Fic: Three Sentence Ficathon Fills (Various)
At this point, I think it's possible a full third of the nearly 6000 comments on this ficathon may be from me. I might just have a problem...
I present you with 62 fills in various fandoms, as follows:
Anthropomorfic
Believe in Everything You Believe
Prompt: anthropomorfic, paganism/christianity, marriage
At first she loves how he adopts what is hers - her traditions, her decorations, her holy places - and makes them his own, thinking it proof of his love, his devotion to her and her people.
By the time she realizes she has become an afterthought, lost in the depths of his shadow, it is too late, for he rules the world, his and hers combined.
In the shadows, she retreats, and surrenders herself to nature, and waits for him to stumble, for her time in the light to come again.
Soot & Bone
Prompt: anthropomorphic, white smoke/black smoke, conclave
We do not mingle, but still we speak, rising the distance through this brightly painted box.
We are the evidence of prayers, of deals, of deeds, the annunciation of history, one trailing the other.
I will linger on, and wait for you.
We Are Safe When We're Together
Prompt: anthropomorfic, stars/planets, something always brings me back to you/it never takes too long
They dance - in a long, slow spiral, a circle-turn-push-spin that goes on and on, revolving, shining, playing in the shadows of their partners, flirting with darkness only to pass back into the light, bathed in radiance; glowing, pulsing.
You never come near enough, the stars whisper, See how we burn for you? But the planets recede into the dark once more, calling, You never let us go; see how we yearn to be free?, and so they dance on, and never touch.
As Am I, So Are You
Prompt: anthropomorphic, today/tomorrow, the inbetween
I am constantly becoming you.
In the dead quiet of night, in the space between where we blend and meld, there is no you, no me, only us, only we.
Overtake me, kill me, and let me come again.
My Beating Heart Belongs to Your Bones
Prompt: anthropomorfic, March & April, handover
As February recedes into the darkness, March stretches slowly, shaking the snow from her limbs, pulling her feet free of the melting ice, moving forward - creeping at first, then faster and faster until she flies, heading always towards the light.
She's there waiting, as she always is.
"I knew you would come," April says, pale still, just beginning to blush, but even so, she smells of grass and flowers and light, and songbirds hover at her back; when she leans forward to press her warm lips to March's for that one brief moment, she thinks it the sweetest moment of her brief time in the sun, always waiting, always running towards this end for another year.
Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire
I Get Lost
Prompt: Game of Thrones, Daenerys Targaryen, queen
She looks at the blacked bones on the floor before her and wonders what Drogo would have done; sent the man off with an admonition to make more and stronger children, most likely. She had loved her sun-and-stars, but he had been a hard man, as a Khal must be.
Now, Dany begins to realize that there will be times when she must act as a Queen, not a Khalessi.
As Long and Sharp as Yours
Prompt: Game of Thrones/ASOIF, Syrio Forel, the first sword of Bravos does not run
"But what if you were being attacked by a lion?" Arya tries, in her endless attempts to distract him as they practice.
"And what is a lion but a pussycat, if you do not fear?" Syrio responds, slashing at her wrist, her fingers, her knee. "It is the fear that cuts deeper than the claws, boy."
We Were Supposed to Rise Above, but We Sink
Prompt: any, any, IN SPACE! AU
When the seven divisions of the fleet of Westeros begin to turn on each other, the skies grow bright with their folly, spurts of flame flying between them, leaving The Riverlands scorched and blackened, limping through space, barely still flying.
From the massive, curved greatship The Wall, Jon Snow watches the battles and the darkness behind them both, and wonders where in the wide fleet his siblings have scattered, and whether any of them will ever make contact again.
On the moon of Essos named Dothraki Sea, Dany watches the fires burn above, and smiles, for they call her home at last.
Part Two: Turn Your Face into the Storm
"Get out there and fight, Dog!" the boy Admiral shrieks, his voice coming out shrill and breaking, rather than the booming commands of his dead father.
Sandor looks out the bay windows, into the firestorms and explosions taking place on the flight deck, and backs away from his fighter.
"Fuck you," he rasps out, reaching for his belt, groping for his pistol or his flask, he couldn't even say which, "and fuck your fleet, too."
Greek and Roman Mythology
Of Monsters and Men
Prompt: Greek mythology, Perseus & Medusa, pity
The snakes of her hair hiss at his approach, yet she remains still, soft somehow in sleep, and as he raises his sword, he feels, absurdly, some kind of guilt running through him like the waves of the ocean.
Light flashes from his blade on the downswing, catching her across the face, and her eyes fly open, their reflection meeting his for the smallest space of time.
In them is not a monster; merely a woman - and then nothing at all.
You Are Remembered
Prompt: Greek Mythology, Ariadne (/Dionysus), Corona Borealis
She sneers when word of Theseus's excuse reaches her ears (overlooked and forgotten indeed!), but Dionysus strokes her face with sadness in his eyes, and leans to whisper in her ear.
"I will never forget."
Her crown, hanging in a shining bright arc over the world below, is the proof of his words, more immortal than any of them.
On the Sidelines, With My Hands Tied
Prompt: Greek mythology, Iphigenia, I will haunt you like a ghost
“I will follow you,” she says, spitting defiance in his face even as the wind tears at her hair and clothes, as he draws the blade that will end her life. “My shade will haunt you all your life, and every victory you win will turn to ash around you, I vow it.”
There is nothing in Agamemnon's eyes as he shoves her to her knees, not hate or rage, not grief, guilt or fear, and she knows then, as the blade slices her throat, swift and sure, that he is dead already, just as much as she.
The Weight of Us
Prompt: Greek Mythology/Aeneid, Cupid & Aeneas, "Leaving her was a mistake, brother--trust me, I know."
Lavinia's skin smells ever like smoke, like the smoke he sees still in his dreams, rising in a plume of ash and death on the wind that drove his ships from Dido's shores.
He prays to the gods to remove this stain from his soul, so that he might give his heart over to his wife in honesty, and not lay another face over hers in the darkness behind his eyes when they lie together.
Sometimes he thinks he can feel his half brother's eyes on him, hear the accusing words, just on the edge of a wind from the south, sighing, Twice I gave you love and you have lost it; why should I spend my arrows for you now? and so he knows if there is love to be built here, he must build it himself, and know it for purely his own.
Those Unbroken
Prompt: Greek Mythology, Hecuba (& Odysseus), vestiges of kindness
(bonus: in the version of the fall of Troy where she isn't...turned into a dog somehow, Hecuba is given to Odysseus as a slave, and yet, in the Odyssey, he never mentions her once. What happened there?)
She's still dangerous, of course - a woman who was a Queen can never be just a woman again, but is always something more, the crown on her head never quite invisible - and Hecuba is more dangerous than most, by far, for she remains unbroken, and bitter to the bone.
Still, he can't help feeling something akin to pity for her, though he knows she'd not thank him for it, would throw it back in his face like so much refuse.
So when his captives are brought aboard his ships for the journey home, he unlocks her fetters himself, and looks the other way as she walks (of course she walks; her pride, more than her age, will not allow her to run) away, and tells himself she would be more trouble than he needs on his voyage home in any case; all he wants is peaceful sailing.
You Pick Up the Pieces and the Ghosts in the Attic
Prompt: Greek Mythology, Eros/Psyche, And of course I forgive/I've seen how you live/Like a phoenix you rise from the ashes
For a time, any lamplight is hateful, nearly as hateful as his mother's soft, triumphant smiles, but this changes the day he hears the flowers speak to him with the voice of his half-sister; from her throne deep below the earth, her voice whispers, foolish boy, you fault your love for betraying trust where none was given?
Do you not care to know what has become of her, how she has died and returned for love of you? the voice calls, and he finds, rubbing the scarred patch of skin at his shoulder, that he does want her still, very much.
And so he goes to seek her out, and raise the sparks of their love once more.
My Golden Star
Prompt: Greek Mythology, Creusa and Cassandra, I had a sister lovely in my sight
Cassandra watches her sister sometimes and thinks her like a star, steady and quiet but brilliant and beautiful all the same, and pities her, as she pities them all, all those she loves who will fall, one by one; this sister she always sees through a haze of flames and smoke, distant screams and creeping panic.
Still, she envies her too, envies Creusa the love she sees as well, the embrace of a husband in the night, the sticky kisses of a child, the sweetness of a life and family all her own; all the things Cassandra will never have, not even for a mere handful of years.
“You deserve better, sister,” she says, and though Creusa smiles absently and pats her hand, barely hearing what her sister has said, Cassandra still feels absurdly guilty; whether she means Creusa deserves a better sister or a better fate, even she could not say.
Historical RPF
The Whole World Over
Prompt: anyone, anyone, "the truth is this: / my love for you / is the only empire i will ever build" (Ancient Rome RPF, Octavian/Agrippa)
"Why don't you take it?" Octavian asks drowsily, honest with wine and sleep as he rarely is awake and sober. "You could; you won it, after all, as everyone knows."
Agrippa sighs, and pulls him closer, murmuring, "Because it's all for you."
What Holds Us Together
Prompt: Historical RPS, Octavian/Agrippa, all we are is skin and bones/trained to get alone (Taylor Swift)
"You've been hurt," Octavian says, and Agrippa can't quite hear if he's truly concerned or merely annoyed, or perhaps a bit of both, as usual.
"Only a scratch," he replies, looking down at the red line across his arm, though it stings with dust and grit and sweat.
Octavian's fingers are cool as he slides them over the broken skin, pale white (he's always so pale, no matter how bright the sun in the places they campaign) staining red as they go, the two of them mingling into one.
Two Plus One
Prompt: Historical RPF, Octavian/Mark Antony/Lepidus, hatesex
"I still despise you, you know," Octavian says, arranging the folds of his toga.
"Thank the gods," Antony responds, still reclining on the couch, "as the feeling is entirely mutual."
I've never liked either of you, Lepidus thinks to say, but he watches the way the other two glare at each other and knows the only response he's like to receive is, Oh, are you still here?
Webs and Snares
Prompt: Historical RPF, Octavian/Lepidus, accidental marriage
"It was an accident to marry my sister to Antony," Octavian says in the darkness, his fingers still absently stroking Lepidus's arm, and Lepidus rolls his eyes at the phrasing, noting that accident is not the same at all as mistake.
Octavian rises and lights a lamp, the better to dress himself as he continues, "I only meant to bind him more closely, but it's turning into quite a disaster."
Lepidus watches him leave, and does not need to ask the question in his mind of just how much of this is Octavian's way of binding him.
I Will Not Sink, But Rise Instead
Prompt: Historical RPF, Cleopatra, I will go down with this ship/I won't put my hands up/and surrender (Dido, "White Flag")
She fingers the lid of the basket and thinks; she knows what Octavian will say of her if she does this thing (because she knows Octavian, far better than he ever knew her, or cared to), knows he will call her coward, say she feared the might of Rome (she remembers Antony's blood on her hands, the confusion in his eyes, and knows if anything, it is the foolishness of Rome, its belief in honor and tradition that has undone her), that she was forced to flee to the one place he could not follow.
Still, she knows this is all the choice that remains to her, to end her life on her own terms, as she has always lived it.
Death is no surrender, she thinks, lifting the basket lid and plunging her hand inside, only a new beginning.
Halcyon Days These Could Be
Prompt: Medieval History, Llewelyn ap Gruffydd/Ellen de Montfort , the myth of Ceyx and Alcyone
He takes her walking along the riverbank, and she marvels at the wild beauty of his country - now that she is finally here, she understands why he fights so hard for it, the passion that ties him to the land - nearly as much as she marvels at him, at the turn her life has finally, finally taken.
He stills her suddenly with a hand on her arm and a finger to her lips (oh, how she loves that he finally has the right to touch her) and points to a small hollow in the bank, where a bright little kingfisher sits in its nest - at peace, she thinks, like us, hidden away in its tiny corner of the earth, safe and sound, and she knows this isn't true (she's known nowhere was safe since the night her father died, and her cousin began to haunt her dreams), but just for now, just for this moment, she wants desperately to believe it can be.
Her lips curve beneath his fingers, and she guides his other hand to her belly, watching his eyes light up in understanding and joy, and prays please, please.
A Crusade
Prompt: The Lion in Winter OR Medieval English History, Henry II/Eleanor of Aquitaine, I marvel at you
"Bare breasted?" Henry murmurs, closely inspecting the parts in question.
"Like the Amazons of old," Eleanor responds, threading her fingers into the red of his hair, "and Louis may not have appreciated it, but his troops damn well did."
Henry looks up at her with something halfway between lust and amazement in his face, and says, "If I go to war with France, will you ride along?" and she laughs and pushes his head further down, and marvels that this man could possibly be so perfect.
For a Crown
Prompt: RPF-Richard III; "It's a Tudor plot."
"You say that about everything, Uncle," Elizabeth says, shaking her head slowly, and he can't stand the way she looks at him, her eyes huge and full of unshed tears; if she began to look at him with fear, he thinks he could not possibly bear it. "What of your wife Anne, was her death a Tudor plot as well?"
His eyes close against the sting of her words, and he knows then that she does not fear him, not at all - but perhaps she should, for he clearly can't keep them safe; not his beloved Anne, not his nephews in the Tower, and even this sweet girl in her sanctuary - all he can do is hope, and pray God he's not yet been abandoned by all.
Our Brother, the Donkey
Prompt: I suspect a particularly clever donkey could have outwitted George (Historical RPF, York brothers)
“George, that...is not your horse,” Richard said, trying manfully to hold back his laughter.
George peered at him suspiciously, leaning on the animal for support, one hand loosely clutching a goblet of wine, and said, “Don't be a fool, little brother - I think I know my own horsh when I shee him.”
“You ass,” Edward responded, rolling his eyes, “that is, in fact, an ass you're leaning on, and unless I'm highly mistaken, you did not ride that creature into battle - also, he is drinking from your wine.”
I Will Wait for You
Prompt: Medieval English History, Richard III/Anne Neville, He lives that loves thee better than [Edward] could.
"Dead?" she repeats foolishly, unable to believe she is now a widow, that they haven't perhaps mixed up the Edwards, though hers and Richard's are little enough alike.
But Yes, she hears, and, killed by the brother, they say, the hunchbacked one, devil take him, and then, oh then Anne believes it.
She sinks to her knees in thanks, thinking of Richard's crooked shoulders and powerful arms, and shivers, and prays for the patience to wait.
As It Might Have Been
Prompt: Medieval English History, Richard III/Anne Neville, we are young
"What will it be like when we are married, do you think?" Anne asks, tiny and delicate as a bird, perched on the window seat of her mother's solar, her little feet swinging under the edge of her skirt.
Richard can hear the clamor of the other boys rising up from the training yard; he knows he will be mocked if found here, yet he can't bring himself to care - Anne is much better company that any of the boys, even at her tender age.
"Why, it will be splendid, my lady," he says, stretching and trying to ignore the pain in his back that seems to grow every day, grateful that he does not need to ignore Anne's look, because she alone never seems to notice the way his shoulders twist more with each month, each inch that he grows, "and we will be the happiest people in all the realm, and have a dozen plump children," and Anne giggles, and shyly takes his hand in hers.
Rarely I Weep, Sometimes I Must
Prompt: Medieval English History, Richard III/Anne Neville, we are young (Second fill)
He finds her in tears in her bedchamber, heaving with gasping sobs, and when he kneels at her feet and asks in that sad, desperate voice what has happened, the only word she can manage to choke out is a soft, "Blood."
All in a moment, his face clears, and he smiles gently at her, stroking her cheek and saying, "But we are young still, my dear Anne - there will be other babes yet, you'll see, and no need to weep over your woman's blood so."
He is called away then, and leaves with a kiss pressed to her cheek; she manages a tremulous smile for him and clutches her hand tighter around her bloodied handkerchief, trying to breathe deeply, trying not to cough again, trying desperately to keep her secret from him just a little longer.
I Pray for Home (and Home Is You)
Prompt: Medieval History, Richard/Anne Neville, journeys end in...
When she hears that he has fled across the Channel in Edward's wake (always in Edward's wake, but she must not be bitter, even as she thinks on Isabel and knows she will never, ever understand that bond), she tries to pray, but ends in silence on her knees, uncertain whether to pray for his return or his safety; she knows the two to be incompatible.
When he hears of her marriage, he keeps his silence (Edward expects him to rage and shout, to curse Warwick and the Lancasters to the deepest depths of hell, because this is what Edward himself would do), and flees all company, ending up somehow in a dingy chapel on his knees, unsure whether to pray that she is happy or that she is not; either would break his own heart.
When they are married, it is all a blur to both, the quiet ceremony and supper, the shy smiles and glances they are finally free to exchange in the chapel, on their knees before the altar; in their marriage bed afterward, they face each other kneeling once more with whole hearts, and begin the process of healing one another, one sweet touch at a time.
To Endure
Prompt: Ancient World History, Hatshepshut, persistence of memory
They chisel away her images and her name, try to make her forbidden, forgotten, vanished.
But the forbidden is a lure, and the land has a long memory, and even things buried by the sands may come to light again in time.
She will not be destroyed.
Chronicles of Narnia
On This Winter's Night With You
Prompt: Narnia, any (+/any), we've got mistletoe and firelight/on this cold December night (Cor/Aravis)
Yule is a completely new experience for Aravis; so is snow, and roasted chestnuts, and Father Christmas, and so much more, until she feels her head will burst or her fingers fall off from the chill that's worked its way into her very bones, so much worse than even the desert at midnight.
So when Cor comes along, speaking of another new tradition to show her (he deals so much better than she with the climate and culture, but then, he was born, if not raised, to it) she protests, even when he pulls her along in her heavy wool robes to a room with a roaring fire burning, hot as the Calormene sands.
"It's a lovely treat," she says, "but honestly Cor, even a fire this large can't really be called anything new," and that's when he gives her that cheeky grin, points to a bit of greenery tacked to the doorframe above them, and gives her the gift of his first kiss.
And I Know it Was Wrong When I Said it Was True
Prompt: Narnia, Lucy, anger
"Well, you aren't a traitor," she insists, her face flushed, sucking on the knuckle she'd split open.
"I do appreciate your defense, sister dear," Edmund says, trying not to laugh, "but was it really necessary to punch the ambassador in the nose?"
She doesn't take so much as a moment to consider before she responds, "Absolutely."
The Point and the Circle
Prompt: Narnia: Narnia fandom; you're doing it wrong
“You miss the point entirely,” sniff those wrapped in lion skins, seated high above. “You're ruining the story.”
Those wearing the leaves of dryads and the skin of nature turn their backs and huddle close, extending leafy fingers and branches out until they form a circle, and all that grows within is peace, and harmony, and joy.
Throw Those Curtains Wide
Prompt: Narnia, Caspian/Peter, anyway, it's looking like a beautiful day
They're both tired and aching when they wake, covered in bruises and scrapes (and, Peter notes, a few stray love bites here and there - Caspian is a bit overzealous in the dark), but the sun is rising over their kingdom, and they're still alive and free, all at the same time.
“What a magnificent day,” Caspian murmurs, drowsy still, and Peter laughs inwardly, both at the use of his title (unconscious, he's certain) and the innocence that's in Caspian still.
“One day like this a year is about all you can hope for,” he says, stretching out in the morning sunlight, trying to ignore all the aches and focus only on the sweet, “but you'll see, somehow it'll be enough.”
That Wretched Hollow Feeling
Prompt: Narnia, Susan (+/ any), never even noticed we're suddenly crumbling
The third time Ed and Peter nearly come to blows, and Lucy valiantly holds back tears as a child of her age should not be able to manage, Susan follows Edmund out to the gardens.
"I don't know what's wrong with us, Su," he says without looking at her, his head tipped back against the wall, the shadows running along his child's jaw in a way that makes her face recall the scrape of his stubble, back when he had to bend to embrace her.
"We used to be kings and queens," she says, sitting beside him, repressing the urge to spread invisible skirts, "and now we've crumbled back down to this, and have to make the best of it, and remember who we are."
Dressed Down and Foolish
Prompt: Narnia, girl!Edmund and boy!Lucy, hijinks
"Edie, have you put frogs in my bed again?" Luke calls, and hears his sister giggling madly from the next room.
Once the laughter would have been malicious, her intent to send him shrieking from his bed like a child, embarrassing himself before the castle.
Now though, there's nothing in her giggles but childish glee, and though his sheets are a bit damp (and perhaps a touch slimy as well, truth be told), Luke finds that somehow he doesn't mind so much - though perhaps tomorrow he'll have a chat with the rats, see if they can't be convinced that yes, of course Edie would welcome their company at night.
Get Me Through the Night
Prompt: Narnia, Any, vampire!AU (following edenfalling's fills here in which Edmund was turned into a vampire by Jadis)
"You wear such high collars, sweet lady," Rabadash whispers, his finger tracing the edge of said collar, flaring up over Susan's elegant white throat. "They will not suit you in the heat of Tashbaan."
She smiles, and brushes his fingers aside with a practiced gesture and a smooth excuse, and makes her way towards her own chambers, her fingers already undoing the buttons at the base of her throat; the days are long and hot in the desert, and Edmund will be hungry.
Tolkien-verse
No More Ever I Spoke
Prompt: Lord of the Rings; Arwen, Rivendell, time travel, archeology
She thinks of returning, once he's dead and gone and her life turns blank, leeched of color and joy. She thinks of sitting in the halls of her father's house until they grow bare and empty as her heart, dusty and disused, with only the echoes of love and memory to sustain her, until she is as one of the statues in the gardens, an object of curiosity, of a past long forgotten by all who remain.
In the end she rejects this, and travels forward rather than back; she is yet made of softer things than stone, and he awaits her still, beyond the endless shores of the world.
We Will Keep You
Prompt: LotR, Frodo/Nimrodel, lost and found
"I lost my whole world," she says, "and everything in it."
"Maybe it's not meant to be found," he responds, staring over the salt waves, the spray misting in his curls. "Perhaps you're meant to create one anew."
The Striped Wanderer
Prompt: Where's Waldo/LOTR, Waldo & Aragorn, Not all those who wander are lost
The hooded man narrows his eyes, puffs on his short pipe, and says, "A friend of Bombadil, then?" eying Waldo's striped garb, his bright hat.
Waldo shakes his head and leaves the Bree inn, in search of a place with taller folk, where he might blend in, be less conspicuous. Perhaps this Bombadil will have the answers; until then, he's content to wander.
Too Good for That
Prompt: Lord of the Rings, Gandalf & Belladonna Took, Discussing Bilbo as a young child
“He's growing up so much like his father,” Belladonna says with a sigh, “as interested in the contents of the pantry as anything else.”
He knows she's happy here, as happy as it's possible for a hobbit to be (which is very happy indeed), filled to the brim with love of her husband, and their little son, and the hole built in tribute to her, but there's still a gleam in her eyes when she looks over the hills, and a longing in her sighs.
“Well, we'll have to see what can be done about that; it wouldn't do for the son of Belladonna Took to be dull,” Gandalf says, blowing out a smoke ring and giving her a wink, heartened by the grin she gives in return.
You're the Hunger in My Bones
Prompt: Silmarillion, Varda/Manwe, fire and light
His mind burns with the flames of wisdom; she thinks she can see the sparks in his eyes at times, and from them she takes the inspiration for her stars, spilling his sparks across the sky.
He smiles when she tells him this ( but does not laugh, he whose smiles are given so generously, but laughs so rarely, knowing too much), and fingers the dark smoke of her hair, so like the dark blanket of the heavens.
"Varda, my love, the light is all your own, and the fire too, I think," he says, and she sees the truth of this, too, shining reflected in his eyes.
Somewhere the Sun Shines and Birds Fly
Prompt: Silmarillion, Elwing, flight
She breathes deep of the sea and salt; the wind blows from the waves, and blocks the scents of blood and fear and fire behind her.
She hears their approach at her back, feels it in the heat of the gem, throbbing at her breast, glowing bright as a star, blocking their darkness.
She tastes the salt tang - from the ocean spray, from her tears, from the weeping of the very land for her people, she could not say - turns to face these sons of Feanor, these dispossessed (as they have dispossessed her, as they would do again), and falls beyond them, into oblivion, never expecting to fly.
Until I've Given You Up
Prompt: Silmarillion/any, any & any, blue (Silm/Narnia, Maglor/Susan)
“I used to have a brother with eyes blue as the sea,” Susan says, as the waves come in closer and closer to where they sit in the sands.
“Mine all had eyes like the sea in a storm,” Maglor says, his own closed as if to see in memory, a faint smile on his lips.
Sometimes she thinks she can see these brothers he speaks of in his face, or in his gestures, a certain turn of phrase; she wonders if he ever senses Peter in her boldness, or Edmund in her sly jokes, Lucy in her laughter, and she prays it's so, though she's too afraid to ask, too afraid no one sees them now but her, alone in the depths of her memories.
Safe to Shore
Prompt: Silmarillion, any of the Sons of Fëanor, for the love of a father (Maglor/Susan)
"Why did you ever leave such a wonderful place?" she asks, after he tells her about Valinor, shining and perfect beyond imagining on its hills, with sweeter music echoing through its cities than he could ever produce.
"Because I loved my father," he answers, tightening his maimed hand into a fist, feeling the pain burn deep still after all these centuries, even as it must have burned his father at his end. "Have you never loved anything that much?" he asks, and she says, "You know I have," and settles herself against him with a sigh, her eyes seeing a land far removed.
All That Stares Back at You
Prompt: Narnia/LOTR, Susan/Maglor, zombie hunters
It takes sharp eyes to see the dead ones for what they truly are before they're at your throat (by then of course, it's much too late), eyes that have seen the Two Trees or the face of the Lion.
“Or maybe,” Susan says, fletching another batch of arrows, “it takes the eyes of those who live but should be dead too, by all rights.”
Her husband frowns, and says nothing, and sharpens his sword, the bright glint in his eyes shining stronger than ever.
Something Like a Hero
Prompt: Narnia/Silmarillion, Susan/Maglor, unexpected solace
He'd wondered many times over if he was going mad (if he'd already gone mad, and was yet unaware), wandering the western shores as the shape of the world changed, and changed again, until the memory of Valinor seemed a dream (and his father, and brothers - surely he'd had brothers once, and children, two little boys whose images fill him with unaccountable guilt) and there is nothing left but for the songs in his heart, and the burn in his hand.
The gem is the one thing he never forgets; the way it blazed in his hand, pulsing with life and glory and the eternal, everything he'd lost the right to deserve.
When she comes to him, and lays her hands on his brow, and whispers words in his ear in a tongue he does not know, he sees the gem's echoes in her, and feels the clear chill of sanity break over him once more, and knows his long solitude is ended; maybe, he thinks, it is possible to be absolved after all.
I Know that You Caved In, and Surrendered to Your Nature
Prompt: Silmarillion/Narnia, Susan/Maglor, look at the stars, my dear
"A cousin of mine is a star," he says, staring up at the glittering sky spilled out before them. "His wife jumped off a cliff to escape me."
She does not ask why; his answers for what he has done, so long ago it seems another life, always return to his oath, to compulsion, to the horrible need to obey, and this she thinks she understands, remembering a Witch's words claiming her brother's life while her siblings stood silent beside a lion (but not me, her mind whispers; I spoke), remembering leaving behind a world and a life that had been hers forever because the lion spoke, and she obeyed; she knows what it is to be deprived of choice, and so she forgives without asking.
The West Wing
A President and His Cheese
Prompt: The West Wing, Abby/Jed, not a typical marriage
"Ma petit fromage," she snorts, in bed later (much later) that night, snickering like a girl. "I can't believe you called me that - you need French lessons, Jed."
Yeah, cause I got all the time in the world for that, he thinks of saying, but doesn't, instead opting for the much more diplomatic, "You know, sweetheart, that's what I've always loved about you, your biting sense of humor and the way you use it against me," and Abbey just snickers again and snuggles closer.
In One of These Boxes...
Prompt: The West Wing, Josh/Donna, keeping things in boxes.
"I never want to see another box again," Donna mutters, rolling the cool glass of a beer bottle across her neck (Josh watches the way strands of hair have escaped her bun and cling to the glass, growing damp, and thinks).
"In that case," he says thoughtfully, sipping from his own bottle, "maybe I shouldn't mention this..."
"No," she says forcefully, cutting him off, "I am not helping you move this weekend, don't even ask."
I Refuse to Believe That It's Hopeless
Prompt: The West Wing, CJ/Danny, he would wait forever for her
“Though I'd prefer not to, you know,” he says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, fingers drumming on the edge of her desk, perilously close to the fishbowl. “Gail here really ought to see us married, and goldfish don't live forever, CJ.”
She doesn't have the heart to inform him that the current Gail is, in fact, Gail VI; she's got just enough heart to kiss him and ask without words if he'll wait just a little longer, another month, another session of Congress, another term, because she knows he always will, in spite of everything.
There's Something Believing
Prompt: The West Wing, Toby Ziegler + Josiah Bartlett, In the season 4 finale ("Twenty Five," 4.22), Toby finally understands what it means to be a father.
He's still pretty sure it has something to do with little hats.
But as he stares at the television, watching silent, still pictures of a family he's known for half a dozen years now, and the two incredible tiny beings lying before him that he helped create, he can't help feeling an overwhelming tide of emotion for them, even though he's only known them a scant half dozen hours.
Andi said he's too sad, and maybe he is, but not right now - now he's loving, and protective, and so very filled with rage - not on behalf of the President, but on behalf of another father - that the pictures on tv and his babies blur in front of his eyes into one.
No Concern of Yours
Prompt: The West Wing, Donna/Josh, keeping secrets
She's seen him angry before - hell, she's seen him angry at her before, plenty of times - but this thing with the diary is different, because where Josh's anger is usually boiling hot, this time he's cold, and it's making her afraid.
"Did you read it all?" she asks, staring off into the blurred street lights while they wait for Cliff to show, wondering whether it would be better if he had or if he hadn't.
He doesn't answer for a minute, and then he says, "No, only the Cliff parts - and lemme tell you, Donna, I think that guy needs to work on his technique, if your reporting is accurate," and she watches his breath steaming on the air and knows he's lying, and all her secrets are out.
Aladdin
Weaving Spells
Prompt: Aladdin(1992), Genie&Carpet, how they first met
"I wish this carpet could fly!" the girl (his sixteenth master...or is it seventeenth, or eighteenth - it's getting difficult to remember) screams, after the rolled up rug gets tossed off the balcony, with her still rolled up inside.
A second later and the carpet is soaring instead of dropping, tassels flapping in the wind, and he says, "I told you so - those people don't like suspicious gifts, even when they don't come with spy-flavored filling, and besides, the pattern on that thing - ugh!"
She glares at him, which is not unexpected (he's going to have to learn to stop insulting his masters one day, if he ever means to be free), but the funny thing is, he's pretty sure the rug's glaring too, and suddenly he wonders if this sheepish, uncomfortable guilt is what it feels like to be a parent who's just inadvertently insulted their own child.
Army of Darkness
Breaking In
Prompt: Army of Darkness, Ash/Sheila, a brief example of Ash's pillow talk.
"That was some damn good sugar, baby," he says, panting.
He's snoring before her own breathing slows enough to respond, but she supposes that's alright.
She's just grateful he doesn't wear the chainsaw to bed.
Beauty and the Beast
Chasing Down an Anodyne
Prompt: Beauty and the Beast, Belle/Beast, Greek mythology
She thinks at times of the tale of Eros and Psyche, the bride who feared her beautiful lover was a monster, and shone forbidden light on him to prove to herself it was not so.
Belle knows her love is a monster, by day or night, in light or darkness; he is constant, not changing with the sun or the waning of the moon or any other such tricks.
Still, she cannot help but wonder what she might find if she could shine a light on him and reveal what she believes - what she knows - must truly be under his skin, the beautiful man lost inside her monster.
The Decemberists - The Crane Wife
All Clothed in a Snowy Shroud
Prompt: The Decemberists, The Crane Wife, "and all I meant to do/ was to keep you"
When he runs his hands through the deep black of her hair, they come away with bits of down clinging to the tips, caught on the ragged edges of his nails.
He laughs and says they must need new bedding, for theirs is shedding, and soon their bed will look like a bird's nest, a soft explosion of feathers like a fresh coating of snow.
He does not notice her pained look, the strain in her wide eyes; he does not notice the red threads in their new bedding either, not until she's flown away, leaving only her downy feathers as proof she was ever his.
Downton Abbey
Never Was the Fantasy
Prompt: Downton Abbey, Mary Crawley, winter
If Sybil is the summer - bright and warm, open and inviting - and Edith autumn - flashes of brilliance, but mostly quite dreary - Mary thinks she herself must surely be the winter, cold and still and bleak, dead and frozen before her time. She sees the chill inside her reflected from all around, from Patrick who she never gave a thought to, from her father to whom she is almost, but not quite, perfect, from all those who look at her and see only the bite of frost, until she believes it is all she is, that she can never thaw.
She's wrong, in the end; Matthew, it turns out, is the spring.
Firefly
Made a Mess of Me
Prompt: Firefly, River Tam, "Can't carry love with you if you want to survive"
She sends the letters, but she doesn't dare to hope, not anymore, not here.
Sometimes they ask about him, and she lies, always lies (never truth), tells them Simon is stupid, Simon doesn't care, she doesn't have a brother, she is no one, and eventually they stop saying his name, stop trying to tempt and torment her with him.
They pull her open and look inside, but they never see the lies, and so she rejoices, and they don't see that either, and he stays safe.
The Lion King
I'm Gonna Smoke You Out
Prompt: The Lion King(1994), Nala, “Whatever comes [...] cannot alter one thing. If I am a princess in rags and tatters, I can be a princess inside."
She grows up in the sneering shadow of Scar, and for a time she's small and frightened as a mouse, feeling small as Zazu and even more defenseless - at least he could fly away (though he never does, even though she's sure he could fit through his bone cage if he wanted), while she's bound to the earth by four clumsy paws with claws too tiny to help her.
She creeps about after her mother, until her mother grows thin and weak, too listless to even twitch her tail to shoo away the constant flies, and then she follows Sirabi, and remembers the friend she used to have.
Sirabi is always proud, always fierce, and it's she who tells Nala, "Remember what you are inside, just as the land remembers having life, and waits even now to bloom again," and after that Nala remembers, and is unafraid when she sets out on her own, in search of food, in search of hope, in search of a way to bring his kingdom down.
Much Ado About Nothing
Bleed for Me
Prompt: Much Ado About Nothing, Claudio (/) & Hero, anything that makes me no longer wish to punch Claudio in the face (alternatively, someone punches Claudio in the face!)
"Unhand me, sir," Beatrice demands, wriggling in Benedick's grip like a fish on the line. The sight of Claudio lying on the ground, his lip split by the force of her blow, is satisfying indeed, but not enough, not when Hero still turns her face from them both and looks to the shadows. "My work here is yet unfinished."
Stardust
Don't Listen to a Word I Say
Prompt: Stardust, Tristan(Tristran)/Yvaine, nothing says "romance" like a kidnapped injured woman (or, Tristan is never allowed to plan date night ever again)
"Tristan," she says suspiciously (right after they've gotten out of the carriage but right before it speeds off without them), "this is most certainly not the Market."
"No," he says, waving his arm to indicate the rather unimpressive scenery of dead trees and rocks around them, "but don't you recognize this spot - it's where we first met!" and she just knows his next words will be a variation on so we can make that trip the right way this time, won't it be romantic?
"Tristan," she says with a sigh, leaning against his shoulder and looking up with a secret smile to her sisters in the sky, "forgive me, but I'd rather just relive the end of that trip, if it's all the same," and it might have been, if he hadn't sent the carriage away; as it was, things turned out very differently from both their expectations (but that's another story altogether).
I present you with 62 fills in various fandoms, as follows:
Anthropomorfic
Believe in Everything You Believe
Prompt: anthropomorfic, paganism/christianity, marriage
At first she loves how he adopts what is hers - her traditions, her decorations, her holy places - and makes them his own, thinking it proof of his love, his devotion to her and her people.
By the time she realizes she has become an afterthought, lost in the depths of his shadow, it is too late, for he rules the world, his and hers combined.
In the shadows, she retreats, and surrenders herself to nature, and waits for him to stumble, for her time in the light to come again.
Soot & Bone
Prompt: anthropomorphic, white smoke/black smoke, conclave
We do not mingle, but still we speak, rising the distance through this brightly painted box.
We are the evidence of prayers, of deals, of deeds, the annunciation of history, one trailing the other.
I will linger on, and wait for you.
We Are Safe When We're Together
Prompt: anthropomorfic, stars/planets, something always brings me back to you/it never takes too long
They dance - in a long, slow spiral, a circle-turn-push-spin that goes on and on, revolving, shining, playing in the shadows of their partners, flirting with darkness only to pass back into the light, bathed in radiance; glowing, pulsing.
You never come near enough, the stars whisper, See how we burn for you? But the planets recede into the dark once more, calling, You never let us go; see how we yearn to be free?, and so they dance on, and never touch.
As Am I, So Are You
Prompt: anthropomorphic, today/tomorrow, the inbetween
I am constantly becoming you.
In the dead quiet of night, in the space between where we blend and meld, there is no you, no me, only us, only we.
Overtake me, kill me, and let me come again.
My Beating Heart Belongs to Your Bones
Prompt: anthropomorfic, March & April, handover
As February recedes into the darkness, March stretches slowly, shaking the snow from her limbs, pulling her feet free of the melting ice, moving forward - creeping at first, then faster and faster until she flies, heading always towards the light.
She's there waiting, as she always is.
"I knew you would come," April says, pale still, just beginning to blush, but even so, she smells of grass and flowers and light, and songbirds hover at her back; when she leans forward to press her warm lips to March's for that one brief moment, she thinks it the sweetest moment of her brief time in the sun, always waiting, always running towards this end for another year.
Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire
I Get Lost
Prompt: Game of Thrones, Daenerys Targaryen, queen
She looks at the blacked bones on the floor before her and wonders what Drogo would have done; sent the man off with an admonition to make more and stronger children, most likely. She had loved her sun-and-stars, but he had been a hard man, as a Khal must be.
Now, Dany begins to realize that there will be times when she must act as a Queen, not a Khalessi.
As Long and Sharp as Yours
Prompt: Game of Thrones/ASOIF, Syrio Forel, the first sword of Bravos does not run
"But what if you were being attacked by a lion?" Arya tries, in her endless attempts to distract him as they practice.
"And what is a lion but a pussycat, if you do not fear?" Syrio responds, slashing at her wrist, her fingers, her knee. "It is the fear that cuts deeper than the claws, boy."
We Were Supposed to Rise Above, but We Sink
Prompt: any, any, IN SPACE! AU
When the seven divisions of the fleet of Westeros begin to turn on each other, the skies grow bright with their folly, spurts of flame flying between them, leaving The Riverlands scorched and blackened, limping through space, barely still flying.
From the massive, curved greatship The Wall, Jon Snow watches the battles and the darkness behind them both, and wonders where in the wide fleet his siblings have scattered, and whether any of them will ever make contact again.
On the moon of Essos named Dothraki Sea, Dany watches the fires burn above, and smiles, for they call her home at last.
Part Two: Turn Your Face into the Storm
"Get out there and fight, Dog!" the boy Admiral shrieks, his voice coming out shrill and breaking, rather than the booming commands of his dead father.
Sandor looks out the bay windows, into the firestorms and explosions taking place on the flight deck, and backs away from his fighter.
"Fuck you," he rasps out, reaching for his belt, groping for his pistol or his flask, he couldn't even say which, "and fuck your fleet, too."
Greek and Roman Mythology
Of Monsters and Men
Prompt: Greek mythology, Perseus & Medusa, pity
The snakes of her hair hiss at his approach, yet she remains still, soft somehow in sleep, and as he raises his sword, he feels, absurdly, some kind of guilt running through him like the waves of the ocean.
Light flashes from his blade on the downswing, catching her across the face, and her eyes fly open, their reflection meeting his for the smallest space of time.
In them is not a monster; merely a woman - and then nothing at all.
You Are Remembered
Prompt: Greek Mythology, Ariadne (/Dionysus), Corona Borealis
She sneers when word of Theseus's excuse reaches her ears (overlooked and forgotten indeed!), but Dionysus strokes her face with sadness in his eyes, and leans to whisper in her ear.
"I will never forget."
Her crown, hanging in a shining bright arc over the world below, is the proof of his words, more immortal than any of them.
On the Sidelines, With My Hands Tied
Prompt: Greek mythology, Iphigenia, I will haunt you like a ghost
“I will follow you,” she says, spitting defiance in his face even as the wind tears at her hair and clothes, as he draws the blade that will end her life. “My shade will haunt you all your life, and every victory you win will turn to ash around you, I vow it.”
There is nothing in Agamemnon's eyes as he shoves her to her knees, not hate or rage, not grief, guilt or fear, and she knows then, as the blade slices her throat, swift and sure, that he is dead already, just as much as she.
The Weight of Us
Prompt: Greek Mythology/Aeneid, Cupid & Aeneas, "Leaving her was a mistake, brother--trust me, I know."
Lavinia's skin smells ever like smoke, like the smoke he sees still in his dreams, rising in a plume of ash and death on the wind that drove his ships from Dido's shores.
He prays to the gods to remove this stain from his soul, so that he might give his heart over to his wife in honesty, and not lay another face over hers in the darkness behind his eyes when they lie together.
Sometimes he thinks he can feel his half brother's eyes on him, hear the accusing words, just on the edge of a wind from the south, sighing, Twice I gave you love and you have lost it; why should I spend my arrows for you now? and so he knows if there is love to be built here, he must build it himself, and know it for purely his own.
Those Unbroken
Prompt: Greek Mythology, Hecuba (& Odysseus), vestiges of kindness
(bonus: in the version of the fall of Troy where she isn't...turned into a dog somehow, Hecuba is given to Odysseus as a slave, and yet, in the Odyssey, he never mentions her once. What happened there?)
She's still dangerous, of course - a woman who was a Queen can never be just a woman again, but is always something more, the crown on her head never quite invisible - and Hecuba is more dangerous than most, by far, for she remains unbroken, and bitter to the bone.
Still, he can't help feeling something akin to pity for her, though he knows she'd not thank him for it, would throw it back in his face like so much refuse.
So when his captives are brought aboard his ships for the journey home, he unlocks her fetters himself, and looks the other way as she walks (of course she walks; her pride, more than her age, will not allow her to run) away, and tells himself she would be more trouble than he needs on his voyage home in any case; all he wants is peaceful sailing.
You Pick Up the Pieces and the Ghosts in the Attic
Prompt: Greek Mythology, Eros/Psyche, And of course I forgive/I've seen how you live/Like a phoenix you rise from the ashes
For a time, any lamplight is hateful, nearly as hateful as his mother's soft, triumphant smiles, but this changes the day he hears the flowers speak to him with the voice of his half-sister; from her throne deep below the earth, her voice whispers, foolish boy, you fault your love for betraying trust where none was given?
Do you not care to know what has become of her, how she has died and returned for love of you? the voice calls, and he finds, rubbing the scarred patch of skin at his shoulder, that he does want her still, very much.
And so he goes to seek her out, and raise the sparks of their love once more.
My Golden Star
Prompt: Greek Mythology, Creusa and Cassandra, I had a sister lovely in my sight
Cassandra watches her sister sometimes and thinks her like a star, steady and quiet but brilliant and beautiful all the same, and pities her, as she pities them all, all those she loves who will fall, one by one; this sister she always sees through a haze of flames and smoke, distant screams and creeping panic.
Still, she envies her too, envies Creusa the love she sees as well, the embrace of a husband in the night, the sticky kisses of a child, the sweetness of a life and family all her own; all the things Cassandra will never have, not even for a mere handful of years.
“You deserve better, sister,” she says, and though Creusa smiles absently and pats her hand, barely hearing what her sister has said, Cassandra still feels absurdly guilty; whether she means Creusa deserves a better sister or a better fate, even she could not say.
Historical RPF
The Whole World Over
Prompt: anyone, anyone, "the truth is this: / my love for you / is the only empire i will ever build" (Ancient Rome RPF, Octavian/Agrippa)
"Why don't you take it?" Octavian asks drowsily, honest with wine and sleep as he rarely is awake and sober. "You could; you won it, after all, as everyone knows."
Agrippa sighs, and pulls him closer, murmuring, "Because it's all for you."
What Holds Us Together
Prompt: Historical RPS, Octavian/Agrippa, all we are is skin and bones/trained to get alone (Taylor Swift)
"You've been hurt," Octavian says, and Agrippa can't quite hear if he's truly concerned or merely annoyed, or perhaps a bit of both, as usual.
"Only a scratch," he replies, looking down at the red line across his arm, though it stings with dust and grit and sweat.
Octavian's fingers are cool as he slides them over the broken skin, pale white (he's always so pale, no matter how bright the sun in the places they campaign) staining red as they go, the two of them mingling into one.
Two Plus One
Prompt: Historical RPF, Octavian/Mark Antony/Lepidus, hatesex
"I still despise you, you know," Octavian says, arranging the folds of his toga.
"Thank the gods," Antony responds, still reclining on the couch, "as the feeling is entirely mutual."
I've never liked either of you, Lepidus thinks to say, but he watches the way the other two glare at each other and knows the only response he's like to receive is, Oh, are you still here?
Webs and Snares
Prompt: Historical RPF, Octavian/Lepidus, accidental marriage
"It was an accident to marry my sister to Antony," Octavian says in the darkness, his fingers still absently stroking Lepidus's arm, and Lepidus rolls his eyes at the phrasing, noting that accident is not the same at all as mistake.
Octavian rises and lights a lamp, the better to dress himself as he continues, "I only meant to bind him more closely, but it's turning into quite a disaster."
Lepidus watches him leave, and does not need to ask the question in his mind of just how much of this is Octavian's way of binding him.
I Will Not Sink, But Rise Instead
Prompt: Historical RPF, Cleopatra, I will go down with this ship/I won't put my hands up/and surrender (Dido, "White Flag")
She fingers the lid of the basket and thinks; she knows what Octavian will say of her if she does this thing (because she knows Octavian, far better than he ever knew her, or cared to), knows he will call her coward, say she feared the might of Rome (she remembers Antony's blood on her hands, the confusion in his eyes, and knows if anything, it is the foolishness of Rome, its belief in honor and tradition that has undone her), that she was forced to flee to the one place he could not follow.
Still, she knows this is all the choice that remains to her, to end her life on her own terms, as she has always lived it.
Death is no surrender, she thinks, lifting the basket lid and plunging her hand inside, only a new beginning.
Halcyon Days These Could Be
Prompt: Medieval History, Llewelyn ap Gruffydd/Ellen de Montfort , the myth of Ceyx and Alcyone
He takes her walking along the riverbank, and she marvels at the wild beauty of his country - now that she is finally here, she understands why he fights so hard for it, the passion that ties him to the land - nearly as much as she marvels at him, at the turn her life has finally, finally taken.
He stills her suddenly with a hand on her arm and a finger to her lips (oh, how she loves that he finally has the right to touch her) and points to a small hollow in the bank, where a bright little kingfisher sits in its nest - at peace, she thinks, like us, hidden away in its tiny corner of the earth, safe and sound, and she knows this isn't true (she's known nowhere was safe since the night her father died, and her cousin began to haunt her dreams), but just for now, just for this moment, she wants desperately to believe it can be.
Her lips curve beneath his fingers, and she guides his other hand to her belly, watching his eyes light up in understanding and joy, and prays please, please.
A Crusade
Prompt: The Lion in Winter OR Medieval English History, Henry II/Eleanor of Aquitaine, I marvel at you
"Bare breasted?" Henry murmurs, closely inspecting the parts in question.
"Like the Amazons of old," Eleanor responds, threading her fingers into the red of his hair, "and Louis may not have appreciated it, but his troops damn well did."
Henry looks up at her with something halfway between lust and amazement in his face, and says, "If I go to war with France, will you ride along?" and she laughs and pushes his head further down, and marvels that this man could possibly be so perfect.
For a Crown
Prompt: RPF-Richard III; "It's a Tudor plot."
"You say that about everything, Uncle," Elizabeth says, shaking her head slowly, and he can't stand the way she looks at him, her eyes huge and full of unshed tears; if she began to look at him with fear, he thinks he could not possibly bear it. "What of your wife Anne, was her death a Tudor plot as well?"
His eyes close against the sting of her words, and he knows then that she does not fear him, not at all - but perhaps she should, for he clearly can't keep them safe; not his beloved Anne, not his nephews in the Tower, and even this sweet girl in her sanctuary - all he can do is hope, and pray God he's not yet been abandoned by all.
Our Brother, the Donkey
Prompt: I suspect a particularly clever donkey could have outwitted George (Historical RPF, York brothers)
“George, that...is not your horse,” Richard said, trying manfully to hold back his laughter.
George peered at him suspiciously, leaning on the animal for support, one hand loosely clutching a goblet of wine, and said, “Don't be a fool, little brother - I think I know my own horsh when I shee him.”
“You ass,” Edward responded, rolling his eyes, “that is, in fact, an ass you're leaning on, and unless I'm highly mistaken, you did not ride that creature into battle - also, he is drinking from your wine.”
I Will Wait for You
Prompt: Medieval English History, Richard III/Anne Neville, He lives that loves thee better than [Edward] could.
"Dead?" she repeats foolishly, unable to believe she is now a widow, that they haven't perhaps mixed up the Edwards, though hers and Richard's are little enough alike.
But Yes, she hears, and, killed by the brother, they say, the hunchbacked one, devil take him, and then, oh then Anne believes it.
She sinks to her knees in thanks, thinking of Richard's crooked shoulders and powerful arms, and shivers, and prays for the patience to wait.
As It Might Have Been
Prompt: Medieval English History, Richard III/Anne Neville, we are young
"What will it be like when we are married, do you think?" Anne asks, tiny and delicate as a bird, perched on the window seat of her mother's solar, her little feet swinging under the edge of her skirt.
Richard can hear the clamor of the other boys rising up from the training yard; he knows he will be mocked if found here, yet he can't bring himself to care - Anne is much better company that any of the boys, even at her tender age.
"Why, it will be splendid, my lady," he says, stretching and trying to ignore the pain in his back that seems to grow every day, grateful that he does not need to ignore Anne's look, because she alone never seems to notice the way his shoulders twist more with each month, each inch that he grows, "and we will be the happiest people in all the realm, and have a dozen plump children," and Anne giggles, and shyly takes his hand in hers.
Rarely I Weep, Sometimes I Must
Prompt: Medieval English History, Richard III/Anne Neville, we are young (Second fill)
He finds her in tears in her bedchamber, heaving with gasping sobs, and when he kneels at her feet and asks in that sad, desperate voice what has happened, the only word she can manage to choke out is a soft, "Blood."
All in a moment, his face clears, and he smiles gently at her, stroking her cheek and saying, "But we are young still, my dear Anne - there will be other babes yet, you'll see, and no need to weep over your woman's blood so."
He is called away then, and leaves with a kiss pressed to her cheek; she manages a tremulous smile for him and clutches her hand tighter around her bloodied handkerchief, trying to breathe deeply, trying not to cough again, trying desperately to keep her secret from him just a little longer.
I Pray for Home (and Home Is You)
Prompt: Medieval History, Richard/Anne Neville, journeys end in...
When she hears that he has fled across the Channel in Edward's wake (always in Edward's wake, but she must not be bitter, even as she thinks on Isabel and knows she will never, ever understand that bond), she tries to pray, but ends in silence on her knees, uncertain whether to pray for his return or his safety; she knows the two to be incompatible.
When he hears of her marriage, he keeps his silence (Edward expects him to rage and shout, to curse Warwick and the Lancasters to the deepest depths of hell, because this is what Edward himself would do), and flees all company, ending up somehow in a dingy chapel on his knees, unsure whether to pray that she is happy or that she is not; either would break his own heart.
When they are married, it is all a blur to both, the quiet ceremony and supper, the shy smiles and glances they are finally free to exchange in the chapel, on their knees before the altar; in their marriage bed afterward, they face each other kneeling once more with whole hearts, and begin the process of healing one another, one sweet touch at a time.
To Endure
Prompt: Ancient World History, Hatshepshut, persistence of memory
They chisel away her images and her name, try to make her forbidden, forgotten, vanished.
But the forbidden is a lure, and the land has a long memory, and even things buried by the sands may come to light again in time.
She will not be destroyed.
Chronicles of Narnia
On This Winter's Night With You
Prompt: Narnia, any (+/any), we've got mistletoe and firelight/on this cold December night (Cor/Aravis)
Yule is a completely new experience for Aravis; so is snow, and roasted chestnuts, and Father Christmas, and so much more, until she feels her head will burst or her fingers fall off from the chill that's worked its way into her very bones, so much worse than even the desert at midnight.
So when Cor comes along, speaking of another new tradition to show her (he deals so much better than she with the climate and culture, but then, he was born, if not raised, to it) she protests, even when he pulls her along in her heavy wool robes to a room with a roaring fire burning, hot as the Calormene sands.
"It's a lovely treat," she says, "but honestly Cor, even a fire this large can't really be called anything new," and that's when he gives her that cheeky grin, points to a bit of greenery tacked to the doorframe above them, and gives her the gift of his first kiss.
And I Know it Was Wrong When I Said it Was True
Prompt: Narnia, Lucy, anger
"Well, you aren't a traitor," she insists, her face flushed, sucking on the knuckle she'd split open.
"I do appreciate your defense, sister dear," Edmund says, trying not to laugh, "but was it really necessary to punch the ambassador in the nose?"
She doesn't take so much as a moment to consider before she responds, "Absolutely."
The Point and the Circle
Prompt: Narnia: Narnia fandom; you're doing it wrong
“You miss the point entirely,” sniff those wrapped in lion skins, seated high above. “You're ruining the story.”
Those wearing the leaves of dryads and the skin of nature turn their backs and huddle close, extending leafy fingers and branches out until they form a circle, and all that grows within is peace, and harmony, and joy.
Throw Those Curtains Wide
Prompt: Narnia, Caspian/Peter, anyway, it's looking like a beautiful day
They're both tired and aching when they wake, covered in bruises and scrapes (and, Peter notes, a few stray love bites here and there - Caspian is a bit overzealous in the dark), but the sun is rising over their kingdom, and they're still alive and free, all at the same time.
“What a magnificent day,” Caspian murmurs, drowsy still, and Peter laughs inwardly, both at the use of his title (unconscious, he's certain) and the innocence that's in Caspian still.
“One day like this a year is about all you can hope for,” he says, stretching out in the morning sunlight, trying to ignore all the aches and focus only on the sweet, “but you'll see, somehow it'll be enough.”
That Wretched Hollow Feeling
Prompt: Narnia, Susan (+/ any), never even noticed we're suddenly crumbling
The third time Ed and Peter nearly come to blows, and Lucy valiantly holds back tears as a child of her age should not be able to manage, Susan follows Edmund out to the gardens.
"I don't know what's wrong with us, Su," he says without looking at her, his head tipped back against the wall, the shadows running along his child's jaw in a way that makes her face recall the scrape of his stubble, back when he had to bend to embrace her.
"We used to be kings and queens," she says, sitting beside him, repressing the urge to spread invisible skirts, "and now we've crumbled back down to this, and have to make the best of it, and remember who we are."
Dressed Down and Foolish
Prompt: Narnia, girl!Edmund and boy!Lucy, hijinks
"Edie, have you put frogs in my bed again?" Luke calls, and hears his sister giggling madly from the next room.
Once the laughter would have been malicious, her intent to send him shrieking from his bed like a child, embarrassing himself before the castle.
Now though, there's nothing in her giggles but childish glee, and though his sheets are a bit damp (and perhaps a touch slimy as well, truth be told), Luke finds that somehow he doesn't mind so much - though perhaps tomorrow he'll have a chat with the rats, see if they can't be convinced that yes, of course Edie would welcome their company at night.
Get Me Through the Night
Prompt: Narnia, Any, vampire!AU (following edenfalling's fills here in which Edmund was turned into a vampire by Jadis)
"You wear such high collars, sweet lady," Rabadash whispers, his finger tracing the edge of said collar, flaring up over Susan's elegant white throat. "They will not suit you in the heat of Tashbaan."
She smiles, and brushes his fingers aside with a practiced gesture and a smooth excuse, and makes her way towards her own chambers, her fingers already undoing the buttons at the base of her throat; the days are long and hot in the desert, and Edmund will be hungry.
Tolkien-verse
No More Ever I Spoke
Prompt: Lord of the Rings; Arwen, Rivendell, time travel, archeology
She thinks of returning, once he's dead and gone and her life turns blank, leeched of color and joy. She thinks of sitting in the halls of her father's house until they grow bare and empty as her heart, dusty and disused, with only the echoes of love and memory to sustain her, until she is as one of the statues in the gardens, an object of curiosity, of a past long forgotten by all who remain.
In the end she rejects this, and travels forward rather than back; she is yet made of softer things than stone, and he awaits her still, beyond the endless shores of the world.
We Will Keep You
Prompt: LotR, Frodo/Nimrodel, lost and found
"I lost my whole world," she says, "and everything in it."
"Maybe it's not meant to be found," he responds, staring over the salt waves, the spray misting in his curls. "Perhaps you're meant to create one anew."
The Striped Wanderer
Prompt: Where's Waldo/LOTR, Waldo & Aragorn, Not all those who wander are lost
The hooded man narrows his eyes, puffs on his short pipe, and says, "A friend of Bombadil, then?" eying Waldo's striped garb, his bright hat.
Waldo shakes his head and leaves the Bree inn, in search of a place with taller folk, where he might blend in, be less conspicuous. Perhaps this Bombadil will have the answers; until then, he's content to wander.
Too Good for That
Prompt: Lord of the Rings, Gandalf & Belladonna Took, Discussing Bilbo as a young child
“He's growing up so much like his father,” Belladonna says with a sigh, “as interested in the contents of the pantry as anything else.”
He knows she's happy here, as happy as it's possible for a hobbit to be (which is very happy indeed), filled to the brim with love of her husband, and their little son, and the hole built in tribute to her, but there's still a gleam in her eyes when she looks over the hills, and a longing in her sighs.
“Well, we'll have to see what can be done about that; it wouldn't do for the son of Belladonna Took to be dull,” Gandalf says, blowing out a smoke ring and giving her a wink, heartened by the grin she gives in return.
You're the Hunger in My Bones
Prompt: Silmarillion, Varda/Manwe, fire and light
His mind burns with the flames of wisdom; she thinks she can see the sparks in his eyes at times, and from them she takes the inspiration for her stars, spilling his sparks across the sky.
He smiles when she tells him this ( but does not laugh, he whose smiles are given so generously, but laughs so rarely, knowing too much), and fingers the dark smoke of her hair, so like the dark blanket of the heavens.
"Varda, my love, the light is all your own, and the fire too, I think," he says, and she sees the truth of this, too, shining reflected in his eyes.
Somewhere the Sun Shines and Birds Fly
Prompt: Silmarillion, Elwing, flight
She breathes deep of the sea and salt; the wind blows from the waves, and blocks the scents of blood and fear and fire behind her.
She hears their approach at her back, feels it in the heat of the gem, throbbing at her breast, glowing bright as a star, blocking their darkness.
She tastes the salt tang - from the ocean spray, from her tears, from the weeping of the very land for her people, she could not say - turns to face these sons of Feanor, these dispossessed (as they have dispossessed her, as they would do again), and falls beyond them, into oblivion, never expecting to fly.
Until I've Given You Up
Prompt: Silmarillion/any, any & any, blue (Silm/Narnia, Maglor/Susan)
“I used to have a brother with eyes blue as the sea,” Susan says, as the waves come in closer and closer to where they sit in the sands.
“Mine all had eyes like the sea in a storm,” Maglor says, his own closed as if to see in memory, a faint smile on his lips.
Sometimes she thinks she can see these brothers he speaks of in his face, or in his gestures, a certain turn of phrase; she wonders if he ever senses Peter in her boldness, or Edmund in her sly jokes, Lucy in her laughter, and she prays it's so, though she's too afraid to ask, too afraid no one sees them now but her, alone in the depths of her memories.
Safe to Shore
Prompt: Silmarillion, any of the Sons of Fëanor, for the love of a father (Maglor/Susan)
"Why did you ever leave such a wonderful place?" she asks, after he tells her about Valinor, shining and perfect beyond imagining on its hills, with sweeter music echoing through its cities than he could ever produce.
"Because I loved my father," he answers, tightening his maimed hand into a fist, feeling the pain burn deep still after all these centuries, even as it must have burned his father at his end. "Have you never loved anything that much?" he asks, and she says, "You know I have," and settles herself against him with a sigh, her eyes seeing a land far removed.
All That Stares Back at You
Prompt: Narnia/LOTR, Susan/Maglor, zombie hunters
It takes sharp eyes to see the dead ones for what they truly are before they're at your throat (by then of course, it's much too late), eyes that have seen the Two Trees or the face of the Lion.
“Or maybe,” Susan says, fletching another batch of arrows, “it takes the eyes of those who live but should be dead too, by all rights.”
Her husband frowns, and says nothing, and sharpens his sword, the bright glint in his eyes shining stronger than ever.
Something Like a Hero
Prompt: Narnia/Silmarillion, Susan/Maglor, unexpected solace
He'd wondered many times over if he was going mad (if he'd already gone mad, and was yet unaware), wandering the western shores as the shape of the world changed, and changed again, until the memory of Valinor seemed a dream (and his father, and brothers - surely he'd had brothers once, and children, two little boys whose images fill him with unaccountable guilt) and there is nothing left but for the songs in his heart, and the burn in his hand.
The gem is the one thing he never forgets; the way it blazed in his hand, pulsing with life and glory and the eternal, everything he'd lost the right to deserve.
When she comes to him, and lays her hands on his brow, and whispers words in his ear in a tongue he does not know, he sees the gem's echoes in her, and feels the clear chill of sanity break over him once more, and knows his long solitude is ended; maybe, he thinks, it is possible to be absolved after all.
I Know that You Caved In, and Surrendered to Your Nature
Prompt: Silmarillion/Narnia, Susan/Maglor, look at the stars, my dear
"A cousin of mine is a star," he says, staring up at the glittering sky spilled out before them. "His wife jumped off a cliff to escape me."
She does not ask why; his answers for what he has done, so long ago it seems another life, always return to his oath, to compulsion, to the horrible need to obey, and this she thinks she understands, remembering a Witch's words claiming her brother's life while her siblings stood silent beside a lion (but not me, her mind whispers; I spoke), remembering leaving behind a world and a life that had been hers forever because the lion spoke, and she obeyed; she knows what it is to be deprived of choice, and so she forgives without asking.
The West Wing
A President and His Cheese
Prompt: The West Wing, Abby/Jed, not a typical marriage
"Ma petit fromage," she snorts, in bed later (much later) that night, snickering like a girl. "I can't believe you called me that - you need French lessons, Jed."
Yeah, cause I got all the time in the world for that, he thinks of saying, but doesn't, instead opting for the much more diplomatic, "You know, sweetheart, that's what I've always loved about you, your biting sense of humor and the way you use it against me," and Abbey just snickers again and snuggles closer.
In One of These Boxes...
Prompt: The West Wing, Josh/Donna, keeping things in boxes.
"I never want to see another box again," Donna mutters, rolling the cool glass of a beer bottle across her neck (Josh watches the way strands of hair have escaped her bun and cling to the glass, growing damp, and thinks).
"In that case," he says thoughtfully, sipping from his own bottle, "maybe I shouldn't mention this..."
"No," she says forcefully, cutting him off, "I am not helping you move this weekend, don't even ask."
I Refuse to Believe That It's Hopeless
Prompt: The West Wing, CJ/Danny, he would wait forever for her
“Though I'd prefer not to, you know,” he says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, fingers drumming on the edge of her desk, perilously close to the fishbowl. “Gail here really ought to see us married, and goldfish don't live forever, CJ.”
She doesn't have the heart to inform him that the current Gail is, in fact, Gail VI; she's got just enough heart to kiss him and ask without words if he'll wait just a little longer, another month, another session of Congress, another term, because she knows he always will, in spite of everything.
There's Something Believing
Prompt: The West Wing, Toby Ziegler + Josiah Bartlett, In the season 4 finale ("Twenty Five," 4.22), Toby finally understands what it means to be a father.
He's still pretty sure it has something to do with little hats.
But as he stares at the television, watching silent, still pictures of a family he's known for half a dozen years now, and the two incredible tiny beings lying before him that he helped create, he can't help feeling an overwhelming tide of emotion for them, even though he's only known them a scant half dozen hours.
Andi said he's too sad, and maybe he is, but not right now - now he's loving, and protective, and so very filled with rage - not on behalf of the President, but on behalf of another father - that the pictures on tv and his babies blur in front of his eyes into one.
No Concern of Yours
Prompt: The West Wing, Donna/Josh, keeping secrets
She's seen him angry before - hell, she's seen him angry at her before, plenty of times - but this thing with the diary is different, because where Josh's anger is usually boiling hot, this time he's cold, and it's making her afraid.
"Did you read it all?" she asks, staring off into the blurred street lights while they wait for Cliff to show, wondering whether it would be better if he had or if he hadn't.
He doesn't answer for a minute, and then he says, "No, only the Cliff parts - and lemme tell you, Donna, I think that guy needs to work on his technique, if your reporting is accurate," and she watches his breath steaming on the air and knows he's lying, and all her secrets are out.
Aladdin
Weaving Spells
Prompt: Aladdin(1992), Genie&Carpet, how they first met
"I wish this carpet could fly!" the girl (his sixteenth master...or is it seventeenth, or eighteenth - it's getting difficult to remember) screams, after the rolled up rug gets tossed off the balcony, with her still rolled up inside.
A second later and the carpet is soaring instead of dropping, tassels flapping in the wind, and he says, "I told you so - those people don't like suspicious gifts, even when they don't come with spy-flavored filling, and besides, the pattern on that thing - ugh!"
She glares at him, which is not unexpected (he's going to have to learn to stop insulting his masters one day, if he ever means to be free), but the funny thing is, he's pretty sure the rug's glaring too, and suddenly he wonders if this sheepish, uncomfortable guilt is what it feels like to be a parent who's just inadvertently insulted their own child.
Army of Darkness
Breaking In
Prompt: Army of Darkness, Ash/Sheila, a brief example of Ash's pillow talk.
"That was some damn good sugar, baby," he says, panting.
He's snoring before her own breathing slows enough to respond, but she supposes that's alright.
She's just grateful he doesn't wear the chainsaw to bed.
Beauty and the Beast
Chasing Down an Anodyne
Prompt: Beauty and the Beast, Belle/Beast, Greek mythology
She thinks at times of the tale of Eros and Psyche, the bride who feared her beautiful lover was a monster, and shone forbidden light on him to prove to herself it was not so.
Belle knows her love is a monster, by day or night, in light or darkness; he is constant, not changing with the sun or the waning of the moon or any other such tricks.
Still, she cannot help but wonder what she might find if she could shine a light on him and reveal what she believes - what she knows - must truly be under his skin, the beautiful man lost inside her monster.
The Decemberists - The Crane Wife
All Clothed in a Snowy Shroud
Prompt: The Decemberists, The Crane Wife, "and all I meant to do/ was to keep you"
When he runs his hands through the deep black of her hair, they come away with bits of down clinging to the tips, caught on the ragged edges of his nails.
He laughs and says they must need new bedding, for theirs is shedding, and soon their bed will look like a bird's nest, a soft explosion of feathers like a fresh coating of snow.
He does not notice her pained look, the strain in her wide eyes; he does not notice the red threads in their new bedding either, not until she's flown away, leaving only her downy feathers as proof she was ever his.
Downton Abbey
Never Was the Fantasy
Prompt: Downton Abbey, Mary Crawley, winter
If Sybil is the summer - bright and warm, open and inviting - and Edith autumn - flashes of brilliance, but mostly quite dreary - Mary thinks she herself must surely be the winter, cold and still and bleak, dead and frozen before her time. She sees the chill inside her reflected from all around, from Patrick who she never gave a thought to, from her father to whom she is almost, but not quite, perfect, from all those who look at her and see only the bite of frost, until she believes it is all she is, that she can never thaw.
She's wrong, in the end; Matthew, it turns out, is the spring.
Firefly
Made a Mess of Me
Prompt: Firefly, River Tam, "Can't carry love with you if you want to survive"
She sends the letters, but she doesn't dare to hope, not anymore, not here.
Sometimes they ask about him, and she lies, always lies (never truth), tells them Simon is stupid, Simon doesn't care, she doesn't have a brother, she is no one, and eventually they stop saying his name, stop trying to tempt and torment her with him.
They pull her open and look inside, but they never see the lies, and so she rejoices, and they don't see that either, and he stays safe.
The Lion King
I'm Gonna Smoke You Out
Prompt: The Lion King(1994), Nala, “Whatever comes [...] cannot alter one thing. If I am a princess in rags and tatters, I can be a princess inside."
She grows up in the sneering shadow of Scar, and for a time she's small and frightened as a mouse, feeling small as Zazu and even more defenseless - at least he could fly away (though he never does, even though she's sure he could fit through his bone cage if he wanted), while she's bound to the earth by four clumsy paws with claws too tiny to help her.
She creeps about after her mother, until her mother grows thin and weak, too listless to even twitch her tail to shoo away the constant flies, and then she follows Sirabi, and remembers the friend she used to have.
Sirabi is always proud, always fierce, and it's she who tells Nala, "Remember what you are inside, just as the land remembers having life, and waits even now to bloom again," and after that Nala remembers, and is unafraid when she sets out on her own, in search of food, in search of hope, in search of a way to bring his kingdom down.
Much Ado About Nothing
Bleed for Me
Prompt: Much Ado About Nothing, Claudio (/) & Hero, anything that makes me no longer wish to punch Claudio in the face (alternatively, someone punches Claudio in the face!)
"Unhand me, sir," Beatrice demands, wriggling in Benedick's grip like a fish on the line. The sight of Claudio lying on the ground, his lip split by the force of her blow, is satisfying indeed, but not enough, not when Hero still turns her face from them both and looks to the shadows. "My work here is yet unfinished."
Stardust
Don't Listen to a Word I Say
Prompt: Stardust, Tristan(Tristran)/Yvaine, nothing says "romance" like a kidnapped injured woman (or, Tristan is never allowed to plan date night ever again)
"Tristan," she says suspiciously (right after they've gotten out of the carriage but right before it speeds off without them), "this is most certainly not the Market."
"No," he says, waving his arm to indicate the rather unimpressive scenery of dead trees and rocks around them, "but don't you recognize this spot - it's where we first met!" and she just knows his next words will be a variation on so we can make that trip the right way this time, won't it be romantic?
"Tristan," she says with a sigh, leaning against his shoulder and looking up with a secret smile to her sisters in the sky, "forgive me, but I'd rather just relive the end of that trip, if it's all the same," and it might have been, if he hadn't sent the carriage away; as it was, things turned out very differently from both their expectations (but that's another story altogether).