Monday: First Lines
Dec. 12th, 2011 02:34 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
meteorfire.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
comment_ficGood morning, everyone! I’m ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
meteorfire, and I'll be your guest host for the week!
Today’s theme is First Lines, which means that your prompt is the first lines in the following ficlet. Therefore, when filling a prompt, your story should begin with the provided line.
Some quick examples:
As always, remember to follow the rules:
Have fun, everyone!
tag= FirstLine
meteorfire, and I'll be your guest host for the week!Today’s theme is First Lines, which means that your prompt is the first lines in the following ficlet. Therefore, when filling a prompt, your story should begin with the provided line.
Some quick examples:
- Doctor Who, any, It was all fine until the Doctor made a paper hat.
- Sherlock BBC, Sherlock & John, There are three things (at least) that you don’t learn about Sherlock until you live with him for a year.
- Merlin BBC, Arthur, Dragons were always bad news.
As always, remember to follow the rules:
- Only three prompts from a fandom
- Only five prompts in a row
- If one prompt gets filled you can leave a new one
- No spoilers in your prompts until a week after airdate/publication
- If your fill contains a spoiler please warn accordingly and leave space for the spoiler.
Have fun, everyone!
tag= FirstLine
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-12-12 08:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-12 08:20 pm (UTC)So now, here we are, running again. Luckily, they had to all set their hats down onto proper surfaces before chasing us so we got a decent head start. (Plus, we don’t have to run that particularly fast. They spend all their time making hats that they don’t do any exercises and so have become quite rotund).
“Why did you do that?” I ask once we’re in the TARDIS.
The Doctor has this woeful look on his face. “Did you see the guy sitting beside me, the guy who ratted me out?”
“Yeah,” I answer.
“Well, he promised me a bunch of bananas if I did made that hat.” The Doctor says with tears in his eyes and a quiver in his voice. “I don’t think I’m getting those bananas now.”
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2011-12-12 08:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-12 08:35 am (UTC)Fluffy ridiculousness abounds.
Date: 2011-12-12 03:29 pm (UTC)Merlin had cast doubt upon the reports of the homeowners in the Lower Town, who had noticed a small dragon - about the size of a boar - walking into houses and stealing fruit, before walking straight out again.
"Have you ever heard of a dragon that didn't fly?" he'd said to Arthur, laughing. "A white dragon, too. Someone's been putting gin in the reservoir again," he'd said.
Arthur had remained unconvinced. Even if the dragon were a product of collective overimagination, it didn't hurt his image to check the threat out. When he'd discovered a trail of clawed footprints in the forest, partially obscured by the dragging of a tail, he'd ordered one of the oddest missions of his life.
They entered the cave as silently as they could, which for Merlin wasn't saying much. Merlin tripped over a root and went clattering over, shouting loudly in apology.
"Shh," Arthur hissed. "Bloody thing'll be prepared for us, now."
"Oh no," said Merlin. "The poor imaginary baby dragon."
Arthur frowned. His contemplation was cut short, however, by a flash of white in front of them.
"Dest! Dest! Dest!" squealed the dragon, waddling towards them with its wings held out for balance. "Dest nee! Dest nee!"
Leon raised his crossbow, but Arthur held up a hand.
"Dest nee?" he said.
"Dest nee! Arfor, Merl'n, dest nee! Woo sides say coin!"
"Do you mean 'two sides of the same coin'?" said Merlin who, Arthur noted, had stopped protesting the dragon's existence.
"'Ess!" said the dragon happily.
Bollocks.
Arthur'd killed plenty of things that had talked before - it was par for the course as a knight, prince or king - but he'd never taken a sword to anything this impossibly ... cute.
Dragons, he reflected, were always bad news.
Re: Fluffy ridiculousness abounds.
From:Re: Fluffy ridiculousness abounds.
From:no subject
Date: 2011-12-12 08:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-08-02 12:50 am (UTC)Most of the time it didn’t even bother him that they left him behind, forgot about him when they did pack stuff. He really wasn’t vital to them physically. Intellectually he was the backbone of the pack. He wasn’t saying he was the smartest of the pack but he was pretty damn awesome with research and figuring out how to get the information they needed.
The moment it bothered him was when Derek had claimed he was in their way when some rogue wolf was attacking him in his own front yard.
“I’m in the way?” Stiles yelled incredulously over the sound of wood breaking under the force of a werewolf’s blow. He ignored the fact that there were no longer steps leading up to the front porch and instead there was a gaping hole. Stiles grabbed the bat that he had dropped earlier in the fight. He slammed it as hard as he could into the rogue wolf’s skull and let out a satisfied grunt when he realized the wolf wasn’t going to be getting up.
“If I’m in the way how about next time you figure out who’s new in town and pissing all over your territory on your own. Or how about all those wards I placed on each of your pack members’ homes? One negative thought from me and those wards are gone. I am not a robot Derek! I am not someone you can just order around and expect me at your beck and call. I am a person! No matter how much I love all of you I can’t do it anymore. I’ve killed for you. How many times Derek? How many times have I killed for your pack? How many times have I saved them?”
Stiles stood stock-still, the bat still gripped in his hand resting at his side. When he didn’t receive an answer from Derek or anyone else in the pack he let out a furious yell. “How many?!”
“Stiles,” Scott tried to soothe him but it wasn’t working. There was too much anger flowing through him. His entire body felt like it was on fire.
“I’ve killed six times.” Stiles voice had grown soft, exhaustion set in. “I’ve save you so many times. I’ve been tortured for this pack. My Dad was taken because he was my Dad and I’m connected to your pack. I’ve done so much and none of you realize it. Do you?”
“Stiles,” Allison stepped forward this time and Stiles extended his hand holding the bat causing everyone to step back from him.
“No!” Stiles ground out. “Go. Get out of my sight and remember the next time you need help that I’m not here. And I won’t be.”
no subject
Date: 2011-12-12 08:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-12 08:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-12 08:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-12 08:48 am (UTC)Fill: Chuck/Bryce, "You used to trust me, Chuck."
Date: 2011-12-12 07:46 pm (UTC)It's not a very stirring defense - or convincing, Chuck supposes, judging by Bryce's unwavering smile... But it's all that Chuck's got.
"Past tense, Chuck?" Bryce asks, far too sure of himself. And Chuck could almost choke on all the anger and the unfairness that Bryce dredges up with the words.
How dare Bryce make light of Chuck's ridiculous inability to get over him... How dare he try to use it to his own advantage?
Chuck can't shield himself from the hurt Bryce's blase mention of Chuck's feelings, so matter-of-fact, inspires. It's enough that Bryce can't feel the same way. Chuck doesn't need to be laughed at for it.
"Yes," Chuck lies, not lowering his gun. "Stay back, Bryce."
"Fine... So you don't love me anymore," Bryce says, face inscrutable, taking another step. Chuck's heart rabbits in his chest. Bryce has never said that word out loud, in reference to Chuck, before. "You're still not going to shoot me."
"Oh yeah? Why is that?"
"You're not a killer, Chuck. And you want to know why I'm here. If you shoot me... You won't find out."
That's true. "I think I can live with the disappointment," Chuck says regardless.
He should have paid closer attention to how close Bryce had come near to him instead. In three smooth moves, Bryce takes Chuck's gun away from him, tosses it out of reach, and backs Chuck into the wall behind him, using his arms and his legs in a classic hold to restrain Chuck from kicking or hitting his way free.
"I don't think so," Bryce says in a dark voice, but before Chuck can misunderstand and panic, he looks into Bryce's eyes. He doesn't see death there. "I'm here because I don't want to live with it anymore, Chuck," Bryce says. And he kisses Chuck.
Re: Fill: Chuck/Bryce, "You used to trust me, Chuck."
From:Re: Fill: Chuck/Bryce, "You used to trust me, Chuck."
From:Fill #2 (Because your icon demanded it) :p
From:Re: Fill #2 (Because your icon demanded it) :p
From:Re: Fill #2 (Because your icon demanded it) :p
From:no subject
Date: 2011-12-12 08:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-12 08:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-12 09:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-12 10:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-12 10:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-12 03:45 pm (UTC)"You're out of shape, Batgirl."
Barbara was bent over, her hands on her knees as she tried to control her breathing. Actually, she had to admit that this particular rooftop chase had taken more out of her than it should have. And when she glanced up, she could see that look in Dinah's eyes -- that strange combination of concern and "hardassitude" that was so unique to her. It was a look that always managed to both irritate and comfort Barbara.
"Maybe I've spent too much time behind a desk," Barbara replied evenly.
Dinah glanced up at the moon, narrowing her eyes and biting her lower lip in concentration. "The problem isn't upper-body strength," she mused. "Hell, you can dead-lift more than me. It's running and acrobatics and long-term endurance -- you're really off there. So we'll work on that. My place, tomorrow morning, six a.m. A ten mile run just to start things off and then... URF!"
Shutting Dinah up with a kiss was the best part of being back in black.
I'm dying now!
From:no subject
Date: 2011-12-12 10:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-12 10:26 am (UTC)Shotgun Stuffs His Cakehole
Date: 2011-12-13 04:16 am (UTC)Which, he did. His stomach is a leaden ball curled up somewhere near his feet, by Dean's approximation, because no way is this happening. Not after everything. Surely life wouldn't be so cruel as to give Sam back and then whip him back out from under Dean's nose again?
Apparently, because Castiel's words haven't changed, as much as Dean keeps trying to rearrange them in his head. "What," He asks then, uncertain, "What does that mean?"
"It means," Sam interrupts, the loud click of a full magazine snapping into place punctuating his words, and Dean can't help but flinch, "that I've got a few new quirks. Nothing you've never seen before Dean." His tone is unconcerned, as if it really is nothing, and Dean allows himself to ignore the ice in Sam's voice and hope that it's really that simple.
That lasts him until their next case, a werewolf leaving behind a trail of bodies. Nothing that thay haven't done. Only Sam drags the bodies out of sight, and Dean sees him licking his finges whe he returns.
It sends a shiver up his spine, because Castiel was right. This - this thing isn't human, isn't his brother, but then it grins at him and orders a salad over lunch. A salad it picks at, but never actually eats. Not once does it lift the fork to its lips.
"What is he?" Dean asks Castiel about a week later, when he's sure it's gone. It doesn't sleep, it doesn't eat, and all of its expressions are wrong - uncanny valley, like his brother is still posessed - and then there was that time with the bodies, or the hunt where it honestly seemed to get off on pain...
"It's a soul flayed raw," Castiel tells him, impassive as ever despite the apology in his eyes, "One of the fallen, who has forgotten what it is to be human. Sam has spent over four times the length of his lifetime on earth down in the pit, Dean. It is to be expected."
Expected or not, it doesn't hurt any less.
Certainly not when Sam blows away a civilian, then holds them up so he can get a taste of the man's flesh.
He's so mattter of fact about it - "It's only going to go bad if we leave it here, Dean" - and doesn't bother to hide what he's doing. Dean sits in the driver's seat, waiting for Sam, and tries to will away the nausea.
Maybe that was normal down in the pit, but that doesn't make it any better when Sam comes back to the car with his mouth tinged red and his pupils blown wide, like Sam enjoyed that. A lot.
Re: Shotgun Stuffs His Cakehole
From:no subject
Date: 2011-12-12 10:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-12 10:41 am (UTC)Not who's right, but who's left *Highlander - Methos POV, PG 1/1"
Date: 2012-02-01 08:03 pm (UTC)At least that has always been Methos' opinion. Having seen all the wars humanity keeps inflicting upon itself over the course of countless millenium, he knows this better than anybody. He has participated in quite a few of the early ones. Eagerly.
Now as he gazes upon what he feels will be humanity's war, he wonders if there will be anybody, mortal or Immortal, left argue who was right or wrong in this conflict.
Re: Not who's right, but who's left *Highlander - Methos POV, PG 1/1"
From:Re: Not who's right, but who's left *Highlander - Methos POV, PG 1/1"
From:no subject
Date: 2011-12-12 10:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-12 07:42 pm (UTC)Sam hears the voice come around from behind him and sighs. "No, Lucifer. You did that yesterday, and then he smote you back and you got all pissy over it."
"Him," of course, was Michael.
Sam had gotten used to life with two angry archangels and a pissed off half-brother in the Cage. Most of the time, he and Adam ignored everyone and thought about home and where they'd be if they weren't dead.
But sometimes, Lucifer had to go and make a nuisance of himself.
An explosion of Grace knocked Sam off balance.
"Why do you ask me if you can do things and then go do them anyway when I say no?" he asked, levering himself back up into a sitting position and pulling his remembered book back into his lap.
Lucifer made a gesture and the book disappeared. The Devil smirked. An instant later, he was in Sam's lap. "You know you love it."
Sam just rolled his eyes.
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2011-12-12 10:42 am (UTC)Dean & Sam/Lucifer
Date: 2011-12-12 11:36 am (UTC)Eventually Dean staggers back to the motel room. He finds Sam asleep and wrapped up in Lucifer’s arms. The Archangel barely spares him a glance as he strokes Sam’s hair and whispers something that could be Latin. Dean watches silently, torn between his inherent dislike of the Archangel and his relief that Sam is sleeping peacefully for once. It’s moments like this that prevent him from feeling too guilty about always backing down in his arguments with Sam. Seeing Big Bad Lucifer show tenderness towards Sam makes Dean wonder if maybe his brother is right. He knows he’ll wake up in the morning and blame this sort of thinking on the alcohol – but in that moment he thinks maybe Lucifer will change for Sam, just like his little brother believes he will.
The next morning Dean awakens to sounds he really doesn’t want to hear at a volume that really doesn’t agree with his hangover. He makes a mental note to ask Cas for more holy oil.
Re: Dean & Sam/Lucifer
From:Re: Dean & Sam/Lucifer
From:no subject
Date: 2011-12-12 10:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-12 10:50 am (UTC)Fool's Gold (Supernatural, Sam/Lucifer)
Date: 2011-12-13 03:27 am (UTC)He can't understand then, why Sam looks so defeated. Not after Lucifer has offered him justice for the great wrongs of his life. "I swear to you Sam, Jessica didn't deserve,"
"You're right," Sam cuts him off, "she didn't." And Lucifer can feel the pang of hurt that accompanies the thought in his vessel, but Sam still sounds tired when he continues. "But it's done, and getting even won't bring her back. I know that now. About as well as I know not to trust your claims of empty justice. When are you going to learn Lucifer?"
Learn what? He stands opposite his vessel, and it's like staring into a mirror and the face of a stranger at the same time. Dissorienting to say the least. He's supposed to be in charge here; Sam's supposed to say yes, but it would appear that this vessel thinks he knows something Lucifer doesn't.
"What then? What's your great pearl of wisdom Sam? Inquiring minds want to know." His tone is mocking, but Lucifer can't help being the slightest bit curious.
"Revenge is as pointless as your pride," Sam tells him, chin held high, "you can't imagine a world where you don't get your way, where I don't say yes to you. Didn't you think the same about being cast from heaven? The difference between you and me," Sam continues, the insolent little cockroach, "is that I've lived in a world I have no control over, and I've learned better. I told you I'm past believing in anything, and I am.
"I'm done believing in your plan; I'm done believing in destiny, and I'm saying right now that I will never say yes to you."
Lucifer schools his face into a patient expression, because Sam just doesn't understand. He is human, he sees only darkly - can't comprehend the vastness that is the universe, that is the master plan.
He's not reaching Sam tonight, it's quickly obvious. Sam is stubborn. So, Lucifer leaves him to wax poetic all he likes, already trying to come up with his next offer, because Sam will say yes to him. It's human nature, it's destiny, and Sam was made for him.
Inside though; inside he thinks of the insolence, the casual way Sam brought up the fall, and his unshakable certainty that he will be the one calling the shots. It's laughable.
Lucifer burns down a city and he rages.
Re: Fool's Gold (Supernatural, Sam/Lucifer)
From:no subject
Date: 2011-12-12 11:40 am (UTC)AU, gen, pre-apocalyptic
Date: 2013-08-23 02:49 am (UTC)Like most things, it started in a bar. Kronos had been dead for a year, along with their brothers. MacLeod continued preaching, Joe kept watching and recording, and the world continued to turn.
Small annoyances crept in, Methos dealt with them, and nothing ever changed.
Nothing would ever change again.
Methos was sitting in a bar, drinking swill, listening to a band wail, and Joe was chatting while he poured drinks, and MacLeod was lecturing the boy about something, and Methos realized that the world was long overdue for the cleansing fire.
Had that been what Kronos wanted? At the time, it had seemed mad - but that was because it was Kronos' plan, and the four of them knew that Methos needed to plan things. But he had only taken Kronos' blueprints and refined them.
He should have scrapped the whole thing and built something new.
But no, he thinks, fingers tightening on the bottle. He'd still been blinded by MacLeod.
His brothers are dead. He sets down the bottle and tilts his head, covertly studying the righteous child who dared defy the ancients.
Why, he thinks, did I turn on my brothers for this child? He cannot remember.
How long has it been since fire cleansed the world? So much is corrupt and stagnant.
Oh, my brothers, forgive me, he pleads, standing and striding to the door. In your honor, I will ride again. He pauses, glancing back at Joe, at MacLeod and his boy, at the mortals who had no idea of the god in their midst. For you, Kronos, out of the sun once more.
.
It starts in a bar.
It does not end there.
no subject
Date: 2011-12-12 12:53 pm (UTC)zombie fill. idek. 1/2
Date: 2011-12-12 03:06 pm (UTC)~~
Something that Harry hadn't realised at first was that being the Master of Death meant, apparently, that you attracted the dead.
"Hallo-w," said the woman, mouth working oddly round the word. She raised a hand to stroke his cheek, and one of her fingers fell to the ground.
~
It was amusing how the Ministry was wasting all its time trying to maintain wizarding secrecy when quite frankly there were worse problems affecting them than a apparition sighting or a broomstick flying unhidden through the air. Harry hoped that, had the officials been able to create a cure for the virus, they would have distributed it and not cared about the consequences. They couldn't. St Mungo's had set up a new department; the Department of Mysteries was packed tight with cadavers and Uns, but even their morally-dubious experiments had yielded nothing.
Hermione, who, like Ron, was working on the front line in a muggle hospital, had emailed him the other day to tell him it was getting worse, that communicability was rising to the high 70s, and that he should get his arse down there before she floo'd to Italy and got him over herself.
It wasn't that easy. When the outbreak first happened the response had been slow; if the doctors who had accepted the grey-ish, glassy-eyed woman had known what they were dealing with they might have been able to contain the spread to Wales if they'd shot her straight away. As soon as she breathed her last before, five minutes later, sitting up and ripping out the throat of the medical student who was wheeling her down to the infirmary, everywhere went to red alert.
The borders were closed to both wizards and muggles. Harry - who'd been in Rome on an assignment - had been caught completely off guard. In the month since he'd been locked out, he'd heard increasingly worrying reports from Hermione's emails.
Owls had been banned from delivering mail, and the Royal Mail had all but collapsed, meaning that those wizards who were not acquainted with muggle technology had been thrown in at the deep end. Thanks to Ministry charm patches, almost every home - no matter how deep in a wizarding village - could have a computer without it going haywire.
Harry had skyped with his family every night, checking that Ginny and James were keeping safe. To his knowledge no one had become an Un whilst pregnant, and he didn't want Ginny to be the first. Day after day seeing her face, grainy on the screen, and hearing James gurgle happily at him, had been his line to sanity.
Three days after Hermione's email, Ginny went offline and stayed that way. Rules be damned: he was going to use his unauthorised portkey, and he was going to find his wife and child. After all, if he was going in there was no way he could bring the infection out.
~
He landed in Duthie Park in Aberdeen. All the Aurors' unauthorised portkeys - not on the books, but handed to every man and woman on the job when they got their badge - led to the Winter Gardens: the place was warm all day and locked tight after dark, and it was easy to apparate from there to anywhere in the UK.
The first thing that struck him was the smell. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom – and he stopped gagging long enough to see straight – he noticed hulking shadows in front of him. Squinting, he could almost convince himself that they were vines over rocks, or perhaps an ill-kept privet hedge. But that limb wasn't the bough of a creeper, and that shock of hair wasn't a patch of lichen.
These were people who'd been killed by the Uns before they could be infected by them.
Uns didn't have a particular taste for brains above anything else, though the international media preferred to see it that way. Uns didn't even eat the flesh. They existed only to destroy.
Harry turned on his heel – destination, deliberation, determination - but his desire simply to get away, to put as much distance between himself and the bodies as possible, meant that when he arrived at the Burrow he was splinched.
~
zombie fill. idek. 2/3
From:zombie fill. idek. 3/3
From:Re: zombie fill. idek. 3/3
From:Re: zombie fill. idek. 3/3
From:no subject
Date: 2011-12-12 12:58 pm (UTC)Filled
Date: 2011-12-13 12:51 am (UTC)After a while he got to the point where he didn't even bother to point out to them that he was just as flesh and blood as they were anymore. It really didn't help when Hermione pointed out that Jesus was flesh and blood once too because, yeah, going there was the way of the BAD THINGS that lead to DARK LORD-ism and believing your own hype.
Sometimes Harry amused himself wondering what Snape would have thought of all this. Probably the first time Snape came across one of the Harolds (as they called themselves) either his head would have exploded or he'd have been taken to Azkaban for cursing them into a quivering pile of goo.
Sometimes Harry thinks it'd be nice to have someone who could act the part of the demon to his deity.
Re: Filled
From:no subject
Date: 2011-12-12 01:34 pm (UTC)