comment-fic
Here's the next batch of comment_fic:
Title: Dear Vice
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Word count: 215
Disclaimer: Buffy's not mine
Prompt: Angelus, sloth is probably the only sin he isn't the poster boy for
Dear lust,
Were you his first love? You lead him by the hand through darkling streets, night after night. You even brought them together and introduced them; your one with the angelic face and your golden darling of the dark.
Dear wrath,
For how long did you simmer? For how long did you feed yourself to him in bits and pieces, until...
Until his family's blood ran red and rich as rubies at your alter. Was it good for you too?
Dear gluttony,
Alcohol is good, but blood is even better. That is what you taught him in the deep dark of night.
Dear pride,
Do you still have Drusilla's soul, after he tore it out especially for you? It would be just like you to throw it away, as though it is nothing more precious than pond scum. To you, just as to him, the crafted masterpiece is the only beauty.
Dear greed,
Do you ever leave his side? Does he ever stop taking anything and everything he wants?
The two of you will surely be together forever.
Dear envy,
Oh, you hidden, ugly thing. I know you keep him cold at day.
Dear sloth,
Haven't you noticed what a beautiful toy the others have?
Of course you haven't. Well, his name is Angelus.
Title: Cold and Dark
Fandom: Rise of the Guardians
Word count: 360
Disclaimer: I don't own Rise of the Guardians
Warnings: Dark themes, dead child
Prompt: Rise of the Guardians, Jack, There are still times that Jack worries Pitch may have been right: that cold goes better together with dark than light.
There is a dead child out in the cold.
Sometimes, Jack wonders if he really belongs with his new friends. He is the Guardian of Fun, of course, but...
He is winter, or he is winter's child, and there is far more to winter than simple fun. Winter cold can be harsh and deadly. He, of all beings, knows this. He has seen it over and over for the past three hundred or so years, and before that too. After all, he was the eldest child of a poor pioneer family, so he could not fail to learn the darker side of winter.
Christmas is gifts and good cheer. Easter is new beginnings and chocolate and colourful eggs. The tooth fairy leaves gifts in exchange for teeth that will grow back. Good dreams are sweet and pleasant, a different entity to nightmares.
None of them have winter's dichotomy. None of them reach with cold, clammy fingers to draw children and adults away into death.
So, does he really belong there, with those benign, oh-so-bright heroes of childhood tales?
He remembers what Pitch said to him as they stood surrounded by snow and ice. "What goes together better than cold and dark?"
He says it now, just so that he can hear the words again, taste them: "What goes together better than cold and dark?"
He laughs, but it isn't his usual light-hearted, fun-loving laughter; the only side of him that he ever allows the other Guardians to see.
Three hundred years is a long time to be alone. It might even have been far too long, because even now there is something hidden and despairing and furious buried deep inside him.
At least this child before his eyes is not lonely anymore. At least, he hopes not, because he of all beings can never say what comes after death, for anyone at all except for him.
No one will be able to ignore her anymore, now that she is preserved in plain view beneath layers of ice, a glaring shrine to her memory.
Perhaps by the time the ice melts, someone will care enough to give her a proper burial.
Title: Red Sky, Take Warning
Fandom: Black Butler
Word count: 738
Disclaimer: I don't own Black Butler/Kuroshitsuji
Warnings: Violence and killing
Prompt: Any; Any; He/she is actually a serial killer, but knows how to hide it
Elizabeth Midford is a sweet, cheerful young lady. She's small and girlish, and she loves ruffles and ribbons and all things cute.
Every now and then, Lizzy Midford goes for walks alone in her favourite dark red dress, the one with a sheath for her favourite sword hidden under the ample skirts.
She remembers how she felt when her Ciel was taken. Everyone else thought that he was dead, but she always felt like she would know if he was dead. No... someone had taken her Ciel, and she was furious.
That was when she did it. She ran away, using her grief as excuse and cover, and she went after a particular nobleman; one that she saw watching Ciel a little bit too closely in the weeks before the disaster.
Even then, she was a veritable protégé with a sword. She supposed this was no real preperation to kill or torture, but...
He might have taken my Ciel! she thought, and rage drummed loud and frantic inside her head.
She found the nobleman. She lured him with an act of little girl lost and in distress, and pretended not to notice the predator's gleam in his eyes.
Probably she would not have noticed, had she not so recently seen a similar, if milder, gleam in big green eyes peering from her looking glass.
He did not expect her sword at his throat. He did not really believe the threat, either, perhaps not even as blood flowed like thin red ribbons from shallow cuts.
"You won't really do it," he said, over and over. "Sweet little thing like you..."
"Put it down, sweetheart," he said.
She bungled that first kill. She didn't expect his sudden move to escape, and cut too deep too soon. He lay gurgling amongst the alley filth, unable to speak but trying to build the strength to yell, and she had to put her blade through his heart instead of getting the information she wanted.
She had heard stories of boys at war, of the wretched horror felt with their first kill. She always supposed that she would feel something similar if she ever killed someone, that she would be pale and shaking and throwing up.
She did not. She looked at the blood on her blade and blending in with the fabric of her dress, and she did not feel wretched or horrified or even a little bit ill.
This was abnormal, wasn't it? But then, she was already abnormal for doing this in the first place. What did a little more... depravity matter?
She decided that she would have to practice. No one would miss a few wild animals, surely. After all, hunters killed wild animals all the time.
She never killed a rabbit, or anything as cute as that.
That wouldn't be cute at all.
She practiced with wild animals, nothing too cute, and then she hunted the big game; humans who might know what had become of her Ciel. She became very good at it, and at covering her tracks.
If I spill enough blood, she thought, maybe it will please some pagan god or the denizens of hell. Maybe they'll bring Ciel back to me.
She liked that thought, that she might make something happy enough to do her favours.
When her Ciel came back, damaged and without cheer, she smiled and laughed and hugged him, and silently vowed that she would protect him and make sure he smiled again, as well. She looked at the new butler in black, with red eyes like wine (blood), and smiled and thanked him.
Little Lizzy is bright as the sun, and she likes to sneak off to walk alone in her favourite red dress. Her Ciel never smiles anymore, and she only ever smiles to an audience. In fact, she always smiles to an audience, and no one ever thinks that she might be a killer.
Maybe Sebastian, her Ciel's red-eyed butler, knows. He isn't telling, but he never tells anything unless he is asked.
Lizzy does not know when she started to love blood and death. It isn't very cute, but she does not want to stop, and she's just sure that if she keeps on trying she will find a way to make it cute. Maybe then she can share her biggest secret with her Ciel.
Maybe, but probably not. What if he tries to stop being hers, then?
Title: Come and See
Fandom: Highlander
Word count: 320
Disclaimer: I don't own Highlander
Warnings: Apocalypse, implied cannibalism
Prompt: Highlander, the Horsemen, ride now to ruin and the world's ending.
Kronos never does get around to releasing his manufactured pestilence before civilisation starts to crumble all on its own. There are simply too many people, and no new planet has been colonised like they used to dream. It has been millennia since the Horsemen, millennia of technological advances, but humanity hasn't changed, not really.
It's all very well to speak of basic rights and universal morality while they aren't struggling to survive, but once they are...
It all comes falling down.
Kronos remembers his brothers; Methos and Caspian and Silas. It has been far too long, they're probably dead after all this time, and now more than ever he misses them.
Then Methos is there. He stands with his face tilted to the stars, and when he looks at Kronos, Death is in his eyes.
"Come and see," he says.
Kronos laughs and laughs and laughs.
"I thought I was the end of time," he says. "But they are, aren't they? And they don't even realise it."
Methos smiles approval, the teacher whose student has finally learnt a difficult lesson. "Bright boy."
"I could have been the end of time," Kronos adds, because he came so close, and he would hate for Methos to miss that.
"Yes," says Methos, so matter-of-fact, nothing of doubt.
Kronos has not felt delight quite like this in far too long. Even before Methos left, he had ceased to feel like this.
Perhaps, then, Methos was... not right to leave as he did - that cannot, must not, be so - but perhaps Kronos can accept his brother's reasons.
Methos steps close to Kronos, lays his hand on the younger Immortal's arm. He murmurs, low and intimate, "I can bring you Silas and Caspian."
Kronos grins, feral like a starved wolf about to feast.
~
"We ride?" says Silas.
"We ride," says Methos.
~
Caspian laughs and kills and eats. Throughout it, Methos smiles and says nothing at all.
Title: Dear Vice
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Word count: 215
Disclaimer: Buffy's not mine
Prompt: Angelus, sloth is probably the only sin he isn't the poster boy for
Dear lust,
Were you his first love? You lead him by the hand through darkling streets, night after night. You even brought them together and introduced them; your one with the angelic face and your golden darling of the dark.
Dear wrath,
For how long did you simmer? For how long did you feed yourself to him in bits and pieces, until...
Until his family's blood ran red and rich as rubies at your alter. Was it good for you too?
Dear gluttony,
Alcohol is good, but blood is even better. That is what you taught him in the deep dark of night.
Dear pride,
Do you still have Drusilla's soul, after he tore it out especially for you? It would be just like you to throw it away, as though it is nothing more precious than pond scum. To you, just as to him, the crafted masterpiece is the only beauty.
Dear greed,
Do you ever leave his side? Does he ever stop taking anything and everything he wants?
The two of you will surely be together forever.
Dear envy,
Oh, you hidden, ugly thing. I know you keep him cold at day.
Dear sloth,
Haven't you noticed what a beautiful toy the others have?
Of course you haven't. Well, his name is Angelus.
Title: Cold and Dark
Fandom: Rise of the Guardians
Word count: 360
Disclaimer: I don't own Rise of the Guardians
Warnings: Dark themes, dead child
Prompt: Rise of the Guardians, Jack, There are still times that Jack worries Pitch may have been right: that cold goes better together with dark than light.
There is a dead child out in the cold.
Sometimes, Jack wonders if he really belongs with his new friends. He is the Guardian of Fun, of course, but...
He is winter, or he is winter's child, and there is far more to winter than simple fun. Winter cold can be harsh and deadly. He, of all beings, knows this. He has seen it over and over for the past three hundred or so years, and before that too. After all, he was the eldest child of a poor pioneer family, so he could not fail to learn the darker side of winter.
Christmas is gifts and good cheer. Easter is new beginnings and chocolate and colourful eggs. The tooth fairy leaves gifts in exchange for teeth that will grow back. Good dreams are sweet and pleasant, a different entity to nightmares.
None of them have winter's dichotomy. None of them reach with cold, clammy fingers to draw children and adults away into death.
So, does he really belong there, with those benign, oh-so-bright heroes of childhood tales?
He remembers what Pitch said to him as they stood surrounded by snow and ice. "What goes together better than cold and dark?"
He says it now, just so that he can hear the words again, taste them: "What goes together better than cold and dark?"
He laughs, but it isn't his usual light-hearted, fun-loving laughter; the only side of him that he ever allows the other Guardians to see.
Three hundred years is a long time to be alone. It might even have been far too long, because even now there is something hidden and despairing and furious buried deep inside him.
At least this child before his eyes is not lonely anymore. At least, he hopes not, because he of all beings can never say what comes after death, for anyone at all except for him.
No one will be able to ignore her anymore, now that she is preserved in plain view beneath layers of ice, a glaring shrine to her memory.
Perhaps by the time the ice melts, someone will care enough to give her a proper burial.
Title: Red Sky, Take Warning
Fandom: Black Butler
Word count: 738
Disclaimer: I don't own Black Butler/Kuroshitsuji
Warnings: Violence and killing
Prompt: Any; Any; He/she is actually a serial killer, but knows how to hide it
Elizabeth Midford is a sweet, cheerful young lady. She's small and girlish, and she loves ruffles and ribbons and all things cute.
Every now and then, Lizzy Midford goes for walks alone in her favourite dark red dress, the one with a sheath for her favourite sword hidden under the ample skirts.
She remembers how she felt when her Ciel was taken. Everyone else thought that he was dead, but she always felt like she would know if he was dead. No... someone had taken her Ciel, and she was furious.
That was when she did it. She ran away, using her grief as excuse and cover, and she went after a particular nobleman; one that she saw watching Ciel a little bit too closely in the weeks before the disaster.
Even then, she was a veritable protégé with a sword. She supposed this was no real preperation to kill or torture, but...
He might have taken my Ciel! she thought, and rage drummed loud and frantic inside her head.
She found the nobleman. She lured him with an act of little girl lost and in distress, and pretended not to notice the predator's gleam in his eyes.
Probably she would not have noticed, had she not so recently seen a similar, if milder, gleam in big green eyes peering from her looking glass.
He did not expect her sword at his throat. He did not really believe the threat, either, perhaps not even as blood flowed like thin red ribbons from shallow cuts.
"You won't really do it," he said, over and over. "Sweet little thing like you..."
"Put it down, sweetheart," he said.
She bungled that first kill. She didn't expect his sudden move to escape, and cut too deep too soon. He lay gurgling amongst the alley filth, unable to speak but trying to build the strength to yell, and she had to put her blade through his heart instead of getting the information she wanted.
She had heard stories of boys at war, of the wretched horror felt with their first kill. She always supposed that she would feel something similar if she ever killed someone, that she would be pale and shaking and throwing up.
She did not. She looked at the blood on her blade and blending in with the fabric of her dress, and she did not feel wretched or horrified or even a little bit ill.
This was abnormal, wasn't it? But then, she was already abnormal for doing this in the first place. What did a little more... depravity matter?
She decided that she would have to practice. No one would miss a few wild animals, surely. After all, hunters killed wild animals all the time.
She never killed a rabbit, or anything as cute as that.
That wouldn't be cute at all.
She practiced with wild animals, nothing too cute, and then she hunted the big game; humans who might know what had become of her Ciel. She became very good at it, and at covering her tracks.
If I spill enough blood, she thought, maybe it will please some pagan god or the denizens of hell. Maybe they'll bring Ciel back to me.
She liked that thought, that she might make something happy enough to do her favours.
When her Ciel came back, damaged and without cheer, she smiled and laughed and hugged him, and silently vowed that she would protect him and make sure he smiled again, as well. She looked at the new butler in black, with red eyes like wine (blood), and smiled and thanked him.
Little Lizzy is bright as the sun, and she likes to sneak off to walk alone in her favourite red dress. Her Ciel never smiles anymore, and she only ever smiles to an audience. In fact, she always smiles to an audience, and no one ever thinks that she might be a killer.
Maybe Sebastian, her Ciel's red-eyed butler, knows. He isn't telling, but he never tells anything unless he is asked.
Lizzy does not know when she started to love blood and death. It isn't very cute, but she does not want to stop, and she's just sure that if she keeps on trying she will find a way to make it cute. Maybe then she can share her biggest secret with her Ciel.
Maybe, but probably not. What if he tries to stop being hers, then?
Title: Come and See
Fandom: Highlander
Word count: 320
Disclaimer: I don't own Highlander
Warnings: Apocalypse, implied cannibalism
Prompt: Highlander, the Horsemen, ride now to ruin and the world's ending.
Kronos never does get around to releasing his manufactured pestilence before civilisation starts to crumble all on its own. There are simply too many people, and no new planet has been colonised like they used to dream. It has been millennia since the Horsemen, millennia of technological advances, but humanity hasn't changed, not really.
It's all very well to speak of basic rights and universal morality while they aren't struggling to survive, but once they are...
It all comes falling down.
Kronos remembers his brothers; Methos and Caspian and Silas. It has been far too long, they're probably dead after all this time, and now more than ever he misses them.
Then Methos is there. He stands with his face tilted to the stars, and when he looks at Kronos, Death is in his eyes.
"Come and see," he says.
Kronos laughs and laughs and laughs.
"I thought I was the end of time," he says. "But they are, aren't they? And they don't even realise it."
Methos smiles approval, the teacher whose student has finally learnt a difficult lesson. "Bright boy."
"I could have been the end of time," Kronos adds, because he came so close, and he would hate for Methos to miss that.
"Yes," says Methos, so matter-of-fact, nothing of doubt.
Kronos has not felt delight quite like this in far too long. Even before Methos left, he had ceased to feel like this.
Perhaps, then, Methos was... not right to leave as he did - that cannot, must not, be so - but perhaps Kronos can accept his brother's reasons.
Methos steps close to Kronos, lays his hand on the younger Immortal's arm. He murmurs, low and intimate, "I can bring you Silas and Caspian."
Kronos grins, feral like a starved wolf about to feast.
~
"We ride?" says Silas.
"We ride," says Methos.
~
Caspian laughs and kills and eats. Throughout it, Methos smiles and says nothing at all.