comment-fic
Here's my most recent set of comment_fic
Title: Scents of Mordor
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Word count: 224
Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings belongs to J. R. R. Tolkien
Warnings: Orcs doing orcish things with orcish worldview
Prompt: LotR, any, the smell of home
Your earliest memory is of the smell of cooking meat. It was rich and good and made your mouth water, and it tasted even better than it smelt. You think it must have been man-flesh.
You were only little when Mordor fell. Mostly you remember the scents, which were more often unpleasant than pleasant. There was ash in the air that sometimes made you sneeze, and you could never escape the particular smell of dark powers, which was unlike anything you have smelt since. You hated it, but it was more your home than any place you have travelled since.
It was best when the scents of slaughter overpowered all else. Such usually meant that you would eat well, one way or another.
Your dam smelt of leather and blood both old and new. She was fierce, your dam, and she was strong, and she always made sure that you were fed well on rich meats that always smelt so good, and she protected you as best she could.
She was killed by an elven arrow, in the end. If you hated the elves for nothing else, you would hate them for that.
You are fierce, now, and you are strong. You would thank her for that, if you could.
Mordor is fallen and nothing will ever smell like home again, and that's alright.
Title: Like a Thief in the Night
Fandom: Carmilla + Edgar Allan Poe's The Masque of the Red Death + The Crow
Word count: 629
Disclaimer: I don't own The Crow, or Carmilla, or The Masque of the Red Death
Warnings: Horror themes, marital abuse and murder, mass murder, femslash and het
Pairings: Past Prospero/Laura and Carmilla/Laura
Prompt: Author's choice, author's choice, The Masque of the Red Death
Laura knows monsters. She knows that they look just like people, and sometimes they really are and sometimes they are not.
She is standing over her own unmarked grave; a perfect horror dressed in blood and dirt. She did not choke once as she dug and clawed her way up and out, because things that do not breathe need never worry about such things.
Laura knows monsters, but she does not know if she is one.
She wonders if the Countess Karnstein thought the same when she first woke in her grave, hungering for blood.
A crow caws overhead. She looks up and sees the moon, fat and full, the crow's silhouette stark against it. She blinks, and for an instant she sees her own face from above; dead, blood splattered, and altogether grotesque.
She listens, and then she says, "Yes. I know."
She has a ball to attend.
~
"Whore," hissed Laura's husband, his eyes full of suspicion and jealousy and hate. "I curse the day I married you."
"Then we are of like mind, husband," said Laura, cold and proud. "It is not I who is the whore, but you. Do you think I don't..."
He slapped her, sharp and stinging. She gasped, froze. How dare... She recovered, and spat on his face.
His face twisted with heightened anger. He reached out to her; she tried to back away but it was too late. His grip on her wrists would surely bruise, she thought, as she struggled to break free. She lashed out with her feet, but he kicked back, hard and savage, knocking her feet out from under her.
He dragged her down the hall, uncaring of how the cold, hard flagstones damaged her, scraped away little pieces of her skin as she gasped and whimpered in pain.
"You are my wife no longer," he snarled. "I cast you out, may the Red Death take you."
And he shoved her outside, and closed and locked the heavy doors.
So Prince Prospero murdered his wife.
~
"I knew a girl, once," Laura tells the crow as she ties closed a bloodstained robe that she commandeered from one of her fellow corpses. "Except she wasn't really a girl. She was a blood-drinking corpse. She came to me in the night, and she drank my blood and embraced me and kissed me."
Laura takes up a comb and runs it through her hair. "I was sheltered, naïve. I didn't understand what she wanted. It's a pity. If she had come when I was older, I would have given it to her."
~
The masquerade ball is just as decadent as Laura would expect from Prince Prospero. It amuses her, how the revellers dance and dance and do not notice her.
And then the ebony clock chimes, deep and ominous, to herald midnight, and finally she is noticed.
She locks eyes with the prince; sees that he is first terrified and then enraged.
"Who dares insult us with this blasphemous mockery?" he demands. "Seize him and unmask him - that we may know whom we have to hang, at sunrise, from the battlements!"
She does not laugh or speak or smile. Once she was Laura, but tonight she is Red Death come silent in the night. She walks, steady and dignified, and there are none here who dare try to stop her.
She is Red Death tonight, and tonight she has come for the man who killed the woman she was, and for all those who would countenance his actions.
~
"Why me?" she asks the crow upon her shoulder. She is walking, passing through seven voluptuous rooms, and all around are stricken, bloodied corpses. "So many others have died, so why did I come back?"
You don't remember, Laura? It was your choice.
Title: Such a Happy Family
Fandom: Death Note
Word count: 168
Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note
Warnings: Unhealthy relationship
Pairing: Light/Misa
Prompt: Death Note, Misa, she gets pregnant in an attempt to make Light love her
"Light!" Misa trilled. "Light, Misa's pregnant!" She did a little pirouette, beaming bright.
Light might not have realised it, for all that he was Kira God of the New World, but she was still watching him out of the corner of her eye. It was something she often did, because she never ever tired of looking at Light. So she saw his eyes widen, and she saw the cold, still expression that came over his face. Something in her heart might have quivered and sunk, but her smile remained the same.
"Oh Light, imagine it!" she chirped, her desperation well hidden; she was an actress, after all. "Such a beautiful child - has to be, with you and Misa-Misa for parents - your child, Light."
She saw his calculating look right before he finally smiled and swept her up in an embrace. She could not see his expression after that, but his arms were solid and comforting, and she was glad.
She knew they would be such a happy family.
Title: Masks of the Goblin King
Fandom: Labyrinth
Word count: 534
Disclaimer: I don't own Labyrinth
Prompt: Labyrinth, Jareth, he changes his appearance for every adventurer who dares to breach the Labyrinth.
The King is a goblin, of course. What else would a King of Goblins be? He is small and wizened, but those eyes...
Oh, there is such malice in those eyes, as the creature calls his army, green fire rising from his fingertips.
No?
The Goblin King is a great dragon, powerful and avaricious. Dragons covet treasure, you see, and what greater treasure than a human child? Beware his deadly blade-like claws, beware his fangs that rend and tear, beware his ever-watchful glare, beware the fire in his throat.
No?
The King is something like a goblin, but larger. He wears heavy black armour, and he is ugly and brutal with gnarled teeth stained with red. Isn't there an author who wrote of something called orcs? Well, he is something like that.
No?
The King of Goblins is a beautiful, wicked witch. Her robes flare around her as she dances and sings, weaving magic with every step and every word. Toads leap from the ground wheresoever she treads.
No?
Who can say what the Goblin King truly looks like? He is cloaked and hooded, and his face concealed by a twisted, bird-like mask. He looks hunched, as best he can be seen under the dark robe, but that means nothing. Often, the deadliest things look the least so.
No?
The King of Goblins is the devil, of course. He has a goat's horns, legs and cloven hooves. No, says your little sister, he is a satyr like the Greeks wrote of. You ask, why does he have wings then? She says, what wings?
No?
The Goblin King is a jester in red and gold. His face is painted and bells dangle from his headpiece, jingle when he moves. He smiles and smiles and his hands are wet with red.
No?
The Goblin King is a handsome man with fierce dark eyes and dark curly hair, but his most striking feature is his antlers. They are grand, lordly and twelve-pronged.
No?
The King of Goblins is... well, he might as well be indescribable. He is something like inky darkness, vast and yet not, and there are so many eyes and so many teeth and tentacles. He can only be an abomination from far beyond this world.
No?
The Goblin King is a faerie lord, lovely and inhuman. His wings look like they should belong to some massive butterfly, and they are black and red and yellow and white and beautiful. His ears taper to points and his fingernails to claws.
No?
The goblins have a Child King. Maybe you feel sorry for him, because he is so little and young and must have only wanted a playmate. Nevertheless, the stolen child is the most important thing.
No?
The King of Goblins is an old man. His hair is long, braided and silvery-grey, his eyes are a filmy blue, his hands are gnarled and wrinkled, his face weathered. When he smiles, you catch a glimpse of fang.
No?
The Goblin King is glamorous and charismatic, with wild hair and wild eyes. His clothes are strange and ever-changing, and he rolls a perfect crystal globe between his palms.
No?
What does he look like to you, then?
Title: Scents of Mordor
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Word count: 224
Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings belongs to J. R. R. Tolkien
Warnings: Orcs doing orcish things with orcish worldview
Prompt: LotR, any, the smell of home
Your earliest memory is of the smell of cooking meat. It was rich and good and made your mouth water, and it tasted even better than it smelt. You think it must have been man-flesh.
You were only little when Mordor fell. Mostly you remember the scents, which were more often unpleasant than pleasant. There was ash in the air that sometimes made you sneeze, and you could never escape the particular smell of dark powers, which was unlike anything you have smelt since. You hated it, but it was more your home than any place you have travelled since.
It was best when the scents of slaughter overpowered all else. Such usually meant that you would eat well, one way or another.
Your dam smelt of leather and blood both old and new. She was fierce, your dam, and she was strong, and she always made sure that you were fed well on rich meats that always smelt so good, and she protected you as best she could.
She was killed by an elven arrow, in the end. If you hated the elves for nothing else, you would hate them for that.
You are fierce, now, and you are strong. You would thank her for that, if you could.
Mordor is fallen and nothing will ever smell like home again, and that's alright.
Title: Like a Thief in the Night
Fandom: Carmilla + Edgar Allan Poe's The Masque of the Red Death + The Crow
Word count: 629
Disclaimer: I don't own The Crow, or Carmilla, or The Masque of the Red Death
Warnings: Horror themes, marital abuse and murder, mass murder, femslash and het
Pairings: Past Prospero/Laura and Carmilla/Laura
Prompt: Author's choice, author's choice, The Masque of the Red Death
Laura knows monsters. She knows that they look just like people, and sometimes they really are and sometimes they are not.
She is standing over her own unmarked grave; a perfect horror dressed in blood and dirt. She did not choke once as she dug and clawed her way up and out, because things that do not breathe need never worry about such things.
Laura knows monsters, but she does not know if she is one.
She wonders if the Countess Karnstein thought the same when she first woke in her grave, hungering for blood.
A crow caws overhead. She looks up and sees the moon, fat and full, the crow's silhouette stark against it. She blinks, and for an instant she sees her own face from above; dead, blood splattered, and altogether grotesque.
She listens, and then she says, "Yes. I know."
She has a ball to attend.
~
"Whore," hissed Laura's husband, his eyes full of suspicion and jealousy and hate. "I curse the day I married you."
"Then we are of like mind, husband," said Laura, cold and proud. "It is not I who is the whore, but you. Do you think I don't..."
He slapped her, sharp and stinging. She gasped, froze. How dare... She recovered, and spat on his face.
His face twisted with heightened anger. He reached out to her; she tried to back away but it was too late. His grip on her wrists would surely bruise, she thought, as she struggled to break free. She lashed out with her feet, but he kicked back, hard and savage, knocking her feet out from under her.
He dragged her down the hall, uncaring of how the cold, hard flagstones damaged her, scraped away little pieces of her skin as she gasped and whimpered in pain.
"You are my wife no longer," he snarled. "I cast you out, may the Red Death take you."
And he shoved her outside, and closed and locked the heavy doors.
So Prince Prospero murdered his wife.
~
"I knew a girl, once," Laura tells the crow as she ties closed a bloodstained robe that she commandeered from one of her fellow corpses. "Except she wasn't really a girl. She was a blood-drinking corpse. She came to me in the night, and she drank my blood and embraced me and kissed me."
Laura takes up a comb and runs it through her hair. "I was sheltered, naïve. I didn't understand what she wanted. It's a pity. If she had come when I was older, I would have given it to her."
~
The masquerade ball is just as decadent as Laura would expect from Prince Prospero. It amuses her, how the revellers dance and dance and do not notice her.
And then the ebony clock chimes, deep and ominous, to herald midnight, and finally she is noticed.
She locks eyes with the prince; sees that he is first terrified and then enraged.
"Who dares insult us with this blasphemous mockery?" he demands. "Seize him and unmask him - that we may know whom we have to hang, at sunrise, from the battlements!"
She does not laugh or speak or smile. Once she was Laura, but tonight she is Red Death come silent in the night. She walks, steady and dignified, and there are none here who dare try to stop her.
She is Red Death tonight, and tonight she has come for the man who killed the woman she was, and for all those who would countenance his actions.
~
"Why me?" she asks the crow upon her shoulder. She is walking, passing through seven voluptuous rooms, and all around are stricken, bloodied corpses. "So many others have died, so why did I come back?"
You don't remember, Laura? It was your choice.
Title: Such a Happy Family
Fandom: Death Note
Word count: 168
Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note
Warnings: Unhealthy relationship
Pairing: Light/Misa
Prompt: Death Note, Misa, she gets pregnant in an attempt to make Light love her
"Light!" Misa trilled. "Light, Misa's pregnant!" She did a little pirouette, beaming bright.
Light might not have realised it, for all that he was Kira God of the New World, but she was still watching him out of the corner of her eye. It was something she often did, because she never ever tired of looking at Light. So she saw his eyes widen, and she saw the cold, still expression that came over his face. Something in her heart might have quivered and sunk, but her smile remained the same.
"Oh Light, imagine it!" she chirped, her desperation well hidden; she was an actress, after all. "Such a beautiful child - has to be, with you and Misa-Misa for parents - your child, Light."
She saw his calculating look right before he finally smiled and swept her up in an embrace. She could not see his expression after that, but his arms were solid and comforting, and she was glad.
She knew they would be such a happy family.
Title: Masks of the Goblin King
Fandom: Labyrinth
Word count: 534
Disclaimer: I don't own Labyrinth
Prompt: Labyrinth, Jareth, he changes his appearance for every adventurer who dares to breach the Labyrinth.
The King is a goblin, of course. What else would a King of Goblins be? He is small and wizened, but those eyes...
Oh, there is such malice in those eyes, as the creature calls his army, green fire rising from his fingertips.
No?
The Goblin King is a great dragon, powerful and avaricious. Dragons covet treasure, you see, and what greater treasure than a human child? Beware his deadly blade-like claws, beware his fangs that rend and tear, beware his ever-watchful glare, beware the fire in his throat.
No?
The King is something like a goblin, but larger. He wears heavy black armour, and he is ugly and brutal with gnarled teeth stained with red. Isn't there an author who wrote of something called orcs? Well, he is something like that.
No?
The King of Goblins is a beautiful, wicked witch. Her robes flare around her as she dances and sings, weaving magic with every step and every word. Toads leap from the ground wheresoever she treads.
No?
Who can say what the Goblin King truly looks like? He is cloaked and hooded, and his face concealed by a twisted, bird-like mask. He looks hunched, as best he can be seen under the dark robe, but that means nothing. Often, the deadliest things look the least so.
No?
The King of Goblins is the devil, of course. He has a goat's horns, legs and cloven hooves. No, says your little sister, he is a satyr like the Greeks wrote of. You ask, why does he have wings then? She says, what wings?
No?
The Goblin King is a jester in red and gold. His face is painted and bells dangle from his headpiece, jingle when he moves. He smiles and smiles and his hands are wet with red.
No?
The Goblin King is a handsome man with fierce dark eyes and dark curly hair, but his most striking feature is his antlers. They are grand, lordly and twelve-pronged.
No?
The King of Goblins is... well, he might as well be indescribable. He is something like inky darkness, vast and yet not, and there are so many eyes and so many teeth and tentacles. He can only be an abomination from far beyond this world.
No?
The Goblin King is a faerie lord, lovely and inhuman. His wings look like they should belong to some massive butterfly, and they are black and red and yellow and white and beautiful. His ears taper to points and his fingernails to claws.
No?
The goblins have a Child King. Maybe you feel sorry for him, because he is so little and young and must have only wanted a playmate. Nevertheless, the stolen child is the most important thing.
No?
The King of Goblins is an old man. His hair is long, braided and silvery-grey, his eyes are a filmy blue, his hands are gnarled and wrinkled, his face weathered. When he smiles, you catch a glimpse of fang.
No?
The Goblin King is glamorous and charismatic, with wild hair and wild eyes. His clothes are strange and ever-changing, and he rolls a perfect crystal globe between his palms.
No?
What does he look like to you, then?