comment_fic 1181 - 1185: HP, HL, original
Title: the opposite of indifference
Fandom: Harry Potter
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: AU during Deathly Hallows, implied child abuse of every kind
Pairings: none stated
Rating: PG/13
Wordcount: 375
Point of view: third
Prompt: Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Voldemort, obsession is far more powerful than mere love
A mother's love, the old man said, as if that would mean anything to a boy who can't remember it.
There was another little boy, once, who never knew what it was, either. A little boy who never loved anything in his entire life, but who craved the surety of knowing nothing could ever hurt him again, could ever shove him to his knees and take, who could never own him again.
What is love? a green-eyed boy wonders, watching his aunt screech her adoration for her spoiled son and monstrous husband, watching the Weasleys tease and poke each other, watching Malfoy's mother barely brush against his father, watching how they both watch their son. What is love?
He doesn't understand, is quite certain he never will, but he craves the certainty that no one will ever have power over him again-not like his uncle, not like the old man who shouldn't have had power over him anyway, not prefects and cruel teachers, not a government that has made it quite clear his personal well-being was never a priority.
What is love? a green-eyed boy wonders, because he's sure no one has felt it for him since his parents died. His father's friends see only his father when they look at him; his mother's friends (as he learns later) see his father, too. Perhaps his own friends, if he could ever bring himself to trust it-
But trust is something he never learned, either.
What is love? a red-eyed man wonders, watching a green-eyed boy walk towards him. The same blood is in their veins, now, the same gift on their tongues. There is something familiar about the boy, he thinks, and so he makes an offer one final time.
A mother's love matters little, when the child never felt it again.
The power the dark lord knows not is unimportant, too, when the one with the power to vanquish the dark lord will never use it.
What is love? the dark lords wonder. In the end, it doesn't matter. They will never love each other, will barely trust each other-but they crave the same thing, and so long as they stand together, nothing else is powerful enough to threaten them.
Title: the sun at our backs
Fandom: Highlander
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: AU during the Horsemen arc
Pairings: Methos/Kronos
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 130
Point of view: third
Prompt: any. any. A different choice.
The sun at our backs, Kronos says, and three thousand years haven't changed him at all. He's still charismatic, still beautiful and terrible, still utter shit at planning. Caspian is as mad as he ever was, and Silas as gentle and loyal, and Methos alone, it seems, has noticed the years as they passed, has evolved with the times.
You know, of course, Methos says, unimpressed, that your plan will never work.
Brother, Kronos says, and it's four thousand years ago, in a desert with wind whipping sand into their faces, with blood drying as lightning sings.
Have you learned nothing in all these decades without me? Methos asks and Kronos' smile is still the same as it always was, as it will be for another three thousand years.
Title: ancient history
Fandom: Highlander
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: references to bad things
Pairings: inferred Methos/Kronos from the pov of a very unobservant person
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 295
Point of view: third
Prompt: any, any rare pairing, Sometimes when two people love each other / [blank] / it's really unfortunate.
Duncan researches the Horsemen, after. He could ask Joe but he'd prefer it be on his time, whenever he can. He often can't. He hated Melvin Koren for so long, and he'd liked Adam Pierson so much... the Methos that Cassandra knew isn't the one Duncan thought he knew, and coming to terms with that-well, calling it difficult is an understatement.
But he researches. He learns. He tries to understand and finds that he simply can't.
Tracing Kronos' movements through time is relatively easy, as Kronos and Koren are the same, except for the scale of destruction. Tracing Methos is far harder, and he supposes that's why Methos is still alive and the other three aren't.
None of Kronos' quickening came to Duncan. He's relieved, as battling down Caspian's was hard enough. He has a bit of Silas, he thinks, but Silas wasn't that bad, compared to the others.
He reads a description of destruction that is older than he can fathom, and he wonders which of the riders was Methos. He wonders why Methos chose to destroy his companions of a thousand years when joining back up would surely have been easier. He wonders how the Methos that Cassandra knew became the Methos he thought he knew.
He wonders if any of that matters. However it started, he knows the ending.
The world was different, Methos said. Had he already started planning then? I was different.
Even with Caspian’s quickening, Duncan still doesn’t truly understand just how old Methos is, how old his brothers were. He’s not sure he wants to live long enough to understand it.
Maybe in time, he’ll feel comfortable asking Methos about those days. Maybe Methos will actually reply.
Or maybe, Duncan will never mention it, will pretend he doesn’t know.
Title: They Do Not Speak of After
Written: November 26, 2015
Prompt: any, any, hidden princess
They do not speak of after,
when the simple peasant girl
must wear the finery of court
and play a game she never learned.
They do not speak of after,
when the girl-child who
ran through the woods freely
chasing birds and plucking flowers
must be still and silent
and never speak her mind.
They do not speak of after,
when the maiden has become queen
and the power she wielded once
as a nobody out in the world
is stolen from her along with
every dream she ever had
of a life of her own.
No, they do not speak of after.
It does not fit their story.
Will you listen to me
as I tell you the truth?
Title: untitled
Original, gen
Prompt: any, any, this was a war they couldn't afford to lose, but they did
"We have to run," he says, "and hide, and just forget."
"How are we supposed to forget?" she demands, wiping at the tears with bloody hands. "We just, we just lost everything." It's over. Everything is over.
"Listen to me!" he says, grabbing her face. "Look at me and listen."
There's blood on his hands, too, but she meets his gaze as her breathing slows.
"We have to hide," he says again. "We have to wait. We're alive and that's the only way for us to stay alive."
They're the only ones left and she nods, tears starting up again.
Neither of them look back at the killing ground.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: AU during Deathly Hallows, implied child abuse of every kind
Pairings: none stated
Rating: PG/13
Wordcount: 375
Point of view: third
Prompt: Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Voldemort, obsession is far more powerful than mere love
A mother's love, the old man said, as if that would mean anything to a boy who can't remember it.
There was another little boy, once, who never knew what it was, either. A little boy who never loved anything in his entire life, but who craved the surety of knowing nothing could ever hurt him again, could ever shove him to his knees and take, who could never own him again.
What is love? a green-eyed boy wonders, watching his aunt screech her adoration for her spoiled son and monstrous husband, watching the Weasleys tease and poke each other, watching Malfoy's mother barely brush against his father, watching how they both watch their son. What is love?
He doesn't understand, is quite certain he never will, but he craves the certainty that no one will ever have power over him again-not like his uncle, not like the old man who shouldn't have had power over him anyway, not prefects and cruel teachers, not a government that has made it quite clear his personal well-being was never a priority.
What is love? a green-eyed boy wonders, because he's sure no one has felt it for him since his parents died. His father's friends see only his father when they look at him; his mother's friends (as he learns later) see his father, too. Perhaps his own friends, if he could ever bring himself to trust it-
But trust is something he never learned, either.
What is love? a red-eyed man wonders, watching a green-eyed boy walk towards him. The same blood is in their veins, now, the same gift on their tongues. There is something familiar about the boy, he thinks, and so he makes an offer one final time.
A mother's love matters little, when the child never felt it again.
The power the dark lord knows not is unimportant, too, when the one with the power to vanquish the dark lord will never use it.
What is love? the dark lords wonder. In the end, it doesn't matter. They will never love each other, will barely trust each other-but they crave the same thing, and so long as they stand together, nothing else is powerful enough to threaten them.
Title: the sun at our backs
Fandom: Highlander
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: AU during the Horsemen arc
Pairings: Methos/Kronos
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 130
Point of view: third
Prompt: any. any. A different choice.
The sun at our backs, Kronos says, and three thousand years haven't changed him at all. He's still charismatic, still beautiful and terrible, still utter shit at planning. Caspian is as mad as he ever was, and Silas as gentle and loyal, and Methos alone, it seems, has noticed the years as they passed, has evolved with the times.
You know, of course, Methos says, unimpressed, that your plan will never work.
Brother, Kronos says, and it's four thousand years ago, in a desert with wind whipping sand into their faces, with blood drying as lightning sings.
Have you learned nothing in all these decades without me? Methos asks and Kronos' smile is still the same as it always was, as it will be for another three thousand years.
Title: ancient history
Fandom: Highlander
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: references to bad things
Pairings: inferred Methos/Kronos from the pov of a very unobservant person
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 295
Point of view: third
Prompt: any, any rare pairing, Sometimes when two people love each other / [blank] / it's really unfortunate.
Duncan researches the Horsemen, after. He could ask Joe but he'd prefer it be on his time, whenever he can. He often can't. He hated Melvin Koren for so long, and he'd liked Adam Pierson so much... the Methos that Cassandra knew isn't the one Duncan thought he knew, and coming to terms with that-well, calling it difficult is an understatement.
But he researches. He learns. He tries to understand and finds that he simply can't.
Tracing Kronos' movements through time is relatively easy, as Kronos and Koren are the same, except for the scale of destruction. Tracing Methos is far harder, and he supposes that's why Methos is still alive and the other three aren't.
None of Kronos' quickening came to Duncan. He's relieved, as battling down Caspian's was hard enough. He has a bit of Silas, he thinks, but Silas wasn't that bad, compared to the others.
He reads a description of destruction that is older than he can fathom, and he wonders which of the riders was Methos. He wonders why Methos chose to destroy his companions of a thousand years when joining back up would surely have been easier. He wonders how the Methos that Cassandra knew became the Methos he thought he knew.
He wonders if any of that matters. However it started, he knows the ending.
The world was different, Methos said. Had he already started planning then? I was different.
Even with Caspian’s quickening, Duncan still doesn’t truly understand just how old Methos is, how old his brothers were. He’s not sure he wants to live long enough to understand it.
Maybe in time, he’ll feel comfortable asking Methos about those days. Maybe Methos will actually reply.
Or maybe, Duncan will never mention it, will pretend he doesn’t know.
Title: They Do Not Speak of After
Written: November 26, 2015
Prompt: any, any, hidden princess
They do not speak of after,
when the simple peasant girl
must wear the finery of court
and play a game she never learned.
They do not speak of after,
when the girl-child who
ran through the woods freely
chasing birds and plucking flowers
must be still and silent
and never speak her mind.
They do not speak of after,
when the maiden has become queen
and the power she wielded once
as a nobody out in the world
is stolen from her along with
every dream she ever had
of a life of her own.
No, they do not speak of after.
It does not fit their story.
Will you listen to me
as I tell you the truth?
Title: untitled
Original, gen
Prompt: any, any, this was a war they couldn't afford to lose, but they did
"We have to run," he says, "and hide, and just forget."
"How are we supposed to forget?" she demands, wiping at the tears with bloody hands. "We just, we just lost everything." It's over. Everything is over.
"Listen to me!" he says, grabbing her face. "Look at me and listen."
There's blood on his hands, too, but she meets his gaze as her breathing slows.
"We have to hide," he says again. "We have to wait. We're alive and that's the only way for us to stay alive."
They're the only ones left and she nods, tears starting up again.
Neither of them look back at the killing ground.