TVD ficlets
Written for various comment!ficathons over the last few months. Better post it now, while I still remember all the fics ;).
Title: Saying Her Names
Rating: G
For: Bechdel Test Comment!Ficathon; there are many names in history but none of them are ours prompted by softly-me
Characters/Pairings: Katherine, Elena
Wordcount: 400
Summary: So, what's the name now?
Saying Her Names
In our world, where there are more and more faces, more and more alike, it is difficult for an individual to reinforce the originality of the self and to become convinced of its inimitable uniqueness. There are two methods for cultivating the uniqueness of the self: the method of addition and the method of substraction.
M. Kundera, Immortality
“So, what's the name now?”, asks Katherine every time, and even if she can't see her, she knows the girl is smiling.
“Frances,” she answers briefly.
(“It's not like 'Elena' was mine to begin with,” she tried to explain once, but Katherine waved her off.)
They are in Glasgow now, and it probably has something to do with the name. After all, it was Caroline in Paris and Miranda in Richmond, so for a while Katherine thought she'd guessed the pattern. But then five years after Richmond they met in Boston, and it was Maggie, not Bonnie, so Katherine just kept trying to figure it out over and over again. As if she didn't understand.
“Is it Jenna already?”, snapped Katherine when they met in Vienna, ages ago.
That didn't work so well.
“And how about you? What is it these days, Kathy? Cath? Katey? Hey, why don't you try Catelyn? You wouldn't stand out that much. I mean, I know, like, three Sansas and even a Daenerys, all in their twenties. What do you say?”
“I'll give it a thought,” replied Katherine, suddenly feeling a little uneasy; no one should say such things about her, and especially not the girl with no name.
(There just has to be a name; any name would do, but there has to be a name. If there isn't any, at least not really, it just hits too close to home.)
“Have you ever tried to pass as Kitty?”
“Briefly.”
“When?”
“1820s. Seduced a baronet.”
“I bet you did.”
She laughed almost like someone young and carefree, and this one conversation in Vienna was the only time Katherine actually considered sleeping with her. Eventually she decided against it. It would be bizzarre, she thought, to see this body under her own fingers.
(It would be bizarre, she thought, to be so naked.)
But now she doesn't even think about anything like that, not any more. She just takes a sit and orders a cup of coffee. This time they don't talk about anything important; in fact, they barely talk at all. Katherine takes a deep breath when they part. Of course she can still hear everything even as she is walking down the street, but that's not important. It's not like she couldn't tune it out if she wanted (it's not like she could stop seeking her out).
“Good day, Mrs Johnson,” says the old waiter (“She needs to change a restaurant,” Katherine catches herself thinking, “She really does.”). “May I just say, you have a very beautiful granddaughter.”
“Do I now?”
Title: Porn. With petticoats.
Rating: G
For: Trolling Comment!Ficathon; Stefan and Elena discover Damon's numerous works of Rhett/Scarlett fanfiction prompted by verdant-fire
Characters/Pairings: Stefan, Elena, Damon mentioned
Wordcount: 500
Summary: Well... Stefan and Elena discover Damon's numerous works of Rhett/Scarlett fanfiction. Yes, it's a crack!fic.
Porn. With petticoats.
“Okay, this is disturbing.”
“It's Damon.”
“Point.”
Damon has nice handwriting for a sociopath, Elena thought idly, and then she remembered they were talking about the 1930s, so all sociopaths had pretty nice handwriting back then. She probably should ask Alaric.
On the other hand... No, she really shouldn't.
“Is it what I think it is?”
“If you mean a whole pile of Scarlett/Rhett fix-it fanfiction, then yes,” Stefan confirmed calmly. He didn't even take his eyes off his journal. Well, it wasn't his idea to check what's in the old boxes stashed in the library.
“What?”
“Scarlett/Rhett. Fix-it. Yes.”
“I can't, Stefan. I lost the ability to can. It's so wrong on so many levels.”
“This probably isn't the right moment to tell you that Damon compelled Margaret Mitchell to write a sequel with a happy ending?”
“But Margaret Mitchell never wrote a sequel!”
“After a while Damon decided she couldn't do it right, so he snapped her neck and came back to writing AUs.”
“Wait, is he still doing it?”
“Not at the moment, no. Last I checked his livejournal, he was more of a Buffy/Spike shipper, but that's just a phase. He always comes back to Rhett/Scarlett eventually.”
***
Two hours later...
“I don't know what's worse. The fact that there's Rhett/Scarlett porn here, or that there's so little of it.”
“Damon is complicated.”
“By the way, you do know that there is a multi-chapter story in which Rhett has a younger brother, and they both hit on Scarlett?”
“Yes, Elena, I am well aware of that.”
“And they do pretty interesting things together.”
Stefan's face was poker face.
“I admit nothing.”
“Oh my God, there is a picture. A drawing. A fanart. There is a 1938 Gone with the Wind porn fanart. With petticoats.”
“Well, as far as I recall, 1860s involved petticoats.”
Elena stopped for a moment and stared at the picture some more, not entirely sure if she wasn't holding it upside-down. Stefan helped.
“I had no idea people could do something like that,” said Elena slowly.
“People can't.”
“Oh.”
***
“Stefan...”
“Yes?”
“Tell me, does it make me a bad person if I want to buy some flowers and leave them on Damon's bed? With a note saying: 'You are the light of my life and the fire of my loins, and we shall compel a priest, get married and be together as man and wife until the end of days'?”
“Is this a quote?”
Elena gave him a page.
“It makes me a terrible person, doesn't it?”
“A little. I mean, those are Damon's deepest, darkest fantasies. Your kink may not be my kink and so on. You shouldn't mock someone's fanfic.”
“I thought so.”
Stefan's face still was poker face.
“Elena, can you stay here by yourself for fifteen minutes or so?”
“I think I can. Why?”
“I'm a Ripper, I don't care. I'm getting the flowers.”
Title: All He Ever Wanted
Rating: PG13
For: Song Lyrics Comment!Ficathon; Lover, please do not, fall to your knees / Its not like I believe in everlasting love prompted by youcallitwinter
Characters/Pairings: Damon/Elena
Wordcount: 300
Summary: Elena likes it slow.
All He Ever Wanted
Elena likes it slow.
Officially, she just humors him: lets him dwell, go down on her for an hour, rub her back and her feet, kiss her wrists and hipbones.
“Allow me” is all he has to ask, and she opens her legs, chuckles when he kisses her neck or absently strokes her inner thigh. She is at ease with him now, relaxed and comfortable. It seems almost laughable to think how dramatic things used to be between the two of them.
Now Elena gracefully lifts her leg and rests it on Damon's shoulder. He feels her muscles relax under his touch; she never tells him she likes it slow, but he's had so much time to discover it, guess the truth between gasps and moans. Damon closes his eyes, refuses to see Elena's calm face right now, and hides his head between her legs. This is all he ever wanted.
He drags it out as long as he can, remembers how he used to be ready to beg for a touch. He wants to hear Elena plead right now, carefully circles her entrance with his tongue and waits for her to grab his hair and pull him closer. They are friends now, so he knows she would only do it if she really meant it. He values their friendship, Elena's brutal honesty and merciful kisses, her vulnerability and straightforward requests.
“Come here,” she whispers suddenly, and Damon doesn't think any more, just moves up in a blink. He captures Elena's mouth in a deep kiss and gasps, surprised, always surprised, when her fang accidentaly cuts his bottom lip. Love is such a human thing.
Title: Saying Her Names
Rating: G
For: Bechdel Test Comment!Ficathon; there are many names in history but none of them are ours prompted by softly-me
Characters/Pairings: Katherine, Elena
Wordcount: 400
Summary: So, what's the name now?
Saying Her Names
In our world, where there are more and more faces, more and more alike, it is difficult for an individual to reinforce the originality of the self and to become convinced of its inimitable uniqueness. There are two methods for cultivating the uniqueness of the self: the method of addition and the method of substraction.
M. Kundera, Immortality
“So, what's the name now?”, asks Katherine every time, and even if she can't see her, she knows the girl is smiling.
“Frances,” she answers briefly.
(“It's not like 'Elena' was mine to begin with,” she tried to explain once, but Katherine waved her off.)
They are in Glasgow now, and it probably has something to do with the name. After all, it was Caroline in Paris and Miranda in Richmond, so for a while Katherine thought she'd guessed the pattern. But then five years after Richmond they met in Boston, and it was Maggie, not Bonnie, so Katherine just kept trying to figure it out over and over again. As if she didn't understand.
“Is it Jenna already?”, snapped Katherine when they met in Vienna, ages ago.
That didn't work so well.
“And how about you? What is it these days, Kathy? Cath? Katey? Hey, why don't you try Catelyn? You wouldn't stand out that much. I mean, I know, like, three Sansas and even a Daenerys, all in their twenties. What do you say?”
“I'll give it a thought,” replied Katherine, suddenly feeling a little uneasy; no one should say such things about her, and especially not the girl with no name.
(There just has to be a name; any name would do, but there has to be a name. If there isn't any, at least not really, it just hits too close to home.)
“Have you ever tried to pass as Kitty?”
“Briefly.”
“When?”
“1820s. Seduced a baronet.”
“I bet you did.”
She laughed almost like someone young and carefree, and this one conversation in Vienna was the only time Katherine actually considered sleeping with her. Eventually she decided against it. It would be bizzarre, she thought, to see this body under her own fingers.
(It would be bizarre, she thought, to be so naked.)
But now she doesn't even think about anything like that, not any more. She just takes a sit and orders a cup of coffee. This time they don't talk about anything important; in fact, they barely talk at all. Katherine takes a deep breath when they part. Of course she can still hear everything even as she is walking down the street, but that's not important. It's not like she couldn't tune it out if she wanted (it's not like she could stop seeking her out).
“Good day, Mrs Johnson,” says the old waiter (“She needs to change a restaurant,” Katherine catches herself thinking, “She really does.”). “May I just say, you have a very beautiful granddaughter.”
“Do I now?”
Title: Porn. With petticoats.
Rating: G
For: Trolling Comment!Ficathon; Stefan and Elena discover Damon's numerous works of Rhett/Scarlett fanfiction prompted by verdant-fire
Characters/Pairings: Stefan, Elena, Damon mentioned
Wordcount: 500
Summary: Well... Stefan and Elena discover Damon's numerous works of Rhett/Scarlett fanfiction. Yes, it's a crack!fic.
Porn. With petticoats.
“Okay, this is disturbing.”
“It's Damon.”
“Point.”
Damon has nice handwriting for a sociopath, Elena thought idly, and then she remembered they were talking about the 1930s, so all sociopaths had pretty nice handwriting back then. She probably should ask Alaric.
On the other hand... No, she really shouldn't.
“Is it what I think it is?”
“If you mean a whole pile of Scarlett/Rhett fix-it fanfiction, then yes,” Stefan confirmed calmly. He didn't even take his eyes off his journal. Well, it wasn't his idea to check what's in the old boxes stashed in the library.
“What?”
“Scarlett/Rhett. Fix-it. Yes.”
“I can't, Stefan. I lost the ability to can. It's so wrong on so many levels.”
“This probably isn't the right moment to tell you that Damon compelled Margaret Mitchell to write a sequel with a happy ending?”
“But Margaret Mitchell never wrote a sequel!”
“After a while Damon decided she couldn't do it right, so he snapped her neck and came back to writing AUs.”
“Wait, is he still doing it?”
“Not at the moment, no. Last I checked his livejournal, he was more of a Buffy/Spike shipper, but that's just a phase. He always comes back to Rhett/Scarlett eventually.”
***
Two hours later...
“I don't know what's worse. The fact that there's Rhett/Scarlett porn here, or that there's so little of it.”
“Damon is complicated.”
“By the way, you do know that there is a multi-chapter story in which Rhett has a younger brother, and they both hit on Scarlett?”
“Yes, Elena, I am well aware of that.”
“And they do pretty interesting things together.”
Stefan's face was poker face.
“I admit nothing.”
“Oh my God, there is a picture. A drawing. A fanart. There is a 1938 Gone with the Wind porn fanart. With petticoats.”
“Well, as far as I recall, 1860s involved petticoats.”
Elena stopped for a moment and stared at the picture some more, not entirely sure if she wasn't holding it upside-down. Stefan helped.
“I had no idea people could do something like that,” said Elena slowly.
“People can't.”
“Oh.”
***
“Stefan...”
“Yes?”
“Tell me, does it make me a bad person if I want to buy some flowers and leave them on Damon's bed? With a note saying: 'You are the light of my life and the fire of my loins, and we shall compel a priest, get married and be together as man and wife until the end of days'?”
“Is this a quote?”
Elena gave him a page.
“It makes me a terrible person, doesn't it?”
“A little. I mean, those are Damon's deepest, darkest fantasies. Your kink may not be my kink and so on. You shouldn't mock someone's fanfic.”
“I thought so.”
Stefan's face still was poker face.
“Elena, can you stay here by yourself for fifteen minutes or so?”
“I think I can. Why?”
“I'm a Ripper, I don't care. I'm getting the flowers.”
Title: All He Ever Wanted
Rating: PG13
For: Song Lyrics Comment!Ficathon; Lover, please do not, fall to your knees / Its not like I believe in everlasting love prompted by youcallitwinter
Characters/Pairings: Damon/Elena
Wordcount: 300
Summary: Elena likes it slow.
All He Ever Wanted
Elena likes it slow.
Officially, she just humors him: lets him dwell, go down on her for an hour, rub her back and her feet, kiss her wrists and hipbones.
“Allow me” is all he has to ask, and she opens her legs, chuckles when he kisses her neck or absently strokes her inner thigh. She is at ease with him now, relaxed and comfortable. It seems almost laughable to think how dramatic things used to be between the two of them.
Now Elena gracefully lifts her leg and rests it on Damon's shoulder. He feels her muscles relax under his touch; she never tells him she likes it slow, but he's had so much time to discover it, guess the truth between gasps and moans. Damon closes his eyes, refuses to see Elena's calm face right now, and hides his head between her legs. This is all he ever wanted.
He drags it out as long as he can, remembers how he used to be ready to beg for a touch. He wants to hear Elena plead right now, carefully circles her entrance with his tongue and waits for her to grab his hair and pull him closer. They are friends now, so he knows she would only do it if she really meant it. He values their friendship, Elena's brutal honesty and merciful kisses, her vulnerability and straightforward requests.
“Come here,” she whispers suddenly, and Damon doesn't think any more, just moves up in a blink. He captures Elena's mouth in a deep kiss and gasps, surprised, always surprised, when her fang accidentaly cuts his bottom lip. Love is such a human thing.