comment-fic
Another set of comment_fic
Title: Winter's Child
Fandom: Frozen
Word count: 281
Disclaimer: I don't own Frozen
Prompt: Frozen, Elsa, discovering her powers
For as long as Princess Elsa can remember, winter has been her friend. She does not think it unusual; surely everyone can call the snow and the chill wind, if they only want to. Surely Mama and Papa are only playing pretend when they hide from the cold and warn her of its danger.
Elsa is three years old when her baby sister is born. The wind howls and the storm rages as she waits, clutching Papa's hand. The storm rages on, still, when she stares wide-eyed at the tiny wailing thing that is her baby sister, little Anna.
"There was a storm like this when Elsa was born, too; do you remember?" Mama murmurs to Papa.
Papa smiles. "Of course I remember, darling."
"Winter is celebrating," says Elsa, perfectly matter-of-fact, because of course it is.
Mama laughs softly. Papa smiles at her, but it is different to the smile he gave Mama. Elsa thinks, he doesn't believe me.
She lays her hands on the bedding and ice grows, spreading out from where she touches; a blessing for Anna.
Mama draws in a sharp breath and clutches Anna close. Papa grabs Elsa's arm and pulls her back. "Elsa..." he growls, as though she has done something bad. Mama and Papa are both staring at the ice with wide eyes, and Papa is angry...
"It's a blessing!" she cries. "A blessing for Anna!"
"Elsa, how did you do that?"
"I just did it! Can't you, can't everyone?"
"No, Elsa." Papa's grip gentles. He's frowning, but at least he doesn't seem angry now. "You have to be careful with this, do you understand?"
Elsa nods earnestly. "Yes, I promise."
She doesn't really understand.
Title: The Creature From The Sunken City
Fandom: The Addams Family + H. P. Lovecraft's Cthulhu Mythos
Word count: 385
Disclaimer: I don't own The Addams Family or anything by Lovecraft
Prompt: The Addams Family, Wednesday, Wednesday brings home a new pet: Cthulhu. (Bonus points if The Old One likes them and decides to stay.)
Wednesday Addams returns from her visit to the Innsmouth cousins with an eye to the stars and a book bound in human skin.
"They grow up so quickly," Morticia sighs.
Wednesday smiles, just a little and very briefly, and then she gets to work. The piles of books that have taken up residence in her room seem ever growing, her hands creep like pale spiders across old parchment.
Three months later, a door opens between Wednesday's bedroom and the sunken city of R'lyeh. Wednesday chants, and waits, and then an old god, or an alien priest of old gods, comes squirming through the portal.
She can't wait to show the family her new pet.
Gomez grins when he sees Cthulhu. "This is an honour, sir," he says with a courtly bow, and then he turns to Wednesday. "Very enterprising, Wednesday. Why, when I was your age I'd only just got a shoggoth. Hungry fellow, that shoggoth; kept trying to devour everything. Well, half the swamp was a bit much, we had to send it to Antarctica in the end."
Grandmama shakes her head. "I don't think this one is likely to be less hungry. I'll cook something up, then." She moves toward the kitchen, muttering something about substance and the void. Wednesday trails after her, curious and eager to learn.
They cook a strange stew, of meat and venom and something white and shining that Grandmama keeps in a bottle. Wednesday thinks Cthulhu likes it, although it is a little hard to tell.
That night, she has the best nightmares that she remembers ever having; of creeping dread, a touch of madness and a city where the geometry makes no sense, even to her.
Somehow, that city feels more right than this world ever did.
She wakes to Cthulhu looming over her, and raises her hand to pet it, or as much of it as she can easily reach. She feels a vague curiosity that is not her own, and perhaps a stirring of something similar to fondness, also not her own.
She always has been good with pets.
Throughout the neighbourhood, others emerge from strange dreams of a strange city with wide, wild eyes, trembling bodies and choked-off cries.
The stars are not right, but it is not as though that matters, not anymore.
Title: Prelude to the End of Days
Fandom: Harry Potter + Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Word count: 312
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Warnings: Violence, mutilation, femslash, AU for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
Pairing: Drusilla/Luna
Prompt: Whedon'verse vampires/Harry Potter, Drusilla/Luna, such a pretty little moonbeam
Luna laughs when the vampire rips out the Death Eater's throat with her sharp, sharp teeth. Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus.
The Luna of a year ago would probably not have laughed, she thinks. The Luna of a year ago was not the Dark Lord's prisoner, had never screamed under the Cruciatus Curse, still had a left eye because it had not been stolen, cut away to bring Daddy to heel.
The vampire grins at her; formidable as any dragon, yellow-eyed demon with dress dyed red. "Such a pretty little moonbeam," the vampire coos, swaying a little from side to side, gentle voice at odds with the gore and everything Luna has known for too long now.
Luna tilts her head. "Me?" The vampire nods, Luna says, "Thank you."
She was raised to be polite, wasn't she, once upon a time?
The vampire steps up close to Luna, kisses her. This monster has cold lips, cold tongue, the witch tastes dark wizard's blood and kisses back.
The vampire's cold, pale hand grasps Luna's greasy, tangled hair (no combs here in the Dark Lord's dungeon.) "Come away, little moonbeam," says the bloodied demon with the face of a maiden. "We can have a picnic at the end of the world, with yummy things to eat and screams like music."
The Luna of a year ago would have said no without a thought to spare of otherwise.
The Luna of now has been forgetting things in bits and pieces. Things like the feelings of happiness and sunlight and Daddy's hugs.
The Luna of now nods, and follows the pretty monster into the deeper shadows between here and elsewhere. She can only think of one way that such a demon can seek to take her to a picnic at the end of the world, but she suspects there is not much left of her soul, anyway.
Title: Unlighted Chambers Beyond Time and Space
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Word count: 263
Disclaimer: I own nothing of the MCU. The title's from Lovecraft.
Warnings: Lovecraftian madness, weird unconventional grammer and capatalisation, something of a stealth crossover
Prompt: MCU, Loki + any, they found no weapons when they locked him away. He needs nothing but what he learned in the void.
loki does not remember everyThing that he sawheardsmelledfelttasted in the Void, quite pointedly he does not remember everyThing
he remembers enough
he remembers enough to laugh as he is tortured by the other that is not quite Other, as his mouth fills with blood bitten viciously from inside; he remembers enough to agree without caring to the demands of thanos
he remembers enough to smile when he is gagged and bound, dragged in disgrace to asgard-false-home, stripped of all weapons that foolish midgardians and foolish æsir know to look for
Noise like the beating of drums and the whining of flutes, yet nothing like either of those things, is ringing in his ears; there is someThing boundless at the very Edge of vision, from which he looks away very hard
odin-allfather-false-father sentences loki to rot in asgard's prison, as though he hasn't already rotted someWhere far far Darker, so he pretends he cares but is pretending not to care
the drums and flutes that are no such thing are louder, the boundless Thing he does not look at is closer all the time
he remembers enough to rip open reality right there in the cell - the best of his magic is bound but This is not magic, this is an Absence of magic and other things - and asgard-false-home is bleeding, bleeding, his Offering to the only Home he knows anymore
Home is Calling him, no matter that he forgets and does not Look, he belongs There not here, he laughs and stops pretending and steps through asgard's gaping weeping Wound, into the Void
Title: Winter's Child
Fandom: Frozen
Word count: 281
Disclaimer: I don't own Frozen
Prompt: Frozen, Elsa, discovering her powers
For as long as Princess Elsa can remember, winter has been her friend. She does not think it unusual; surely everyone can call the snow and the chill wind, if they only want to. Surely Mama and Papa are only playing pretend when they hide from the cold and warn her of its danger.
Elsa is three years old when her baby sister is born. The wind howls and the storm rages as she waits, clutching Papa's hand. The storm rages on, still, when she stares wide-eyed at the tiny wailing thing that is her baby sister, little Anna.
"There was a storm like this when Elsa was born, too; do you remember?" Mama murmurs to Papa.
Papa smiles. "Of course I remember, darling."
"Winter is celebrating," says Elsa, perfectly matter-of-fact, because of course it is.
Mama laughs softly. Papa smiles at her, but it is different to the smile he gave Mama. Elsa thinks, he doesn't believe me.
She lays her hands on the bedding and ice grows, spreading out from where she touches; a blessing for Anna.
Mama draws in a sharp breath and clutches Anna close. Papa grabs Elsa's arm and pulls her back. "Elsa..." he growls, as though she has done something bad. Mama and Papa are both staring at the ice with wide eyes, and Papa is angry...
"It's a blessing!" she cries. "A blessing for Anna!"
"Elsa, how did you do that?"
"I just did it! Can't you, can't everyone?"
"No, Elsa." Papa's grip gentles. He's frowning, but at least he doesn't seem angry now. "You have to be careful with this, do you understand?"
Elsa nods earnestly. "Yes, I promise."
She doesn't really understand.
Title: The Creature From The Sunken City
Fandom: The Addams Family + H. P. Lovecraft's Cthulhu Mythos
Word count: 385
Disclaimer: I don't own The Addams Family or anything by Lovecraft
Prompt: The Addams Family, Wednesday, Wednesday brings home a new pet: Cthulhu. (Bonus points if The Old One likes them and decides to stay.)
Wednesday Addams returns from her visit to the Innsmouth cousins with an eye to the stars and a book bound in human skin.
"They grow up so quickly," Morticia sighs.
Wednesday smiles, just a little and very briefly, and then she gets to work. The piles of books that have taken up residence in her room seem ever growing, her hands creep like pale spiders across old parchment.
Three months later, a door opens between Wednesday's bedroom and the sunken city of R'lyeh. Wednesday chants, and waits, and then an old god, or an alien priest of old gods, comes squirming through the portal.
She can't wait to show the family her new pet.
Gomez grins when he sees Cthulhu. "This is an honour, sir," he says with a courtly bow, and then he turns to Wednesday. "Very enterprising, Wednesday. Why, when I was your age I'd only just got a shoggoth. Hungry fellow, that shoggoth; kept trying to devour everything. Well, half the swamp was a bit much, we had to send it to Antarctica in the end."
Grandmama shakes her head. "I don't think this one is likely to be less hungry. I'll cook something up, then." She moves toward the kitchen, muttering something about substance and the void. Wednesday trails after her, curious and eager to learn.
They cook a strange stew, of meat and venom and something white and shining that Grandmama keeps in a bottle. Wednesday thinks Cthulhu likes it, although it is a little hard to tell.
That night, she has the best nightmares that she remembers ever having; of creeping dread, a touch of madness and a city where the geometry makes no sense, even to her.
Somehow, that city feels more right than this world ever did.
She wakes to Cthulhu looming over her, and raises her hand to pet it, or as much of it as she can easily reach. She feels a vague curiosity that is not her own, and perhaps a stirring of something similar to fondness, also not her own.
She always has been good with pets.
Throughout the neighbourhood, others emerge from strange dreams of a strange city with wide, wild eyes, trembling bodies and choked-off cries.
The stars are not right, but it is not as though that matters, not anymore.
Title: Prelude to the End of Days
Fandom: Harry Potter + Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Word count: 312
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Warnings: Violence, mutilation, femslash, AU for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
Pairing: Drusilla/Luna
Prompt: Whedon'verse vampires/Harry Potter, Drusilla/Luna, such a pretty little moonbeam
Luna laughs when the vampire rips out the Death Eater's throat with her sharp, sharp teeth. Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus.
The Luna of a year ago would probably not have laughed, she thinks. The Luna of a year ago was not the Dark Lord's prisoner, had never screamed under the Cruciatus Curse, still had a left eye because it had not been stolen, cut away to bring Daddy to heel.
The vampire grins at her; formidable as any dragon, yellow-eyed demon with dress dyed red. "Such a pretty little moonbeam," the vampire coos, swaying a little from side to side, gentle voice at odds with the gore and everything Luna has known for too long now.
Luna tilts her head. "Me?" The vampire nods, Luna says, "Thank you."
She was raised to be polite, wasn't she, once upon a time?
The vampire steps up close to Luna, kisses her. This monster has cold lips, cold tongue, the witch tastes dark wizard's blood and kisses back.
The vampire's cold, pale hand grasps Luna's greasy, tangled hair (no combs here in the Dark Lord's dungeon.) "Come away, little moonbeam," says the bloodied demon with the face of a maiden. "We can have a picnic at the end of the world, with yummy things to eat and screams like music."
The Luna of a year ago would have said no without a thought to spare of otherwise.
The Luna of now has been forgetting things in bits and pieces. Things like the feelings of happiness and sunlight and Daddy's hugs.
The Luna of now nods, and follows the pretty monster into the deeper shadows between here and elsewhere. She can only think of one way that such a demon can seek to take her to a picnic at the end of the world, but she suspects there is not much left of her soul, anyway.
Title: Unlighted Chambers Beyond Time and Space
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Word count: 263
Disclaimer: I own nothing of the MCU. The title's from Lovecraft.
Warnings: Lovecraftian madness, weird unconventional grammer and capatalisation, something of a stealth crossover
Prompt: MCU, Loki + any, they found no weapons when they locked him away. He needs nothing but what he learned in the void.
loki does not remember everyThing that he sawheardsmelledfelttasted in the Void, quite pointedly he does not remember everyThing
he remembers enough
he remembers enough to laugh as he is tortured by the other that is not quite Other, as his mouth fills with blood bitten viciously from inside; he remembers enough to agree without caring to the demands of thanos
he remembers enough to smile when he is gagged and bound, dragged in disgrace to asgard-false-home, stripped of all weapons that foolish midgardians and foolish æsir know to look for
Noise like the beating of drums and the whining of flutes, yet nothing like either of those things, is ringing in his ears; there is someThing boundless at the very Edge of vision, from which he looks away very hard
odin-allfather-false-father sentences loki to rot in asgard's prison, as though he hasn't already rotted someWhere far far Darker, so he pretends he cares but is pretending not to care
the drums and flutes that are no such thing are louder, the boundless Thing he does not look at is closer all the time
he remembers enough to rip open reality right there in the cell - the best of his magic is bound but This is not magic, this is an Absence of magic and other things - and asgard-false-home is bleeding, bleeding, his Offering to the only Home he knows anymore
Home is Calling him, no matter that he forgets and does not Look, he belongs There not here, he laughs and stops pretending and steps through asgard's gaping weeping Wound, into the Void