Requested ficlets
This is the post for the filled prompts from here. Will be updated gradually. Feel free to follow the link and request smth. ;))
Title: “Playing a Game in the House that I Grew Up In”
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: G
Timeline: post-movie
Summary: The question Alice fears is when. [implications of the Hatter/Alice]
Disclaimer: Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland/Through the Looking-Glass belong to Lewis Carroll. Alice in Wonderland belongs to Tim Burton, etc. Title from Smile Like You Mean It by The Killers.
Prompt: I saw you in one of my dreams/wind knows where to find me/crocodile teapot/27 meaningless questions/crackbread from artsatalex.
PLAYING A GAME IN THE HOUSE THAT I GREW UP IN
“I saw you in one of my dreams,” he whispers through the crack in the mirror.
She leans against the gleaming rectangle on the wall, her back on it and her eyes drooping shut. It is not the house she grew up in, not even the same country; but she still treasures the dreamy memory of hopping through the soft silvery gauze and coming out into the Looking-Glass House.
“I had no dreams before you, you know.”
“I’ve always had plenty.” A wry smile graces her lips. “I could have enough for both of us.”
“You’re late for tea.”
Her spine goes rigid as she hears a bell chime downstairs.
“How can you be late,” she says quietly, “if Time doesn’t flow?”
His reply comes in an unexpectedly sharp voice. “You can if someone is waiting.”
She relaxes when she realizes the footsteps are still thundering downstairs. No one is coming to interrupt her conversation. She fingers a small empty box that used to contain spice; their poignant smell still makes her nose tickle.
She flinches when something sharp grazes her forearm. A small crocodile of green china is clanking its gaudy jaws right next to her. She gives a vague half-smile when she recognizes it as a teapot.
“What is it going to be, Alice?”
She pours herself some tea and notes that it possesses a fleeting jasmine aftertaste. He has asked her twenty-seven meaningless questions already and she has always given a straight answer; this time, however, she doesn’t know what to say, and it is the best part about her travels.
“I’ll spin the globe and find out.”
“Alice,” he whispers, and she can almost feel his fingers sifting through her hair as if touching the strings of an exotic musical instrument.
The question she fears is, when? He never asks it.
He positions a small bun next to the crocodile teapot that is currently grinning and blowing steam merrily. The bun is covered in fissures. He calls it crackbread, and she cannot help but snort at the ridiculous name.
“You can hammer nails with it,” she remarks, having attempted (and failed) to take a bite.
“Or slip notes through the cracks,” he chirps gleefully. “Find them in a hundred years, and they’ll make you smile.”
Her hand shoots up, her fingers tracing invisible patterns over the surface of the looking-glass. She almost imagines touching him.
“This is not a goodbye, Hatter,” she murmurs like she always does before moving on. “Wherever I go, there will be mirrors and windows and maybe even rabbit-holes.”
The removal men come up the stairs to inform her that all of her possessions have been properly packed and loaded. Alice nods and lowers the sheet over the mirror without looking at it.
As she walks out of the room, a faint whisper reaches her from behind the sheet.
“Come. Wind knows where to find me.”
Title: “Pathology Pathos”
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: G
Summary: Sasuke thinks he is going insane.
Disclaimer: Naruto belongs to Kishimoto Masashi. So does Kishimoto Masashi himself.
Prompt: psychopathy/insanity from hope_assassin.
Well, what about that?
Title: “Reasoning”
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: G
Summary: Thorn’s thoughts on humanity.
Disclaimer: The Inheritance Cycle belongs to Christopher Paolini.
Prompt: idiot(s) from helike.
REASONING
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that those little fussy bipeds are complete and utter idiots. Every single one of them up to and including his Rider. But at least Murtagh has someone else to blame for his frequent lapses of reason, whereas the younger hatchling of the same bloodline clearly bears the burden of his own responsibility.
In more ways than one, dragons are far more sophisticated creatures than humans, yet when it comes to emotions, they prefer being plain and clear. Not in words, mind you; but there is a certain wag of the tail, a snarl, a cock of the head to settle the like/dislike matter once and for all. It works perfectly fine, and even Thorn, being young and inexperienced and hopelessly out of touch with the world, knows that.
Try telling that to the two-leggeds, though. Even with the special bond running deep between the dragon and the Rider, Thorn has no idea how to differentiate between the “Bloody Eragon!” that translates as: “We were ordered to catch him but he keeps escaping, so we’re going to piss the boss off again,” the one that translates as “He’s my brother and I love him unconditionally, but he’s a thorn in my side, so can he please just go and die?”, the one that means “Help me, stupid git, I’m kind of doing slave labour here!” and the one that doesn’t mean anything other than what it says. Eragon’s emotions, Thorn suspects, would be even more complicated because the boy seems to possess less logic than a newly laid egg.
There is a vast, puzzled sadness in Thorn’s eyes when Murtagh and Eragon clash again. He doesn’t know what the others attribute it to; as for him, he simply laments the bipeds’ stupidity.
Title: “Lil’ Bit of Plotting”
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: G
Timeline: mid-AWE
Summary: Jack’s favourite drink isn’t about to let him live on forever without it. [rum/Jack]
Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean belong to Disney.
Prompt: infatuation and/or addiction for hope_assassin.
LIL’ BIT OF PLOTTING
Rum is addicted to Captain Jack Sparrow. Do not trust anyone who tells you it should be vice versa; those poor sods haven’t the faintest idea what they are talking about.
Rum is not a fastidious drink. It is quite accustomed to rolling about in the hold, being used as fuel or emergency ammunition, as well as pouring down the parched throats of the gentlemen of fortune elsewhere to soothe their anxieties and to keep them warm, merry and easy-going. All of the above is pretty much a part of the job description, but it is with Jack that rum really feels with all its scores of degrees that it is needed.
And that is why it is determined to do everything within its power to prevent Jack from becoming the next Davy Jones. Ten years without making port is a long time, and self-duplicating is hardly one of rum’s talents, unfortunate as it may be. The drink kept Captain Sparrow alive all through the heat and desolation of the wretched island, and the desperate search for the lost ship, and the frenzied run from the Flying Dutchman. It had already lost him once - and it sure as hell isn’t about to go through those withdrawal pains again!
On the eve of battle it offers itself to Jack obligingly, trying to work out how to knock all that abominable future-planning pragmatism out of its Captain. Perhaps for once it will have to join forces with that cranky, rum-burning wench.
Title: “Playing a Game in the House that I Grew Up In”
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: G
Timeline: post-movie
Summary: The question Alice fears is when. [implications of the Hatter/Alice]
Disclaimer: Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland/Through the Looking-Glass belong to Lewis Carroll. Alice in Wonderland belongs to Tim Burton, etc. Title from Smile Like You Mean It by The Killers.
Prompt: I saw you in one of my dreams/wind knows where to find me/crocodile teapot/27 meaningless questions/crackbread from artsatalex.
PLAYING A GAME IN THE HOUSE THAT I GREW UP IN
“I saw you in one of my dreams,” he whispers through the crack in the mirror.
She leans against the gleaming rectangle on the wall, her back on it and her eyes drooping shut. It is not the house she grew up in, not even the same country; but she still treasures the dreamy memory of hopping through the soft silvery gauze and coming out into the Looking-Glass House.
“I had no dreams before you, you know.”
“I’ve always had plenty.” A wry smile graces her lips. “I could have enough for both of us.”
“You’re late for tea.”
Her spine goes rigid as she hears a bell chime downstairs.
“How can you be late,” she says quietly, “if Time doesn’t flow?”
His reply comes in an unexpectedly sharp voice. “You can if someone is waiting.”
She relaxes when she realizes the footsteps are still thundering downstairs. No one is coming to interrupt her conversation. She fingers a small empty box that used to contain spice; their poignant smell still makes her nose tickle.
She flinches when something sharp grazes her forearm. A small crocodile of green china is clanking its gaudy jaws right next to her. She gives a vague half-smile when she recognizes it as a teapot.
“What is it going to be, Alice?”
She pours herself some tea and notes that it possesses a fleeting jasmine aftertaste. He has asked her twenty-seven meaningless questions already and she has always given a straight answer; this time, however, she doesn’t know what to say, and it is the best part about her travels.
“I’ll spin the globe and find out.”
“Alice,” he whispers, and she can almost feel his fingers sifting through her hair as if touching the strings of an exotic musical instrument.
The question she fears is, when? He never asks it.
He positions a small bun next to the crocodile teapot that is currently grinning and blowing steam merrily. The bun is covered in fissures. He calls it crackbread, and she cannot help but snort at the ridiculous name.
“You can hammer nails with it,” she remarks, having attempted (and failed) to take a bite.
“Or slip notes through the cracks,” he chirps gleefully. “Find them in a hundred years, and they’ll make you smile.”
Her hand shoots up, her fingers tracing invisible patterns over the surface of the looking-glass. She almost imagines touching him.
“This is not a goodbye, Hatter,” she murmurs like she always does before moving on. “Wherever I go, there will be mirrors and windows and maybe even rabbit-holes.”
The removal men come up the stairs to inform her that all of her possessions have been properly packed and loaded. Alice nods and lowers the sheet over the mirror without looking at it.
As she walks out of the room, a faint whisper reaches her from behind the sheet.
“Come. Wind knows where to find me.”
Title: “Pathology Pathos”
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: G
Summary: Sasuke thinks he is going insane.
Disclaimer: Naruto belongs to Kishimoto Masashi. So does Kishimoto Masashi himself.
Prompt: psychopathy/insanity from hope_assassin.
Well, what about that?
Title: “Reasoning”
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: G
Summary: Thorn’s thoughts on humanity.
Disclaimer: The Inheritance Cycle belongs to Christopher Paolini.
Prompt: idiot(s) from helike.
REASONING
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that those little fussy bipeds are complete and utter idiots. Every single one of them up to and including his Rider. But at least Murtagh has someone else to blame for his frequent lapses of reason, whereas the younger hatchling of the same bloodline clearly bears the burden of his own responsibility.
In more ways than one, dragons are far more sophisticated creatures than humans, yet when it comes to emotions, they prefer being plain and clear. Not in words, mind you; but there is a certain wag of the tail, a snarl, a cock of the head to settle the like/dislike matter once and for all. It works perfectly fine, and even Thorn, being young and inexperienced and hopelessly out of touch with the world, knows that.
Try telling that to the two-leggeds, though. Even with the special bond running deep between the dragon and the Rider, Thorn has no idea how to differentiate between the “Bloody Eragon!” that translates as: “We were ordered to catch him but he keeps escaping, so we’re going to piss the boss off again,” the one that translates as “He’s my brother and I love him unconditionally, but he’s a thorn in my side, so can he please just go and die?”, the one that means “Help me, stupid git, I’m kind of doing slave labour here!” and the one that doesn’t mean anything other than what it says. Eragon’s emotions, Thorn suspects, would be even more complicated because the boy seems to possess less logic than a newly laid egg.
There is a vast, puzzled sadness in Thorn’s eyes when Murtagh and Eragon clash again. He doesn’t know what the others attribute it to; as for him, he simply laments the bipeds’ stupidity.
Title: “Lil’ Bit of Plotting”
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: G
Timeline: mid-AWE
Summary: Jack’s favourite drink isn’t about to let him live on forever without it. [rum/Jack]
Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean belong to Disney.
Prompt: infatuation and/or addiction for hope_assassin.
LIL’ BIT OF PLOTTING
Rum is addicted to Captain Jack Sparrow. Do not trust anyone who tells you it should be vice versa; those poor sods haven’t the faintest idea what they are talking about.
Rum is not a fastidious drink. It is quite accustomed to rolling about in the hold, being used as fuel or emergency ammunition, as well as pouring down the parched throats of the gentlemen of fortune elsewhere to soothe their anxieties and to keep them warm, merry and easy-going. All of the above is pretty much a part of the job description, but it is with Jack that rum really feels with all its scores of degrees that it is needed.
And that is why it is determined to do everything within its power to prevent Jack from becoming the next Davy Jones. Ten years without making port is a long time, and self-duplicating is hardly one of rum’s talents, unfortunate as it may be. The drink kept Captain Sparrow alive all through the heat and desolation of the wretched island, and the desperate search for the lost ship, and the frenzied run from the Flying Dutchman. It had already lost him once - and it sure as hell isn’t about to go through those withdrawal pains again!
On the eve of battle it offers itself to Jack obligingly, trying to work out how to knock all that abominable future-planning pragmatism out of its Captain. Perhaps for once it will have to join forces with that cranky, rum-burning wench.