comment_fic 531-535: SN, Inception, Leverage, Matilda, HL/Sherlock
Title: Pick-picking Heaven's gate
Fandom: Supernatural
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: AUish
Pairings: none stated
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 100
Point of view: third
Prompt: Supernatural, Castiel & Dean; somebody accidently left the keys of the Kingdom inside heaven, and now they're locked out of St. Peter's Gate. Castiel needs Dean's help breaking in.
"Of course you'd forget the keys," Dean huffs, "because this is my life."
"Dean," Castiel intones, "this is a solemn occasion. Please, have the proper decorum."
"Dude, shut up," Dean says. "I'm picking the lock to Heaven because you're the little angel who forgot the goddamn keys."
"Dean!" Castiel hisses. "Do not blaspheme just outside Heaven's Gates!"
Dean pulls back from the lock to stare at him. Castiel very nearly blushes.
After a moment, Dean goes to picking the lock while Castiel stands solemnly at his shoulder.
"My life," Dean mutters. "How is this my life?"
The Gate swings open.
Title: And I am the arrow, the dew that flies
Fandom: Inception
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Sylvia Plath
Warnings: AUish, most likely
Pairings: Arthur/Eames
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 590
Point of view: third
Prompt: Inception, Arthur(/Dom or Eames), Tulpa
"Where'd you come from, Arthur?" Eames asks one night, after another job completed (three continents and a week ago). He's not quite drunk-neither of them is-and Arthur thinks about answering. Just for a moment.
"Suburbia," he says. "The army."
He doesn't say, your dreams. everyone's dreams.
Eames wouldn't believe him, anyway.
o0o
once there was a boy. he was a good boy, until he wasn't anymore.
and as he was dying, the bad boy begged for a savior. for a hero of his very own, an anti-hero, someone who was strong and quick and didn't hesitate. someone like he might have been, if he hadn't been the youngest of five, three different fathers, living on the streets and in shelters.
someone like he wanted to be once, before all he wanted was to be alive.
with his dying breath, the boy wished very hard.
the next day, a man who'd never been in the army walked away with thousands of dollars worth of equipment and into a life of crime.
the boy's name had been Arthur.
o0o
"Where did you come from, Arthur?" Mal asks, curled up beside Cobb on the couch. Mal is lovely, with a bright smile and a clever mind, and sometimes she calls him darling. Arthur has never been anybody's darling.
He smiles at her and says, "Suburbia. Then I escaped that for the army, and you know what happened next."
She grins at him and nudges Cobb's shoulder. "Isn't he wonderful, love?"
Cobb nods. "Arthur," he says. "Would you like a job?"
o0o
Arthur is a ghost. Arthur is a legend. no one knows where he came from, or anything about him. rumor says he was in the blackest of ops.
rumor says he is the best. rumor says he is vicious, and dangerous, and that his mind is terrifying. rumor says he is undefeated.
Arthur is all those things. and the belief grows stronger.
o0o
Arthur never talks about his family, or his past, or his hopes for the future. Arthur has none.
He wants for nothing. He dreams of nothing. He is strong and he is quick and he does not hesitate.
Until the day he does.
Until Eames asks, "Where'd you come from, Arthur?" and Arthur thinks about telling him.
For a moment, Arthur hesitates.
o0o
once there was a boy.
his name was Arthur, and he hoped, he wished, he yearned so very much…
there is a man.
his name is Arthur, and he imagines about telling a thief the truth.
o0o
I am a dream, Arthur thinks, watching Eames walk to the shower. I exist because a boy was dying, and then an entire profession wanted me. I'm the ideal. I'm the legend.
I am what you made, he thinks, peeling himself out the sheets. And one day I'll cease to be because the belief will fade.
Eames presses him against the wall, bites his shoulder. Arthur closes his eyes and moans.
o0o
Arthur was never born and he never dies. he is a legend, a myth, an ideal that all dream-walkers aspire to be.
legend also speaks of his partner, the greatest forger ever.
dreams can have dreams of their own, if they yearn enough.
and Arthur… he is still the best.
o0o
"Where'd y'all come from?" the little green architect asks, eyes still shiny with excitement.
Arthur flicks a glance to Eames. Eames' lips twist in a grin and Arthur smirks when he says, "Suburbia. Then the army."
The little green architect blushes and looks down, and his belief grows stronger.
Title: only the summer was sweet
Fandom: Leverage
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Anne Sexton
Warnings: future!fic; character death
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 140
Point of view: third
Prompt: Any, any, they used to be inseparable but now they only see each other once a year, always in winter
They meet at the gate. Walk in together.
Parker sets down a new bunny; she's cycled through the rainbow and is back at blue.
Hardison sets down a new comic; he's still on Batman. It seems to be the fittest.
Sophie sets down a pink rose and a Hershey kiss; he'd said they were his favorite, once.
Nate carefully collects the offerings and gently places them in the box with the others. As Parker, Hardison, and Sophie walk away, he buries the box again, filling in the dirt before shoveling snow back onto the grave.
There is no body. A steel box instead of a coffin. And the name on the stone is wrong.
Every year, on Christmas day, they meet at the gate and walk to the grave. Eight now.
It isn't enough, and he keeps shoveling the snow.
Title: Thou art thy mother's glass
Fandom: Matilda
Disclaimer: Mama Honey isn't mine; title from SHakespeare
Warnings: future!fic
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 220
Point of view: third
Prompt: Matilda, Matilda Wormwood, her children all have different powers
Davey asks Mama Honey to tell them about when she found Mama, about the adventures she and Mama went on together. Mama Honey looks to Maggie and Christine, and they nod fervently, crawling up next to Davey.
"Just the one story, then," Mama Honey says, and she's trying to sound firm, Davey can tell. It doesn't quite work, though. It never does.
After the story is over, she kisses each of their foreheads and asks if they'll sleep in separate beds tonight.
Christine shakes her head and snuggles into Davey. "No, Mama Honey," Maggie says, wrapping Davey's arm around herself.
Davey gives Mama Honey a sheepish smile. Her smile is sad as she says, "Your mother will be home soon, love. I promise."
The words have an echo in the air around her. Davey doesn't let her know it's a lie. Maggie blinks up at the lights and they all dim. Not all the way out, but enough that she and Davey can sleep without Christine having a nightmare.
"Is it warm enough in here, angels?" Mama Honey asks, pausing in the door.
"Yes, Mama Honey," Davey says, shifting slightly away from Christine. She can't always consciously control the heat, but in her sleep, it's usually the perfect temperature.
"Goodnight," Mama Honey says and closes the door behind her.
Title: They had not skill enough your worth to sing
Fandom: Highlander/Sherlock
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: character death
Pairings: John/Sherlock (ish)
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 110
Point of view: third
Prompt: any, any, our hearts are joined until Time slips its tired hand into our tired hands
"You always knew you couldn't keep him, child," his old teacher says softly, placing a strong hand on his shoulder.
"I know that," he hisses, pulling away. "Damn you."
What's left without John? Without his flatmate, his keeper, his friend?
His friend. The best man he's ever known, will ever know. Even Mycroft likes-liked him. And Mycroft has never liked anyone Sherlock liked. And no one has ever been like John. Will ever be like John again.
"Those who took him," his teacher murmurs, kneeling beside him and pulling him close, "they are still alive."
Sherlock raises his head to meet Death's eyes. "Not for long," he promises.