bandied words with a witless worm

for lucywiggin

wildwolffree17@yahoo.com — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 20:50:44 GMT

Title: cracked stars shining

Fandom: “Supernatural”

Dedication: lucywiggin, for her birthday

Prompt: SuperSpecial!Protective!Sammy

Notes: title from Anne Sexton

Three days after Dean clawed his way out of Hell, covered in blood and ash, the stench of sulfur and brimstone clinging to him, Sam kills a man for getting too close to him. The guy isn’t possessed or making any threatening move, but he brushes against Dean on the street and Sam directs a thought his way, stopping his heart.

The authorities write it off as a heart-attack and Dean never notices. They shouldn’t have been near people so soon, anyway. Dean still doesn’t do so well in a crowd, probably never will again.

Which is fine, and Sam understands. It’s his turn to play protector, to look after his brother. He hasn’t done a good job so far—done a piss-poor job, actually—but he has the rest of eternity to make up for it now.

Everything is tinted gold, glimmering in the shine of his power. Dean is only comfortable with him, away from towns, the sky stretching above them and hard dirt beneath their feet. Sam watches Dean carefully, looking for ways to make everything better. Dean never seems to notice.

Sam misses Dean’s voice, his stupid jokes, his complaints, his laughter. He misses Dean’s smile, Dean’s smirk, Dean’s sneer. He misses his big brother, the man who gave himself up to Hell because he couldn’t stand the thought of failing his little brother.

Dean clawed his way out. He found Sam by following the scent of Sam’s power, those demon-given talents, but he’s not really Dean anymore.

Everything is tinted golden, but Sam still remembers how Dean’s eyes looked angry and defiant, joyful and exuberant, filled with wonder—wide and empty, just dead hazel, with no hint of life left. He misses Dean’s eyes most of all, now, whenever that blank, black gaze focuses on him.

“C’mon, Dean,” he says, holding out a hand. “Let’s head back to the cabin.”

Dean shuffles forward, letting himself be led.

It’s Sam’s turn to be the big brother. He’ll do whatever it takes to keep Dean safe.

Whatever it takes.

Above him, the sky is tinted golden.

some secretses

wildwolffree17@yahoo.com — Mon, 25 Aug 2008 23:24:04 GMT

Azazel, Dean, Sam, and John.

happy sigh

wildwolffree17@yahoo.com — Sat, 23 Aug 2008 14:57:28 GMT

This song? Is Rodney McKay to John Sheppard. Yup yup.

whines

wildwolffree17@yahoo.com — Fri, 22 Aug 2008 18:11:56 GMT

So, Joe Flanigan(John Sheppard from "Stargate: Atlantis") is in this made for TV-movie thing, Danielle Steel's Family Album, right? And he plays Lionel Thayer, the gay son. (I guessed that was coming, by the way. Way to be obvious, director/writer person.)

But there's no kissing. Barely even any touching. There's heterosexual couples making out all over the place, and Lionel can't even hold hands with his lover. I realize, of course, that the movie was made in 1994(and Joe is adorable), but still. It was annoying.

secretses, again

wildwolffree17@yahoo.com — Wed, 20 Aug 2008 01:16:44 GMT

John, Azazel, and Dean.

secretses

wildwolffree17@yahoo.com — Sun, 17 Aug 2008 05:35:36 GMT

John, Azazel, Dean, and Sam.

life, the universe, and everything

wildwolffree17@yahoo.com — Sat, 16 Aug 2008 03:11:33 GMT

Point the first: When Lassiter buys back Shawn's bike in season one of "Pysch"? That is a declaration of love.

Point the second: I am not signing up for anymore challenges ever. I CANNOT write with a deadline. I have no idea how I'll ever become a published author with this problem, but I simply can't! I have thirteen more days and NO IDEA where to go with the story, and the main character? Is one I despise. *growls*

Point the third: I want to watch season three disk three of "Stargate Atlantis". But I can't. Want to know why I can't? Because it got lost in the mail. I have disk two and disk four--no disk three. I find this highly unfair.

Point the fourth: Physical therapy is most unfun.

Point the fifth: School starts again the week after next. I don't want to go back. I want to lie around watching DVDs and living off my parents, but I can't. Being a grownup sucks.

Point the sixth: My creativity has dried up. Also, I don't feel like typing anything, though I have plenty of stories I could simply transfer and post. I don't understand at all, but I just haven't felt like writing or posting ever since I fell off that horse. Could it be a result of the concussion?

Point the seventh: *shrugs* I just wanted to end on number seven.

glee

wildwolffree17@yahoo.com — Thu, 14 Aug 2008 02:05:10 GMT

To everyone who has seen the season one bloopers of "Psych": why, oh why, can we not have a scene like that between Jeffrey Dean Morgan and Jensen Ackles?

I is having of more secretses

wildwolffree17@yahoo.com — Sun, 10 Aug 2008 02:57:16 GMT

Dean, John, and Sam.

SGA rec

wildwolffree17@yahoo.com — Sat, 09 Aug 2008 01:51:58 GMT

Everyone in the "Stargate: Atlantis" fandom needs to read this story. It's mostly gen, with little sidesteps for slash, het, and threesomes, and it's got feral!John and protective!Rodney, and kickass!Lanteans, and yay. *is in love*

"Stargate: Atlantis" AU idea

wildwolffree17@yahoo.com — Thu, 31 Jul 2008 02:22:56 GMT

So, there's this race of people called the Children. Each of them has an affinity for one of the four elements; some have a talent for more than one. The most powerful with Air is their leader--called a "Lord/Lady of the Sky". Each of them also has another form, some type of animal, that shows where their affinity lies.

Turns out, the Ancients were descended from the Children; their 'acension' thing was simply them trying to reclaim what they once had.

Atlantis was not built by the Ancients; Atlantis created the Ancients, on the orders of the Children. And John Sheppard is the newest, most powerful Lord of the Sky.

So, of course, the Children must return to Atlantis, to welcome their leader home.

secretses, I is having of

wildwolffree17@yahoo.com — Tue, 29 Jul 2008 18:52:20 GMT

Dean, Lucifer, Sam, and John.

squees

wildwolffree17@yahoo.com — Sun, 27 Jul 2008 06:11:14 GMT

I found a retelling of Shane in the "Stargate: Atlantis" 'verse! *twirls and howls*

poll

wildwolffree17@yahoo.com — Sat, 26 Jul 2008 06:40:30 GMT

View Poll: SN fic query

Destined - "Charmed" fic - PG, gen

wildwolffree17@yahoo.com — Sat, 26 Jul 2008 04:56:10 GMT

Title: Destined

Fandom: “Charmed”

Disclaimer: not my characters; just for fun.

Warnings: unchanged future

Pairings: canon, mostly

Rating: PG

Wordcount: 810

Point of view: first

This is always where we were going, and there was never any escape.

For centuries our family fought evil, and only a rare few ever turned. The odd spell here and there turned some for a while, but they always found a way out.

And then the first boy born to the bloodline in a thousand years—an anomaly. Something that would not be replicated.

Wyatt Halliwell, the most powerful being of all time, of all the worlds. Son of a Whitelighter and a Charmed One. Twice Blessed Heir of Magic. Culmination of all that was good and right in the world. Anomaly.

The Elders and the magical community were sure there wouldn’t be another boy born to a Warren daughter. There could not be. Wyatt was special; he’d been prophesized for millennia, if one knew where to look.

But then Christopher came to be, strange and secretive Chris, who loved only his brother and mother and me. He was not Twice Blessed, though Leo had become an Elder. He was completely unexpected, an unknown. Not even two years after Wyatt and another boy for the Halliwells?

Balanced on a knife, the world began to tremble because everything was wrong.

They were the only sons, my brothers. Aunt Paige had two daughters and Aunt Phoebe three. Paige married a mortal and Phoebe the ex-Source, once he’d resurrected again. Neither lived long: Paige died when Megan was three and Phoebe when Patty turned four.

So Momma raised us all, the next generation of good. Wyatt was the oldest and I the youngest. Wyatt, Chris, Prudence, Penelope, Megan, Patricia, Talia, and I—Melinda.

Dad helped when he could, but he had the Elders to deal with. I understood but Wyatt felt abandoned. Prue, Penny, and Patty began rebelling the earliest, unable to cope with their dual natures. Prue lashed out at the demons, going on ever more dangerous missions. Mom did the best she could and Wyatt tried to rein Prue in—but she died at fifteen and Penny soon followed. Patty lasted until she was twenty, but cousins could never equal sisters and she succumbed to grief.

Megan died when a truck hit her car at sixteen. She never saw it coming and had no chance to orb. Talia last the longest, till just after Wyatt claimed the world. She could not deal with such a coup and fought against us.

I know that my brothers are wrong, that nothing is as it should be. I know that my soul is probably damned and my mother winces with shame in the afterlife. I also know this is always where we were going, and we never could have avoided it.

If Momma still lived, Chris would never have followed Wyatt. If Momma still lived, Wyatt would never have fallen.

Momma had the two strongest witches of all time, sons of a Whitelighter and an Elder. And I, daughter of a mortal, testament of a week-long retirement before Dad went back to the clouds. Momma did the best she could, and no one could have done better.

Sometimes, I dream of those days before this world. When I and my cousins played together, when my brothers watched over us. Now we three are all that is left, powerful remnants of a family gone. And our names are cursed instead of revered.

Wyatt rules, King of the Darkness, Emperor of the World, Twice Blessed Heir of Magic. And Chris stands beside him, the only of us not foretold. The citizens whisper that Wyatt is the most powerful being, but we three know the truth.

If Chris did not love us, he could destroy us and take it all.

Eventually, the Darkness is stronger than the Light. And our family always walked the edge. We have no explanation and we utter no excuses. This is easier than the constant fight.

Wyatt was prophesized. And I am meant to be. But Chris…

He was not mentioned anywhere, even though all our cousins were. Wyatt tells him it means nothing, that something was overlooked. But Chris and I know.

I see no way out of this perversion. Wyatt cannot see what he has become. And Chris can only see what hurt, before; he’s lost sight of the pleasure, of the fun we had bathed in Light. I wish I could help them. I wish I could save them.

I wish for my childhood back.

Prue and Penny and Megan and Patty and Talia—I am glad you are beyond this pain. Dad, forgive me for my weakness. Aunt Page and Uncle Henry, Aunt Phoebe and Uncle Cole—I miss you. Momma…

Momma…

Forgive me for letting them fall. Forgive me for falling with them. forgive me for not seeing a way out of this.

Momma, forgive me for giving up. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself.

squee and rec

wildwolffree17@yahoo.com — Sat, 26 Jul 2008 02:46:34 GMT

So, I have a slight thing for perfectly nice and sane characters going bat-shit insane in fanfic. Has anyone noticed, I wonder?

I recently got around to watching "Stargate: Atlantis" and adore Sheppard/McKay. I pretty much adore Sheppard and McKay--together is just a bonus.

And this fic, here? Is so completely AWESOME I only stopped reading to eat supper. It's the PERFECTEST alternate universe EVER, right up there with "Darker Shade of Black".

If you're in the fandom and haven't read it? GO DO SO RIGHT NOW.

(I'm hoping to write fic of my own, eventually, but I'm still waiting for season two DVDs.)

SN unfinished

wildwolffree17@yahoo.com — Fri, 25 Jul 2008 03:38:05 GMT

This is an untitled “Supernatural” unfinished. I don’t remember when I started it or where I was going. (Going back through handwritten stories is such fun.)

It’s time to wake up now.

Sam makes the leap to wakefulness and instantly flinches back when he senses someone leaning over him.

“Shh, it’s me,” an unfamiliar feminine voice says, and his eyes fly open. She’s old, sixty something, but her gaze is kind and smile soft.

He realizes quickly he’s smaller than he should be and the room is as unfamiliar as her. “Who are you?” he demands and startles at the sound of his voice—a boy’s voice, a boy’s petulant and scared tone.

She frowns and seems disappointed, but he feels no remorse. “I’m Mrs. Dawson, Samuel, don’t you remember?”

She reaches out to touch him and he shuffles back. He burrows into the blankets and she sighs. His mind furiously takes in everything he knows and tries to find an explanation. “Where’s Dean?” he asks before reconsidering that maybe he shouldn’t mention his brother.

Mrs. Dawson sighs again. “Samuel, sweetheart, you know we don’t talk about family here. The focus is you, not your sibling. Just because he failed doesn’t mean you have to, as well.”

Dread pulses and Sam whispers, “Failed?”

For one moment Mrs. Dawson’s eyes shimmer gold and cold as the Artic tundra, but the mask is back in place instantly. If he hadn’t been raised by John Winchester, he might not have noticed at all.

“Samuel, it’s time for you to get out of bed and join us for breakfast,” she says firmly and stands. “I’ll expect you in the dining hall before five minutes have passed.” She briskly walks toward the door and he wants to question more, to find out just what the fuck is going on, demand to see Dean, but he remembers another freezing golden gaze, and vaguely a car wreck—It’s time to wake up now—so he decides that playing along is the right course… for the moment.

Clothes are in the closet and shoes by the door: jean shorts, a loose black T-shirt, white socks, and tennis. He looks in the mirror and his ten-year-old self stares back.

No car wreck could steal thirteen years, not from the past.

Maybe it’s all in my head, he ponders, staring into his eyes. Maybe I’m in a coma, and my subconscious—or the demon—is messing with me.

The five minutes are almost up and he still has to find the dining hall.

The walls are bare and boring, a dull white. No pictures, no decorations, nothing to make it look lived-in. He chooses to head right on an instinct and passes seven doors in the long, straight hallway.

“Ah, Samuel,” Mrs. Dawson says brightly. “I’m so glad you could join us.”

Eight children look up from their plates, all wearing the same clothes as him: four boys and four girls, all roughly the same age.

Mrs. Dawson nods to the only open place and he sits. The food is as bland as the décor, but he eats it all. No one speaks; two of the children, though, are distantly familiar, like Sam should know who they are.

Finally, once everyone finishes, Mrs. Dawson says, “Rose, Megan, and Zachary—today you will train with Mr. Williams.”

A slight brunette girl, the familiar blonde, and the largest boy all nod and push back their chairs, exiting through a different door than Sam entered.

“Benjamin, Maxwell, and Cassandra,” Mrs. Dawson continues, “you will attend to Mrs. Verdan.”

Another blond, the familiar boy, and the only Asian stand and leave through a third door.

“Cade and Sarafina,” Mrs. Dawson says now, “you will follow me, while Samuel takes care of the day’s chores.” The final boy and the small black girl stand; Mrs. Dawson heads for the door Sam came through. “Samuel,” she tells him over her shoulder, “I’ll be back for you in three hours. I expect everything completed. Do you understand?”

He hasn’t the first clue what she’s talking about, but knows better than to answer with that, so he replies respectfully, “Yes, Mrs. Dawson.”

The door swings shut behind them.

Maxwell? Sam wonders. Megan, Rose? He shakes his head, standing. Max, Meg, Rosie?

What if… what if the crash had pushed him into another world, where the demon had taken them all?

But how would that explain our ages? he asks himself. Rosie’s a baby. He shies away from the thought that Max and Meg are dead.

He pushes open each door, one in each corner of the room, and finds the kitchen. He collects the plates, silverware, and napkins; there’s a dishwasher, so he loads and starts it, after locating the soap. He throws the napkins away and tries to figure out what to do next. The day’s chores? He scrubs down the counters and breakfast table, finds the broom and sweeps. Maybe I’m supposed to clean each room?

He heads out the door, down that long, boring hall, and enters the first room he comes to; it looks exactly the same as his. One by one, he cleans each. Nothing stands out except that they’re all identical.

Sam finishes and returns to the dining hall. He still has two hours to kill, but until he has a better idea of what’s going on, he doesn’t want to risk looking around.

After a quick search of the kitchen, he decides there are no cameras or bugs, so he does a swift warm-up, seeing how much of his training stuck with him through the change. He passes another hour exercising.

Sam takes a small rest and drains a glass of water; he stands when he hears footsteps, angling his body towards the western door. Sarafina pads in and freezes when she sees him.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she whispers in a tiny, shocked voice. “You’re supposed to be doing chores.”

secretses

wildwolffree17@yahoo.com — Wed, 23 Jul 2008 03:54:54 GMT

Dean, Sam, John, Lilith, and Azazel.

squee and suggestion

wildwolffree17@yahoo.com — Tue, 22 Jul 2008 06:46:08 GMT

The Dark Knight? Kicks all kinds of ass. Heath Ledger is AMAZING and the slash JUMPED UP AND DOWN DEMANDING ATTENTION.

There was Joker/Batman, Joker/Harvey Dent, Harvey Dent/Bruce, AND Harvey Dent/Batman.

It is AWESOME and I WILL be seeing it again.

Now, someone needs to be making me a "Supernatural" video using this song. Is it not just perfect for Dean?

various drabbles - gen, slash - PG

wildwolffree17@yahoo.com — Tue, 22 Jul 2008 06:31:51 GMT

Title: Inherent

Fandom: “Charmed”/“Buffy the Vampire Slayer” crossover

Disclaimer: not my characters; just for fun.

Warnings: AU

Pairings: mentions of Cole/Phoebe; mentions of Jesse/Xander

Rating: PG

Wordcount: 575

Point of view: first

Notes: it’s a pet theory of mine that Xander Harris is Cole Turner and Phoebe Halliwell’s son, sent back through time when the Seer burned up. *shrugs*

Everyone makes mistakes. Things they shouldn’t do—things they know they shouldn’t do—but do anyway. Little things, big things: either way, they count. They always count.

Lying, cheating, killing, raping—someone’s counting, waiting, adding it all up. Someone will make you pay. And you will. You think no one sees.

Someone always does.

Someone always knows.

Darkness is inherent; it’s in you at birth. Waiting to be let out, unleashed. Waiting to say what you really want to say, waiting to do what you really want to do.

Waiting to be who you really are.

You can push it as far down as you want. You can hide it forever. You can pretend, and wear the mask well.

I did.

See where we are?

My mistake was small. Tiny. Infinitesimal. Unnoticeable. So fucking small that I thought no one noticed.

I lied. Three little words. Three little words, no more than four letters each. Three little words that changed the world forever.

He wasn’t supposed to die. She wasn’t supposed to kill him. None of it was supposed to happen.

Because of me, it did.

I can’t take it back. Even if I could, I wouldn’t. The past is the past, and inaccessible. Even to me.

Especially to me.

Power is inherent. In the blood from the moment of conception. Even before you breathe, you could be the most powerful being in the world.

I should know.

I was.

Once upon a time, long ago.

Conceived in love, in a marriage that never should have been. Impossible. The half-demon who loved a witch. The Source who married a Charmed One.

The Son, torn from his mother’s womb by the Seer. Sent to the past, to damn the future. Raised by abusive, neglectful parents.

I should have been evil. Hateful. Vengeful. Vindictive and cruel.

I wasn’t.

I should have been steeped in darkness, raised to cause pain. I should have been malicious, evil fucking personified.

I never was.

He, the bastard who raised me in pain, never told me I wasn’t his. He knew who I was—how could he not?—but never even gave me hint.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t; he just chose not too. To make it all the more sweeter, when he tore out my heart.

I can remember the day Jesse died. It was a beautiful day, a beautiful night. He smirked at me, fangs glistening, and I shoved a stake in his unbeating heart.

I felt my spirit wither. I felt my light fade.

I heard the Seer laugh.

I should have known something was up. I should have sensed it, somehow.

He called me ‘The One Who Sees’ and tried to destroy my eyes. The First never came to me. Why not?

Because if it took his form, how would I react?

Darkness is inherent. Power is in the blood. I am the Son. Supposed to be terrifying, evil.

But I knew Jesse, poor Jesse. He was full of sunshine and laughter. I soaked in his warmth.

He is ashes now.

I can remember being held in a woman’s arms. She sang a little lullaby, a nonsense song. She kissed my cheek.

“You are my gift to a world I shall never know,” she whispered, “Full of darkness and pain, Alexander, full of sunshine and light. They will not know you, and will not plan for you. You are my gift.”

Then I open my eyes.

Title: scrap the guts out of some dream

Fandom: Sleeping Beauty

Disclaimer: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Anne Sexton.

Warnings: spoilers for the fairy tale

Pairings: none

Rating: PG

Wordcount: 120

Point of view: first

She was not always cruel, you know. Oh, she was so sweet, so gentle, so kind… daisies and roses and puppies and sunlight. They will tell you of her cruelty and her malice, of her fury and her greed. But they will not speak of how she was slighted and how she hurt—and how, in the end, as she begged forgiveness and mercy, those six good fairies helped the young prince strike her down.

They call my lady evil, malicious. They say she sought only to sow despair and discord, that loves only pain. Loved only pain. I must remember to speak in past tense—she is gone. Killed by the handsome young prince and those lying, traitorous fairies.

Title: Flawed Love

Fandom: Alexander

Disclaimer: not my characters; just for fun.

Warnings: spoilers for film

Pairings: none

Rating: PG

Wordcount: 435

Point of view: first

My name comes down through the ages. I am of a line of kings. Immortal power flows through my veins. I am known the world over; my name will last for all eternity.

It is still not enough. I want more. I need more.

My bloodlust sings a lament. I know the end. I knew before the beginning what would happen to me. How my ending would be.

Ah, Mother. Are you yet satisfied?

I watched, you know. I watched as you faded. I saw your fire smolder; I saw your fire die. I watched. I could do nothing; I was weak.

You hate me. It took so long for me to discover why. To reason out the puzzle of deceit and lies. I know, now, what you always tried to hide. I have discovered the truth hidden by rage and time.

I have one question for you, Mother, you who bore me and should have loved me above all others. One question, after all the pain, hate, rage, and tears. Just one.

Why, Mother? Why?

I was your child, as well as his. I saw him rarely, so rarely. I was yours more. I did love you, Mother. I did. I still do. You raised me; you are the reason I am the way I am, the reason I became who I have become.

Why did you hate me? What did I do? Could you not see past my mask? I threw up so many walls over the years; I played out so many charades. Apparently I played too well. Even I, sometimes, forgot what was fiction and what was real.

Mother... whatever I did, I am sorry. I regret so much, and I am unsure of how I earned your burning hatred and overwhelming despair. There is so much I wish I had not done, so many things that make me wish I could turn back time, and do again. So much I wish I could change.

But time cannot be traversed. Not even by you, Mother.

If you could change our lives, Mother, would you? Would you dare alter history; would you rewrite legend? Mother... in another world, would you love me?

Could you?

You are dead now, for years. I know my question will go unanswered. When we meet again, will we embrace? Will we playact again? Will all be forgiven, Mother? Will you love me after death?

I rule the world, Mother. My name will be spoken when all my empire is dust. As will yours, Mother.

As will yours.

Olympais... are you yet satisfied? Or will you destroy me more?

Title: my worst guilt

Fandom: The Brothers Grimm

Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Anne Sexton

Warnings: AU for ending

Pairings: none
Rating: PG

Wordcount: 115

Point of view: first

It is cold tonight, brother, and I am lonely. The wind howls around my hovel, and you are not here to chase away my demons.

I miss you, and our life. I miss watching you in action, watching people fall in love with you. You were the dashing, clever one. You were the leader.

I would have followed you into Hell. I nearly did, but you shoved me back, commanded me to live.

And I have, brother, if this can be called living. I’ve penned our adventures, recorded them—you will live forever. You achieved immortality, Wil.

It is so cold tonight. I hear the ghosts calling me. Perhaps... perhaps, Wil... I might see you soon.

drabbles: Star Wars and Narnia - PG, PG13

wildwolffree17@yahoo.com — Mon, 21 Jul 2008 05:45:40 GMT

Title: Tarnished

Fandom: Star Wars

Disclaimer: not my characters; just for fun.

Warnings: spoilers for up to Empire Strikes Back

Pairings: none, really

Rating: PG

Wordcount: 200

Point of view: first

I was once the chosen, Luke. Did he tell you that? Did he speak of the years he was all I had? My father and brother and friend he was. Ah, I sound like Yoda.

He never did like me, Yoda. He feared my power, my rage. He feared that I would become what I became.

But you, Luke, he likes you. Which is odd, since you are so much like me. I see myself in you. And when we fought in Cloud City—I had not had such a duel in so long! You were magnificent, my son. Obi-wan was wise to hide you from me.

Padme would be so proud of you, Luke. She did not like who I became, and I cannot fault her for that. Honestly... I do not like myself either. I have not liked myself since I killed Mace Windu all those years ago.

But remember, my son—I was once like you. I was the Chosen One, the herald of a new age. I was the bright, shining hope—but I fell. I tarnished.

And their dreams shattered when I killed the children.

Remember, Luke—I was you. Do not become me.

Title: we sang dirges in the dark

Fandom: Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian

Disclaimer: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Don McLean.

Warnings: movieverse; implied non-con; AU

Pairings: Miraz/Edmund

Rating: PG13

Point of view: third

Wordcount: 140

Lucy’s cordial of healing, a gift from Father Christmas’ hands himself, can fix physical hurts, can even bring someone back from Death’s front doorstep. But it cannot do a thing for mental anguish, for the memories of a week of torment.

Edmund has no scars from the days and nights spent in Miraz’s castle. All the cuts and bruises, rips and tears, have long since healed, and they’re back in England, the four of them. They’re back in England, and Miraz is dead.

Edmund saw his defeat, saw his death, but he never saw the body and his nightmares continue unabated, Miraz’s hands and mouth and—

Lucy’s cordial healed his body, but not even Aslan could heal his mind. Narnia is tarnished now. Edmund almost doesn’t want to go back, and that hurts more than Miraz did.

Title: tell my father, if you can, I was a man

Fandom: Star Wars

Disclaimer: not my characters; title from “Tell My Father”

Warnings: set before A New Hope; AU

Pairings: none, really

Rating: PG

Wordcount: 460

Point of view: first

Owen, you don’t know what you’ve done. I think Beru does, but the boy is your family, not hers. The choice, therefore, is yours and yours alone. The child is too young yet for such a monumental decision, and you will never tell him enough.

You remember your stepmother fondly, I can tell. I’m sure she was a sweet woman, to raise the kind boy your stepbrother used to be.

Anakin Skywalker is dead. Yoda and I are the last of the Jedi, the protectors of peace killed by one of their own—the strongest Jedi turned darkest Sith.

Only Yoda, myself, and you, Owen, know what really happened to Anakin Skywalker. Only Yoda, myself, and Bail Organa know exactly what happened to Anakin Skywalker’s children.

Yes, Owen Lars, your stepbrother’s bride had twins before she died, two infants of so much potential… even Anakin’s strength paled in comparison to theirs. That is why we separated them, we last two of the Jedi. Why we hid them away—Leia, your niece, as a princess, adopted daughter of the man who loved Anakin’s wife. And Luke, here, with you, at the far end of the universe.

I do not know if we did the right thing, separating them. But together they were too powerful, too vibrant. Too easily found. Their father believes his child died with his wife… he does not know there were two.

I hope he never learns.

You remember your stepbrother, though you only met him that one time. He was forceful, powerful, so very angry. You remember his name, and seeing what he’s become—you hate it. His name taints your stepmother’s, that loving woman who loved you in place of her absent son.

I gave you a child, Owen Lars. An innocent boy, with his father’s eyes—and, I hope, his mother’s heart. I gave you a child, named by his mother: Luke Skywalker. Hope for the future.

His name would have kept him safe, I hoped. No matter what else Anakin becomes, he will not forget where he came from. But you have taken that protection from Luke, Owen. You have taken away that link to his father, to the past.

You adopted him, and so gave him a new name. Yours.

Anakin will remember his name, and his mother’s, until even Darth Vader is dead. But he has already forgotten you, and your name will not protect Luke.

With the boy renamed, Owen, Anakin Skywalker is truly dead. When the Empire comes to Tatooine, and it will come, it will not see the son of Darth Vader, Luke Skywalker. It will see your son, the child of a moisture farmer, a helpless boy called Luke Lars.

And it will not hesitate to destroy him.

bandied words with a witless worm

for lucywiggin

some secretses

*happy sigh*

*whines*

secretses, again

secretses

life, the universe, and everything

*glee*

I is having of more secretses

SGA rec

"Stargate: Atlantis" AU idea

secretses, I is having of

*squees*

poll

Destined - "Charmed" fic - PG, gen

squee and rec

SN unfinished

secretses

squee and suggestion

various drabbles - gen, slash - PG

drabbles: Star Wars and Narnia - PG, PG13

happy sigh

whines

glee

squees