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Title: This earth I rise from
Fandom: Cinderella
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Sylvia Plath
Warnings: character death; AU
Pairings: Cinderella/the prince
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 700
Point of view: third
Prompt: author's choice, author's choice, beware the anger of a patient man


Jocelyn's mother had been the sweetest woman in the world. She was the beloved only child of minor nobility and earned the devotion of the second son of a duke. They were wed in the spring and Jocelyn joined them three years later.

Jocelyn’s life was quite happy until her mother developed a cough in the winter of her sixth year; she soon wasted away, no matter what the healers hired by her father tried.

(When she is older and wiser, Jocelyn will know the signs of a curse. But her father was blind, and the healers’ tongues could not speak the words. Such is the power of magick.)

Jocelyn’s mother was buried with due ceremony in the late months of winter and her father remarried the next summer. Jocelyn’s stepmother was the daughter of a count and with daughters from her first marriage to a marquess who were three and two years older than Jocelyn.

Until her father’s death, her stepmother was kind. But in Jocelyn’s eighth year, her father died in a rainstorm when a branch fell as he hurried back from a town meeting.

(When she is older and wiser, Jocelyn will know the signs of a curse.)



The first servant dismissed was Jocelyn’s nurse. The last was the cook. While Jocelyn scrubbed the floor and washed every piece of cloth in the manor, her stepmother and stepsisters had lessons behind closed doors that burned the very air – she could feel it. For three years, she did not know what it meant.



When Jocelyn was eleven, she met her fairy godmother.

“Oh, you poor child!” the winged woman wailed. “How brokenhearted your mother would be! Sweet Carolyn’s daughter a servant!”

“Slave, actually,” Jocelyn corrected her, annoyed. “Servants get paid.”

Her godmother wailed louder. Jocelyn waited until she calmed and then asked gently, “How may I help you, milady?”



Twice a week for eight years, Jocelyn learned magick. As she grew more skilled, she recognized the signs of magick all over her parents’ home. Her stepsisters grew ever more beautiful – magically enhanced, she could tell now. While she herself grew ever plainer.

She knew now the signs of a curse.



When the proclamation went throughout the realm that the prince would be seeking a bride at a ball, Jocelyn’s stepmother and stepsisters began to plan.

Jocelyn asked if she could attend, as she was still the daughter of a noble, and her stepmother said she could – if she finished all her work on time and had something suitable to wear. Her stepsisters then insured she did not. Jocelyn tearfully watched them leave in her mother’s carriage.

Once they were gone, she wiped away her tears and went to work.



Jocelyn started in the wine cellar. Her godmother arrived when she was in her stepmother’s suite and demanded, “Girl, what are you doing?”

“Cleansing,” Jocelyn said. “For too long, there has been a blight on my parents’ house.”

“This is dark magick!” her godmother protested. “I did not teach you this!”

“You taught me, godmother, that magick is in the intent.” She laughed softly. “My intent is pure.”

“I cannot allow you to do this,” her godmother said sadly, pulling out her wand.

“I beg your pardon,” Jocelyn murmured. “Begone.”

In Jocelyn’s house, with her magick anchored into the earth, there is no other master. Her godmother was banished, never allowed to return.



Her stepfamily returned, the prince halfway in love with her older stepsister. Had they never set foot again in the house, it is entirely possible that all would have been well. Jocelyn is merciful.

But they stepped in, stepmother and then stepsisters, and Jocelyn’s magick enacted her will.



In the spring of her twentieth year, Jocelyn attended court for the first time. She was beautiful in a golden dress, her dark hair piled onto her head. She caught the prince’s eye. She didn’t even need her magick.



In the summer of her twenty-sixth year, Jocelyn’s husband ascended the throne and she became queen. Her godmother attended the coronation.

“What happened to Carolyn’s sweet child?” her godmother asked, distraught.

Jocelyn smiled at her, oh so gently. “She survived, godmother.” With a glance to her husband, Jocelyn said, “She thrived.”


Title: from dust I have sprung
Fandom: Marvel movies
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Lord Byron
Warnings: post-Cap2. talk of brainwashing/torture/death.
Pairings: implied pre and post-Steve/Bucky
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 505
Point of view: third
Prompt: Any, any, I brought some marshmallows. Let's burn this world down


He finds Bucky in one of Hydra's training facilities, staring at one of those goddamned chairs surrounded by dead and dying Hydra agents.

“I’m not who you knew,” Bucky says without looking at him. Bucky laughs; it sounds rusty, painful. “I remember Frankenstein, you know. The man that was, he loved that book. Frankenstein and the monster.”

Steve says, “Frankenstein was the monster.”

At that, Bucky turns to look at him. “I’m not done yet,” he says. “Maybe I never will be. I’m not stopping till they’re all dead and burned.”

Steve nods. “You mind if I tag along?”

Sam’s gone home. Steve doesn’t answer calls from Stark or Fury anymore. Natasha still texts him sometimes, but she’s busy trying to save Barton from whatever mess he’s in. Coulson (who, somehow, is not dead? seems to be the year for resurrections) has taken over SHIELD and is trying to rebuild it from the ground up, which… Steve’s tabled that rage, for now. There’s only so much anger a body can take. Sharon (who is Peggy’s niece? that’s awesome, Fury, thank you for that mindfuck) told him that she was sorry, but his visits were causing Peggy stress, and now that he’s been chasing Bucky around the globe, he can’t make it in anymore, anyway.

“This isn’t a back alley,” Bucky says.

“I know that,” Steve says, choking down the tears that won’t help here. “This is war, Bucky.”

Bucky flinches. “I’m not that guy,” he says, shaking his head. “Don’t call me that.”

“Okay.” Steve takes a step closer, smiling when Bu—he doesn’t move back. “What do you wanna be called, then?”

“I saw the exhibit. You said -- James Buchanan Barnes.” He glances at Steve and then looks down. “You said, You’re my friend.”

“I am your friend.” Steve risks another step. “It doesn’t matter what those bastards did, or what you call yourself, or even what you do, now that you’ve got your mind back. I’ve lived without you for two years and I’m not gonna anymore.” He exhales noisily. “Not unless you send me away.”

“James,” Steve’s oldest friend says. “It’s the name his mother gave us.” He darts a glance at Steve. “Is that accurate?”

Steve nods, smiling. “The guy I knew, he didn’t wanna go by it because there were so many James’ around, but it’s what your mama called you.”

“James,” Steve’s oldest friend says again. “Call me James. And you’re Steve.”

“Hey, James,” Steve says. “Nice to meet you.” He gaze slides from James to that fucking chair. “You mind if I destroy that thing?”

James turns back to look at it. “I remembered you,” he says. “And they took it away. Over and over and over again. I didn’t – I never fought them, after. I just… let them take everything away.” His arm whirs as he clenches his hand into a fist. “They’re all gonna die, Steve.”

Steve made a promise, once. Instead of keeping it, he crashed a plane.

So he says, “Sounds good to me.”



Title: seal the hushed casket of my soul
Fandom: Marvel movies
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Keats
Warnings: Post-Cap2. talk of torture/brainwashing/death
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 290
Point of view: third
Prompt: any, any, Judge if you want. / We are all going to die. / I intend to deserve it.


They took a decent man, stripped him of everything but the skills hard-won in war, poured in intel and frost, taught him to obey, and then unleashed him on their enemies.

(No. He was never unleashed. He was tethered the whole time but didn't have the awareness to recognize it.)

The world thinks he’s a monster.

There is no leash, now. There’s only the ice thawing, the man opening his own eyes after decades of forced sleep inside his own body.

He was a decent man. He almost remembers, sometimes. He was a decent man, an exemplary soldier, a good friend. And he was a terrifyingly effective weapon.

He can have no life, now. He’s aware enough to realize that. If he’s found, he’ll either be the scapegoat for everything and put down or wiped again to be someone else’s weapon.

He’s no one’s weapon, now. No one but his own. Never again anyone’s but his own.

They spent a great deal of time turning him into a ghost. He turns it back on them.

He will self-terminate before allowing anyone to capture him, but until then, he’s going to hunt down all the rats and the heads and the people who thought it was a good idea to take a decent man and strip him of everything that made him decent.

(It took a long time. He remembers that. Bucky Barnes was a pretty swell guy. That last day he could call himself Bucky Barnes, all he’d had left was his hatred. Then they took even that.)

After the implementation of Project Insight, Project Winter Soldier would be obsolete and terminated. He knows they waited too long.

He takes great joy in making sure they know it, too.



Title: I want to be there when the desert blooms
Fandom: Marvel movies
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Matilyn Singer
Warnings: references to everything in the Winter Soldier’s backstory
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 335
Point of view: third
Prompt: author's choice, author's choice, "I'll not be your weapon."


He's sitting on Steve's bed, feet firm on the floor, a knife on either side of him and a gun in his flesh hand. His left hand is palm up on his thigh.

Steve stares at him from the doorway, still frozen in setting his shield down. If he looks away, he’s sure Bucky will be gone.

"I knew you," Bucky says.

"Yeah." He nods. "And I know you. I've always known you."

Bucky inhales and slowly lets it out. "I won't be your weapon," he says. The words should be strong, sure. Instead, he only sounds afraid.

"I don't want you to be my weapon." God in heaven, Steve could kill them all right now with a smile. "Just be my friend." Let me take care of you now, Bucky. It's my turn. It'll all be okay. No matter who I have to kill to make it that way.

Bucky looks down, twisting his lips, biting at the bottom one. "I won't go in a cage."

The remnants of SHIELD are looking for him, same as HYDRA. Same as every government that knows of him.

"I won't let them cage you," Steve promises. "We can go anywhere you want."

Bucky nods slowly. "I want," he says. "I want to stay with you."

They can't stay in New York, that's obvious. "Okay," Steve says. "I gotta pack a few things and then we'll head out."

Bucky watches without moving as Steve takes only the essentials -- a change of clothes, a few unperishable foods, his toothbrush. When he's done, Steve glances around his apartment one last time. He's barely been here since moving from DC, busy looking for Bucky, tearing down Hydra. He won't miss it, he thinks. Just like his DC apartment, it never felt like home.

"Let's head out," he says and Bucky rises from the bed. He texts Sam and Natasha, Somewhere I've got to be. Sorry. Thanks for all your help. and leaves the phone on the table beside the door.



Title: brothers
Fandom: Charmed
Warnings: unchanged future
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 120
Point of view: third
Prompt: Charmed, Wyatt & Chris, First time Wyatt is protective of the new baby brother



"You've gotta look out for him," Mama says. "That's what older siblings do." She kisses Wyatt's cheek. "Your Aunt Phoebe and Aunt Paige? They're my little sisters. Anyone that wants to hurt 'em has to go through me."

"Chris is my little brother," Wyatt says, nodding firmly, meaning the words with every fiber of his seven-year-old being. "Don't worry, Mama. I'll protect him."


.

Fourteen years later, Wyatt holds out his hand. "Chris," he says. "I'm your big brother. Come with me."

Wyatt is well on the way to making the world as safe as it can be. Chris is the only family left he claims.

Chris is crying, his whole body trembling, as he stares at Wyatt's hand.

Comments

( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
maldeluxx
Feb. 28th, 2015 03:19 pm (UTC)
That's what one kind of gets with Bucky and Steve: Steve would follow Bucky anywhere :)
tigriswolf
Mar. 1st, 2015 04:44 am (UTC)

Yup, he totally would. Thanks for reading!
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )

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