Comment ficlets!

[mllelaurel]

Yoinked from wired_lizard

My writerbrain needs a jumpstart. So I'm doing that thing I sometimes do where I open myself for ficlet prompts and do my darndest to actually fill them all. Comment with a request and I'll comment back with fic.

So, here's the deal: Normally, the writer asks for one prompt per person, maybe two. This time, I ask that you give me as many prompts as you can think of, for my chosen fandoms. This way, I can pick and choose the prompts that interest/inspire me the most, everyone will be more likely to get something, and the prompts I don't get to now will likely be featured in Blogathon. (Yes, that's almost half a year away. Hush. ;-p) So seriously? If you have ten prompts, give me ten prompts!

Featured fandoms:
Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Sekirei
Kingdom Hearts
Xenosaga
Shoujo Kakumei Utena
Doctor Who (Eleventh Doctor only)

If you don't know any of these, or have a great idea for a prompt in another fandom you think I might be familiar with, feel free to request, though I make no guarantees.

Comments

[nevacaruso.livejournal.com]

Hmm, I already asked wired_lizard for Miya-centric Sekirei fic, so how about something featuring Uzume and Kuu? (Because Kuu-chan makes everything better.)

[mllelaurel.livejournal.com]

U-chan’s closet is stuffed full of bins and boxes, some stacked on top of one another. Some labeled, others blank. Frilly dresses hang from the hooks on the walls. Kuu sticks out her tongue in frustration. If she picks one now, it means she can’t wear the rest.

Uzume laughs when she tells her, pushes away a box labeled ‘naughty,’ full of leather and straps. “Who says you have to pick one?” she says. “That’s what tomorrow’s for: all the rest of the costumes.” She sounds wistful, when she says ‘tomorrow.’ Kuu wraps her arms around the older girl’s waist and hangs on, burying her face in Uzume’s stomach.

“Oh, hey, what did I say, what did I do?”

Kuu shakes her head, eyes squinted shut. “Nonono, you’re not making me sad.” And it’s true, she doesn’t feel sad. Just warm and concerned. Uzume had sounded scared and lonely, just then, and Kuu knows what those feel like, but she also knows that lonely and scared are things adults don’t like admitting to.

Uzume ruffles her hair. “Wait till you’re taller, then your face would wind up right in my boobs.”

Taller seems years and years away, as far as Kuu is concerned. Sometimes, she wishes she weren’t so little, with the adult world just out of reach. Maybe then, she could really help everyone. She does her best now, but it’s hard. The others don’t always tell her everything. Niichan tells her he feels the same way sometimes, but it’s not the same. He’s an adult, even if he’s not a sekirei.

“How do you have all these costumes, anyway?” Because sometimes asking is a part of learning.

Uzume grins, and maybe Kuu did more right than she thought, because she’s distracted now, no longer sad. “I make ‘em,” she says.

Kuu’s seen Miya-san patching holes in an old kimono, slender needle darting in and out, her face far away. “Does it take a long time?” she asks.

“Nope!” Uzume reaches in and pulls out a box. Once the top comes off, Kuu can see that it’s full of colorful fabrics. “Watch this.” She closes her eyes, her lips soundlessly forming words, and a bolt of grey fabric rises into the air. The edges fray, threads weaving themselves loose, until the piece is just the right size. Kuu peeks and sees that Uzume’s eyes are now squinted open. Sides of the cloth come together and blend, seamless. Zippers and stuffing insert themselves where they are needed.

It’s really cool. “I wish I could do that,” Kuu says. Though maybe that’s why U-chan doesn’t want to fight. Because her powers are not made for combat.

Uzume flips` a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Yeah, well, I wish I could grow trees, so we’re even, ne? Here, try this on.”

The costume she’d made is just Kuu’s size, a soft grey bird. There are little feather details on the wings. Kuu strokes her fingers over them, almost afraid that the little bird would spook and take flight.

“It’s a wagtail,” Uzume says,” zipping her up in the back. “A sekirei.”

[nevacaruso.livejournal.com]

I love Kuu's understanding of the world and her people, and Uzume's powers are so awesome.

This was lovely and adorable; thanks for writing it! <3

[mllelaurel.livejournal.com]

Glad you liked!

[wired-lizard.livejournal.com]

ZOMFG.

Well, you know me, and you know how much I want fic in some of those fandoms and how little there is. SO. TEN PROMPTS, YO. In no particular order, as I think of them. Being vague with some of them in attempts to evade spoilers; let me know if they're confusing or something.

Xenosaga: Gaignun/Shion: she can't escape her memories.

Sekirei: Kagari/Minato: I don't even have a prompt, I just ship this pairing hard. Um. Cape-san blows the Vader secret in Kagari's presence, Minato has to pick up the pieces? I dunno. Anything.

Puella Magi: Homura/Madoka: and then there was that one time around when she told her she loved her.

Sekirei: Mutsu and any/all of the Maison Izumo folks: so I have dumb jailbait but I don't particularly feel like reading the Mikogami Apologia right now.

Kingdom Hearts: any combination of the Destiny Islands OT3 and their assorted nobodies and replicas, perhaps with bonus Axel: everywhere I turn my reflection is waving back, except maybe when it's giving me the finger.

Xenosaga: Helmer and chaos: why is it that he trusts him implicitly, and how much does he know?

Sekirei: Mikogami/Akitsu: he likes it when she smiles.

Xenosaga: chaos and Pellegri and maybe Jin and/or KOS-MOS and an AU of some sort: when she was five, she decided she wanted to marry Jesus.

Doctor Who: River/Eleven and whoever else may be involved: so remember our crack theory where she's a fobwatched Romana?

Sekirei: Matsu: in which she pantses/otherwise strips somebody hilarious, I pretty much don't care who, doesn't even have to be from that universe, bonus points for surprize Jack Harkness. (Yes, this prompt is intended for 5 am during Blogathon.)

Homura/Madoka

[mllelaurel.livejournal.com]

“Don’t let go of my hand.”

Around them, Mitakihara lies in ruins. The gutted buildings have become a familiar sight across the iterations. Some things change, but this, the silhouette of a broken city, never does. Homura’s grown inured to the horror of it.

But the damage taken by Madoka’s body is worse still, and this… this she has no defense against. In the normal stream of time, the other girl would be dead. Even now, she looks down at a jagged tear along her side, no longer seeping blood. “Why doesn’t this hurt?”

Homura shudders. The effect is unconsciously similar to what Incubator does to his young protégés. Separated from the soul, removed from pain, the body heals.

Not even the Soul Gem would be enough to heal Madoka as she is now. Perhaps if one of the others were alive, the ones with a knack for healing. But Tomoe Mami had fallen to a witch called Charlotte weeks ago, and Miki Sayaka had become a witch herself, losing the battle with despair. Both had staunchly refused Homura’s aid; both had paid for it with their lives. She’d rather it have been different, but she can’t change the past without starting over wholesale.

Madoka had accepted her help, taken everything she had to offer with open arms. And still, she is dying.

“I’ve frozen time,” Homura tells her, doing her best to keep her voice warm. It’s rusty from lack of practice. “See?” she points at a gust of rain, frozen fanned out in midair.

Madoka’s lips quirk up. “It’s kind of beautiful.”

Homura doesn’t think there’s anything beautiful here, save the girl at her side. “It’ll be ok,” she promises. Lies. It’s difficult to keep the timestream of Madoka’s body inert while Madoka herself is conscious. She feels dregs of magical energy sucked out of her, like blood into plastic tubing. Her own soul gem won’t last much longer.

“It’ll be ok,” she says again, fingers tightly intertwined with Madoka’s. Even though she doesn’t believe in gods anymore, she’s almost tired enough to pray. Instead, she leans in, kisses the other girl’s forehead, lips soundlessly forming the words ‘I love you’ against her skin. It’s a moment of weakness, but Madoka has always been her Achilles’ heel.

Against her, Madoka goes still, then startles. “My family…”

They’re probably dead. Not many could have survived the devastation Walpurgisnacht brought in her wake. Homura wants to look away. “Just remember: this never happened. This will never have happened. I can go back and fix it. No matter how many times it takes, I will.” It’s been four times, so far. This is the fifth.

Madoka raises her free hand to trail along Homura’s cheek. Her fingers are freezing. “I knew we’d met before. With the dreams, and… But even aside from that, you felt familiar, the first time I saw you. Like you were someone important to me. Were you… Were you someone I loved?”

“No.” Homura feels her own shields go up, eyes growing distant and cold.

Madoka doesn’t flinch. “I think you’re wrong.”

“I’ll make sure you’re safe,” Homura says, deflecting. “You, and your family and friends.” She cracks a painful smile. “You can all live happily ever after.”

Re: Homura/Madoka

[mllelaurel.livejournal.com]

“You too, right?” Madoka grips her hand tightly enough to make it go numb. “You’ll be there too, right?”

And damn it, it hurts, because there is nothing she wants more than a lifetime with this girl, in a green, sunlit world untouched by the Incubators. “Probably not,” she says, though lying would have been better.

The streets are silent, but somewhere in normal time, Walpurgisnacht is still howling. The witch has been weakened, perhaps enough for Homura to defeat it on her own. But Homura’s been weakened too, and even if she won, it wouldn’t matter. There’s no saving Madoka in this timeline. She can hold on to her; use every resource she has to postpone the inevitable. But even though Madoka is here with her, talking to her, cracking the ice bands she’s tried so hard to place around her heart, she is already dead. Incubator has torn out her soul; Homura has taken her out of time. The process isn’t so different, really, and the thought of it makes her sick.

She doesn’t let go of Madoka as she raises her shield and sends time hurtling backward. Maybe it’s due to some ill-defined hope of being able to bring her back with her. She knows it doesn’t work like that, but the human mind isn’t rational, not even hers. Or maybe it’s that, just this once, she wants the last thing she sees to be Madoka, alive. It’s a small comfort that in this timeline, the light will never go out of Madoka’s eyes. The timeline will die before she does. It’s a tiny slice of false hope, but one Homura badly needs.

She wakes up in her hospital bed and thinks, here comes number six.

[yunafonfabre.livejournal.com]

Kingdom Hearts
Mickey Mouse's Nobody.
Hades' reaction to Halloween Town.
Larxene/Aqua with a BDSM tilt.
Axel/Aladdin, just for the pretty.

Shoujo Kakumei Utena
Ruka as a Black Rose Duelist.
Kozue/Juri.
Akio tries and fails to seduce Tatsuya.
Series Akio/Movie Akio.

Doctor Who
Doctor/Vincent hurt-comfort.
Eleventh Doctor playing chess with Seventh Doctor.

[yunafonfabre.livejournal.com]

Dammit. Can't edit my own comment to fix the HTML. XP

[nevacaruso.livejournal.com]

Ruka as a Black Rose Duelist.

I second this. If it were possible to third, fourth, and fifth it, I would do that, too.

Ruka as a Black Rose duelist

[mllelaurel.livejournal.com]

In the plays of ancient Greece, the hero would rise or fall – mostly fall – on the weight of his fatal flaw, and more often than not, that flaw was hubris. Pride.

He didn’t think he suffered from any such fatal flaw, which, in itself, should have been a hint.

The Nemuro Memorial Hall whispers to him. Perhaps it’s that he’s half a ghost himself already; a man who would be dead, were it not for Ohtori’s strange temporal properties. He tells himself he’s only going in to investigate. The more he knows about this hellhole of a school and its fairy logic, the quicker he can free Juri from its hold.
Juri. For her, he would fight the forces at work here – or ally with them, as needed. With her at his side, he might have defied even death. But that is not to be. He’s resigned himself to a noble sacrifice, after all. Wouldn’t do to change the story midstream.

The Hall greets him with silence and pointing arrows. He expects his footsteps to echo, but they don’t, sound eaten by the hardwood floors. He doesn’t have a pen on him, so he doesn’t bother to fill out the form. Just steps into the elevator.

“Begin,” says the mechanized voice. At least, Ruka thinks it’s mechanized. There is something in its qualities which is devoid of a human touch. Then again, he’s met humans like that. The chair is uncomfortable; too small for him. He remains resolutely silent.

He can feel the elevator moving down, but it’s taking minutes upon minutes to reach its destination, whatever that may be. If he doesn’t speak, doesn’t tell it what it wants to hear, will he be trapped here forever, moving down a nonexistent cable until his body rots away?

“There’s a girl,” he tells the voice at the end of the line. He can almost hear it nod in acknowledgment. The picture on the elevator wall seems to shimmer. “I would do anything for her.”

The voice seems unsatisfied. “Deeper. Go deeper.” Its tones burrow into him, until it feels some part of his mind is being torn open.

“I don’t care if she loves somebody else. I’m fucked anyway, right? I want her to be happy, not lonely or mourning or bitter. She’s grown so hard, recently…” The elevator grinds to a stop and begins, slowly, to move upward. He wishes he could shut up again, but the torrent of words just keeps coming.

“She’s grown so hard, recently, and it’s all her fault. That girl knows Juri is in love with her, and what does she do? She feigns ignorance, drags it out. She loves the power of it – the only thing she can love is power. She could tell her ‘no;’ end it. She could look into her heart and see she loves her after all. Instead, she plays the child, the innocent, the fool. It’s all a game to her.” The elevator plummets, so fast he is almost in freefall.

“And I’ve never wanted anything in the world so much as I want to destroy her.”

What is he saying? His head is starting to swim. It reminds him of the medication the doctors have had him on, the one that dulled the pain but paralyzed his limbs. The one that made him believe someone on the other end of the wall was talking about killing everyone in the building. Some part of him knows the words coming out of his mouth aren’t any more true than the phantom serial killer. And yet, a raw, buried part of him believes in their veracity. He’s not so rational after all. He laughs at that, and can’t stop laughing until the elevator hits bottom.

The last thing he remembers before blacking out is a small, dark-skinned hand cupping his cheek and a strangely familiar voice saying. “Shame, you could almost have been a Prince.”

Re: Ruka as a Black Rose duelist

[yunafonfabre.livejournal.com]

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

Re: Ruka as a Black Rose duelist

[mllelaurel.livejournal.com]

Glad you enjoyed!

Re: Ruka as a Black Rose duelist

[nevacaruso.livejournal.com]

For her, he would fight the forces at work here – or ally with them, as needed. With her at his side, he might have defied even death. But that is not to be. He’s resigned himself to a noble sacrifice, after all. Wouldn’t do to change the story midstream.

YES.

Every single bit of this is wonderful.