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Title: heir of lightning
Fandom: Highlander
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: future!fic; implied primordial!Methos
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 375
Point of view: third
Prompt: Author's choice; author's choice;

Words scribbled on the underside of an old envelope,
becoming everything inside.
Ink spilled on paper, but in a deeper sense,
several sentences blurred by tears
represented more sentiment,
more that was meaningful and real,
than the years that led to this crossroads.

I heard the door close -
not slamming, but slinking shut
in an unfortunate and unhappy desire to be undetected,
as if secrecy could lessen the pain.
(The Crüxshadows, "Fortress (Eyes to Heaven)")

Remix pov of this

Selena is nineteen years old when the man who makes her head shiver first wanders into her family’s café. It’s retro, decorated to resemble the cafés that used to dot Europe, back when Europe was multiple countries. Vic called it pretentious once, before he left to travel. Selena will inherit it, one day, because everyone knows Vic would rather sell it than deal with the bother.

Selena loves the café. But then, she’s always loved history.

Even when he first wanders in, looking like any other student, Selena knows there’s nothing accidental about him at all.


She doesn’t inherit the café.

“It’s the oldest game,” Ben tells her, “and we’re going to change the rules.”

She’s always loved history and wanted to be spoken about someday, like the Queens Elizabeth, and Alexander the Great, the men and women who created nations and ended wars, the scientists and politicians and the defenders of justice who rose up after the turn of the 21st century to stop power-hungry fools from destroying the planet. She wanted to somehow make a difference (without knowing exactly how) and be remembered.

But not like this.


“I’m in the history books,” Ben says, when she finally falls silent, tears of anger and anguish drying on her cheeks. “So will you be, if you live long enough.”

He doesn’t hand her a sword, because swords are relics of an age long lost, and they’re rewriting a legacy longer than she can actually understand.

“Live,” he commands, and he kills her a hundred different ways so that she’ll be able to wake up without panicking.

“Grow stronger,” he commands, teaching her to fight and teaching her to flee when needed.

“Fight another day,” he commands, giving her access to the greatest collection of knowledge in all the world.

She will never know how old Ben is, or who he was in the history books she’d devoured all her life. But this is her chance, and she takes it, eyes wide open.

Title: untitled
Fandom: Highlander
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 145
Point of view: third
Prompt: Highlander, Methos, stuck in a plane for 12 hours with an unknown immortal somewhere behind him

The trick is to not react. Whoever is back there was on the plane before Methos boarded, and was most likely watching as the rest of the passengers found their seats and stowed their carry-ons. Methos trained himself not to react when he rode with his brothers. So he busies himself with the novel he picked up at the airport, with getting comfortable for the interminable flight, with snacking on peanuts and drinking caffeinated beverages.

Whoever it is, they don't venture forth. Methos will not seek them out.


Whey they're allowed to disembark, Methos sticks close to various groups of people. He has no luggage beyond his dufflebag, so when he doesn't go to the baggage claim, the buzz fades.

He notices a young woman, right before he catches the down escalator, looking around frantically. If she's the immortal or not, he'll most likely never know.

Title: Once (it was enough)
Fandom: Animorphs
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: references to violence and canon character death
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 175
Point of view: third
Prompt: Animorphs, Rachel, needing bigger and bigger hits of adrenaline

Once, backflips and cartwheels and intricate dance routines were enough, gymnastics tricks that left her mother worried and her little sisters laughing in breathless delight. Once nearly falling off the balance beam, or the high wall at school, or missing a handhold on the bars. Once, one of Cassie's horses running out of control, Rachel barely managing to stay on.

Once, diving as an eagle, a falcon, a dolphin. Once, roaring as a tiger, charging as an elephant.

Once, staring down Visser Three, Visser One.

Once, listening to Crayak. Yelling at the Ellemist.

Once, tearing schoolchildren apart with words; once, blood dripping on the floor as the enemy gasps and dies.

Once and once and once.

Here, now, was this always how it would end? In battle, for a world she loves, for her sisters and her friends and people she'll never know, for all the worlds that have already fallen, for the worlds that'll stand because she stood here now—

Once, there was a girl who taught her sisters to dance. Once, that was enough.

Title: crimson cloth
Fandom: Glee
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: references to violence; takes place in season 3
Pairings: Kurt/Blaine
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 175
Prompt: Glee, Kurt/Blaine - his new shirt stained red; from a distance, his boyfriend can't tell if it's slushie or blood

Blaine's turning away from his locker and out the corner of his eye, he sees a flash of red. He flinches back just in time to hear laughing; he looks towards the sound, and there's Kurt, red dripping down his lovely shirt, and Blaine drops his bag, sagging back against the lockers.

(because when he was fourteen, he nearly bled out in a parking lot

because people are only as smart as the dumbest person in the mob

because it is so very easy to die, even if (consciously) no one meant to kill you)

But Kurt takes a deep breath, straightens his spine, and does not give the bully the reaction he wanted, his greatest unimpressed expression on his face.

Because it's just red slushy, ice and food coloring, and the shirt might be ruined (or not), but it's such a simple thing.

So Blaine breathes out the panic and the fear, and falls into step with Kurt, and listens as Kurt continues to plan their escape from this terrible little town.

Title: I am not a smile
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Disclaimer: the ones you recognize aren’t mine; title from Sylvia Plath
Warnings: references to violence, death, and abuse; takes place post season 7 and ignores the comics
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 685
Point of view: third
Prompts: BTVS, Buffy, she used to be scared of the dark; Any, any, "If the world ends today I sure as all Hell am eating cheesecake for breakfast."

"Hey," she tells the newest girl, found in a basement after her parents were killed by something, cowering in a corner and begging the air for her life. "Hey, it's okay to want a nightlight."

Zoya can't be more than fourteen, and there's still bruises on her, and it's obvious that her life wasn't all that good before the whatever killed her parents. (And that makes the monster that all Slayers have inside growl a little, but Buffy got a handle on her monster a long time ago.)

She isn't a Slayer, this girl, or a Potential. She's just a regular human, and it might be better to give her to the state. Except there's a flash of danger in her eyes, and regular human or not, she needs guidance. Besides, Buffy's school has plenty of people she can talk to about the monsters (human or not) that hunted her.

"When I was your age, I was scared of the dark, too," she says, and the girl gives her a sharp look. "Yeah," she continues, nodding. "And that was before I got Called and learned about everything out there."

"We can leave a light on, that's fine," Cally says, Zoya's roommate and one of the oldest girls in this wing of the dorms. She's Faith's most devoted disciple, which Buffy gets a kick out of, most days. But it's a relief, since it means she's got a deft touch with the ones who need the most guidance.

Zoya still doesn't say a thing, but she does nod, so Buffy gives them both a goodnight smile, and leaves the bedroom door cracked behind her, then lets herself out of their suite and goes to patrol the school.

She was afraid of the dark, once, before she knew what was in it. And then she spent a little while utterly terrified because she knew what was in it.

She's not afraid of the dark anymore.

"Dawn!" Cally shouts, startling Zoya and causing her to spill her glass of lemonade. Thankfully, the girl next to her (Amara, Zoya thinks) is able to rescue her book before the lemonade gets it.

"Thanks," Zoya mutters, carefully taking the book without touching Amara's fingers. Amara smiles at her before looking back at her phone, fingers flying as she texts someone.

Zoya has no one to text. She tries not to think about it.

"Dawn," Cally says, dragging a woman to the breakfast table, where Zoya and five other girls sit. The woman is tall, with long dark hair that looks kinda like—

Zoya quickly focuses back on her book. Cally introduces the woman to the rest of the girls, but Zoya ignores everything, intent on her book. When she finally turns the last page, she's alone at the table—but not the kitchen, she discovers, as she sets the book down and sees the woman Dawn leaning against the counter and eating a piece of the cheesecake Annie had made yesterday.

She says nothing but Dawn smiles at her. "I know, I should get something healthier for breakfast," she says cheerfully. "Not as young as I used to be." She chuckles even though Zoya does not reply. "But it's another godforsaken prophecy, and if the world is gonna end today, then I'm eating cheesecake for breakfast, you know?"

Zoya does not know. But something about this woman reminds her of the woman who rescued her, blonde hair flashing, the woman who told her it was okay to still fear the darkness. So when Dawn offers her the last bite of cheesecake, Zoya accepts with a nod.

She does not move from her seat and Dawn does not approach, but she leaves the plate with the last bite on the counter and exits the kitchen with another smile, and after counting to 60, Zoya rises and hurries over.

She spends the rest of the day in her room, waiting to see if the world ends. It doesn't.

(That night, when Cally finally shuffles in, smelling freshly scrubbed and limping slightly, Zoya murmurs, "Glad you're alright." Cally brightens but thankfully doesn't react beyond smiling.)


( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
Mar. 29th, 2016 12:54 pm (UTC)
Now that's interesting.. Methos on a plane *lol* But yes, it's probably for the better not to confront all buzz-makers one meets ::)

Poor Blaine, terrible memories like that. Food coloring is more likely if it's a school hallway, but still... :(
Mar. 29th, 2016 05:32 pm (UTC)

Thanks for reading!
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )


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