed to breathe in more than a century, and then there is a hand stroking her hair. "Don't take too much, darling," says Lucy.
Mina thinks that if she did take too much Lucy might not stop her, and for a moment she considers it. Only a moment, and then she knows that she shall not, cannot, never will.
She pulls back from Lucy's wrist and all of that delicious blood, but Lucy's hand is still stroking her hair, and she does not get up. She only tilts her head so that she's gazing up at Lucy. Their eyes are half-lidded and their lips slightly parted, Mina's glistening red in the moonlight. Lucy leans down, and licks away that glistening red.
"Do you really think sharks will come?" whispers Mina.
"Not here, it's too shallow," says Lucy. "Further out. Do you want to swim out and see?"
"Dangerous, isn't it?" says Mina. It isn't refusal.
"Oh, yes," says Lucy, seizing Mina's arms and pulling her up. "It's very dangerous." She laughs, then, and it's only a little less feral than before. There's something infectious about that laugh, and Mina can't help but join in.
"We can hunt the other sharks," Lucy starts speaking, and is interrupted by Mina.
"The real sharks."
"Yes. We can hunt them, or we can join them and hunt people on boats."
"Do sharks hunt people on boats?"
Lucy shrugs. "Maybe, if they fall in while they're bleeding."
"They might not like our company." But Mina is already stripping off her dress, carelessly letting it fall onto the beach. "The sharks, I mean."
"Then we can hunt just with each other. We don't need them."
Mina smiles and runs out to join the waves.
Title: Fire And Ice
Fandom: Supernatural
Word count: 351
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or the devil
Warnings: Hm, not really. Contemplation of the world's destruction, maybe?
Prompt: Lucifer (+/any), greatest fear
Lucifer never really thinks about what his greatest fear is - if asked, he might say that he does not have one, if he does not simply kill the asker for their effrontery - but if he did he would know that the day he faces it is coming, has been for a long time.
This is not Lucifer's greatest fear (it never occurred to him that it could happen, before it did):
He is banished, a scorned and abandoned son. He has observed those ugly, foolish, flawed creatures that Father seems so fond of, and he cannot comprehend why. So he tricked them into revealing just how flawed they really are, and Father cast him down, along with all who supported him. (and Michael was not among them)
He will never understand why.
This is also not Lucifer's greatest fear:
He is trapped, caged. Fire caresses and devours him, always and forever. After awhile it doesn't really feel like anything anymore, it simply is. Even the hottest flames cannot melt his ice (beautiful and glistening and edges oh-so-sharp), he is made of cold ice and always has been.
This is certainly not Lucifer's greatest fear (although it might mean that it is soon, now):
He walks outside his cage for the first time in far too long. He walks on the earth created for the flawed ones, and imagines it all beautiful in flames. Soon.
This is Lucifer's greatest fear:
He stands before his brother Michael, and knows that he must kill or be killed. He asks his brother to choose him over some vague sense of duty to a long-absent father, and he is denied.
He does not think oh, this is my greatest fear. What he does think is that he is sick at heart, which is not so different to his usual state of being, and that he will do this thing. He will fight Michael, and he will kill Michael, because the alternative does not bear thinking about.
Once Michael is dead, everything left on this ball of mud will be obliterated for his satisfaction. (despair)
Title: More Ancient
Fandom: Merlin BBC + Lovecraft
Word count: 767
Disclaimer: Neither Merlin nor the Cthulhu Mythos belong to me
Warnings: Innsmouth-style transformation
Prompt: Merlin + any mythical creature, he's not just a lord of dragons
The first time Merlin lays eyes on the sea, he feels like there is something singing somewhere deep within his soul. He doesn't dwell on it - after all, he's a bit preoccupied with being used as bait in a trap for Arthur.
By the time he has occasion to really think about it, years and years have passed, and it is no longer the only time he ever saw the sea. None of the other times, however, felt quite the same as that first. He wakes, gasping and wide-eyed, from a dream of a watery, alien world that feels like home.
"What does it mean?" he murmurs, but no answer occurs to him.
It is not the last time he has the dream. It becomes more frequent as months pass, and he starts to notice some rather peculiar changes when he looks in the mirror; his eyes are more prominent and odd folds have appeared in the skin of his neck. It is easy to hide the changes with a simple glamour - he is so accustomed to keeping secrets that doing so now seems only natural - but all potential results yielded by his research come to nothing.
He is certain that it is related to his dreams, and to the sea.
When all his book-research continues to come to nothing, he decides that the only way he will ever get answers is if he goes back there, to the source of it all; the opaque, ever-shifting ocean. Something like delightful anticipation shivers through him at the thoughts of what he might find there.
It occurs to him that he might be under a spell, but it does not feel like one and he has become good at identifying these things. All his instincts are telling him that it is the ocean that holds the answers, so he goes. He steals away in darkness, like some lawless, creeping thing, with every intention of returning before the sun rises.
When he looks at the sea this time, he feels like there is something singing in his soul, a bit closer to the surface than it was the other time. Almost before he knows what he is doing, he has waded far enough out that the waves batter his calves and his shirt is damp with sea-spray.
He stands there for a long moment, pondering over what to do next. In the end, well, he has come this far already. He may as well take the next step that his instincts are clamouring for.
He wades out a little further, kicking off his shoes as he moves, and then he dives beneath the waves.
The best way of swimming, of moving with and around the currents, comes naturally. He does not even realise at first that he feels no need for air, no burning lungs or blurring vision.
She meets him over the reef.
She is not human; she could not even be mistaken for one at a glance. She is... some sort of sea-monster, vaguely human-sized, with scales and gills and bulging eyes and three-fingered flippers at the ends of her gangly limbs. She appears to be wearing some sort of necklace; what he sees of the material and patterns put him in mind of nothing he has known.
What she has of lips try to twist into a smile, showing a hint of alarmingly sharp teeth. Certain images and ideas start to take shape in his mind; she looks expectant, and he realises that she is communicating with him.
A whole new world of possibilities opens up before him. He will learn so much, and he can be so much, if only he remains here. For a moment, he is tempted.
Then he comes back to himself.
He cannot, will not, remain here. There is still so much to do above. He promised himself that he would return (to Arthur) by sunrise, and nothing short of death will prevent him from keeping that promise.
No, he tells her, and does not look back even once as he swims back to the shore.
He does keep his promise; he gets back (just) before sunrise. No one realises that he was ever gone. He will never tell anyone of what he has learnt.
Maybe one day he will lose everything (Arthur) that he has here. Maybe one day he will be too late to save Arthur. If that day comes, he might return to the ocean; to the Deep Ones that can be his people, if he so chooses.
If given the choice, he will die saving Arthur instead.
Title: Carnival of Death
Fandom: D.Gray-man
Word count: 630
Disclaimer: D.Gray-man belongs to Katsura Hoshino
Warning: Violence and sadism
Prompt: Any shapeshifter character, they get captured in animal form and shipped to a zoo
Lulubell doesn't know where she is, when she manages to wade through a darkling haze into consciousness. Nothing makes sense, really; all her thoughts are like part-crushed slugs. She growls, a low and ominous rumbling, as she tries to get her pathetically struggling mind in order.
Drugs?
She's in a cage, she realises. Her heart thunders within her, and she rams her strong panther's body into the cold metal bars. They don't give, not even a little bit. All she can do is roar her frustration.
She is answered by squeals and nervous titters. There are people here, ogling her. She imagines hunting them, enjoying their rising fear as she stalks in the shadows. She imagines pinning them down and tearing them with fangs and claws. She imagines their desperate, futile death-struggles.
At least her mind has cleared. She does not like this at all, but she is far from helpless. Never again will she be helpless like she was before. All these fools have no idea what is caged before their eyes.
They have no inkling of the secret war that even now wages, that will determine all their fates. Even if there are some among them who do know that much, they cannot know her or how much she despises them.
Once upon a time she was one of them, or thought she was. Not once has she missed that time - how could she ever, after everything?
Even caged, she is far from helpless, unlike back then.
She could reach out with her mind and call some akuma to her. She could have those akuma kill everyone here, could have all these people filled with akuma blood-bullets, so that they crumble away to nothing, leaving only their clothes behind.
She reaches out with her mind. She calls the akuma.
She sets a trap.
It is a simple matter, to shift her form into anything she pleases. This time she chooses water. She flows past the bars, easy as breathing, and reforms on the other side.
Some of the people around her scream and run. Others stare with disbelief. She yawns long and wide, which is an intimidating thing in this form.
The shadows are lengthening as the sun lowers in the sky; they shall be just perfect as camouflage. Well then. Time to start.
Just as she had imagined, she stalks in the shadows. She has time; there are akuma guarding the perimeter. No one will get out of here before she chooses.
In the end, she doesn't even kill that many with her own claws and fangs. Still, she is the killer of all who die here - after all, the akuma are weapons, and tonight she is the one who wields them.
Her claws rend the throat of one last human, a well-dressed gentleman who tried to beat her back with his cane. She watches with cold interest as he bleeds out, and even tastes some of the blood.
She has not paid any of the others so much attention, but this one almost impressed her.
She changes back into a woman, and wraps herself in the gentleman's coat, to hide the blood.
She walks through this carnival of death, she seeks out the survivors. She pretends to be one of them. She leads them out; she will be remembered as a brave, compassionate woman, who held a crying child in her arms and sang him a lullaby as they passed by the leavings of death.
All of the survivors have lost loved ones this night. None of them will remember that brave, compassionate woman for long.
The Millennium Earl is always looking to create new akuma (a machine, a soul, and a tragedy), and Lulubell is always looking for ways to help her master.