Flash Fiction (Take 19 - Part 1)
Sep. 12th, 2011 07:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22a/n: Sorry for the radio silence yesterday. RL was busy. But I return today, victorious with three of the flash fiction. Please enjoy! And mind the errors, these haven't been beta'ed.
For firegirl0
Prompt: FF7 Cid, “You can't take the sky from me.”
Fandom: Final Fantasy 7. Pre-game. Warnings: AU-ish as I'm reasonably certain my memories of Cid's past are quite shoddy.
For ancientlybroken
Prompt: Superman/Batman, invincible, angst
Fandom: Justice League. Warning: angst, character death
They aren't a one of them invincible. Not even the indomitable Superman. This is a painful truth that Clark has forced himself to understand, that he wishes he could impart upon his fellow superheroes. They know it, each of them having their own Kryptonite. This weakness may not take the form of a green glowing rock, but it is there all the same.
There are ways to circumvent the weaknesses. Override them, protect against them, overcome them in some cases. And yet, that they are not invincible, that death eventually comes for them all, is an inevitable truth.
Nothing lasts forever. Not even the stars.
Someday, Superman will pass, joining the rest of his fellow superheroes. A long time after Clark Kent has been laid to rest, so, too will Superman.
That Bruce is the first to go doesn't surprise Superman. He is, after all, only human. He's not been augmented by magic or science. He doesn't have an ounce of metahuman blood in him. In fact, Bruce is defeated by the one foe he cannot defeat by sheer power of will alone – time.
It is also the one foe Superman's fists cannot pummel, his vision cannot burn, and his speed cannot outrun. It is the one battle Superman is powerless to help Batman fight.
Knowing that something is inevitable does not make it any easier to bear. Any easier to swallow. Any easier to sit here and draw up a famous, Boy Scout smile.
Batman will have a successor. Bruce will not have planned for anything less. There are plenty members of the Batclan around to ensure that the Batman name will continue. That Batman will always be present to protect the citizens of Gotham, and when called upon, the people of Earth.
But there is no replacement for Bruce Wayne. No equal, no consolation prize.
“I wouldn't want to live forever,” Bruce has said on too many occasions. Though he always follows up with a wry smirk and “But dying right now isn't an option either.”
A smile tries to tug at Clark's lips, but it washes away just as quickly. The fingers in his hold are only growing colder, and not even Superman's excessive heat can keep them warm. Bruce's breathing is getting slower and slower, and the last time he opened his eyes was hours ago.
Clark's not letting go until the absolute end, and perhaps not even then. He presses his lips to thin knuckles and keeps his silent vigil. They are none of them invincible, and Batman least of all.
For mistress_pirate
Prompt: TatsukixIchigo, FYE 'verse, learning experience
Fandom: Bleach. Warning: het, groping
For firegirl0
Prompt: FF7 Cid, “You can't take the sky from me.”
Fandom: Final Fantasy 7. Pre-game. Warnings: AU-ish as I'm reasonably certain my memories of Cid's past are quite shoddy.
He's juggling the newspaper, a coffee cup, one bag from the grocery store and his tool kit by the time he gets home. A juggling act made more complicated by the fact he somehow has to find his keys and open the door. Joy.
Cid drops the newspaper and spills coffee all over his fingers, but he does manage to get the door unlocked and shoves it open. There is, of course, resistance in the form of months worth of mail stacked up just behind the slot. Lovely.
Grunting, Cid manages to stumble into his much-neglected apartment, dump his armful of crap on the first available surface, and go back for the abandoned newspaper and stacks of mail. Not that there's good news. There's never any good news, is there?
He shoves his door closed with his foot, scoops up the mail, and dumps it on the table too. Magazines he never subscribed for stare back at him with their glossy images. He idly tosses them over his shoulder into the trash can. He sips at his cooling coffee, pulls out a cigarette, and paws through the rest of the mail.
Bill. Bill. Junk mail. Bill. Oh, well, this is interesting. Not. He snorts, and tosses all of that into the trash, too. You need a job to pay your bills; no point in agonizing over something he ain't ever going to have the money to pay.
And then, a letter from ShinRa.
Cid pauses. He's tempted to throw it away. The last two politely worded rejections (they could have just written go fuck yourself and saved on paper) had only succeeded in pissing him off. He's just setting himself up for more disappointment.
But he also must be a glutton for punishment because he plunks himself down in his rickety kitchen chair, one of the four legs shorter than the other so it wobbles, and rips open the letter. He puffs on his cigarette, tosses the envelope into the trash, and warily scans the contents.
The cigarette falls from his lips. He reads the letter again. And then he leaps from his chair, which apparently is the last the poor thing can take because the cracked leg splits down the middle and it topples sideways.
“Well, I'll be damned,” he mutters, staring at the incredible words.
They accepted it! His idea! They've even started a Space Program. And they want him to get started building his plans as soon as possible.
He checks the date on the letter. It came yesterday. Plenty of time to send in an affirmative response. And Cid's grin stretches for miles.
Cid drops the newspaper and spills coffee all over his fingers, but he does manage to get the door unlocked and shoves it open. There is, of course, resistance in the form of months worth of mail stacked up just behind the slot. Lovely.
Grunting, Cid manages to stumble into his much-neglected apartment, dump his armful of crap on the first available surface, and go back for the abandoned newspaper and stacks of mail. Not that there's good news. There's never any good news, is there?
He shoves his door closed with his foot, scoops up the mail, and dumps it on the table too. Magazines he never subscribed for stare back at him with their glossy images. He idly tosses them over his shoulder into the trash can. He sips at his cooling coffee, pulls out a cigarette, and paws through the rest of the mail.
Bill. Bill. Junk mail. Bill. Oh, well, this is interesting. Not. He snorts, and tosses all of that into the trash, too. You need a job to pay your bills; no point in agonizing over something he ain't ever going to have the money to pay.
And then, a letter from ShinRa.
Cid pauses. He's tempted to throw it away. The last two politely worded rejections (they could have just written go fuck yourself and saved on paper) had only succeeded in pissing him off. He's just setting himself up for more disappointment.
But he also must be a glutton for punishment because he plunks himself down in his rickety kitchen chair, one of the four legs shorter than the other so it wobbles, and rips open the letter. He puffs on his cigarette, tosses the envelope into the trash, and warily scans the contents.
The cigarette falls from his lips. He reads the letter again. And then he leaps from his chair, which apparently is the last the poor thing can take because the cracked leg splits down the middle and it topples sideways.
“Well, I'll be damned,” he mutters, staring at the incredible words.
They accepted it! His idea! They've even started a Space Program. And they want him to get started building his plans as soon as possible.
He checks the date on the letter. It came yesterday. Plenty of time to send in an affirmative response. And Cid's grin stretches for miles.
For ancientlybroken
Prompt: Superman/Batman, invincible, angst
Fandom: Justice League. Warning: angst, character death
They aren't a one of them invincible. Not even the indomitable Superman. This is a painful truth that Clark has forced himself to understand, that he wishes he could impart upon his fellow superheroes. They know it, each of them having their own Kryptonite. This weakness may not take the form of a green glowing rock, but it is there all the same.
There are ways to circumvent the weaknesses. Override them, protect against them, overcome them in some cases. And yet, that they are not invincible, that death eventually comes for them all, is an inevitable truth.
Nothing lasts forever. Not even the stars.
Someday, Superman will pass, joining the rest of his fellow superheroes. A long time after Clark Kent has been laid to rest, so, too will Superman.
That Bruce is the first to go doesn't surprise Superman. He is, after all, only human. He's not been augmented by magic or science. He doesn't have an ounce of metahuman blood in him. In fact, Bruce is defeated by the one foe he cannot defeat by sheer power of will alone – time.
It is also the one foe Superman's fists cannot pummel, his vision cannot burn, and his speed cannot outrun. It is the one battle Superman is powerless to help Batman fight.
Knowing that something is inevitable does not make it any easier to bear. Any easier to swallow. Any easier to sit here and draw up a famous, Boy Scout smile.
Batman will have a successor. Bruce will not have planned for anything less. There are plenty members of the Batclan around to ensure that the Batman name will continue. That Batman will always be present to protect the citizens of Gotham, and when called upon, the people of Earth.
But there is no replacement for Bruce Wayne. No equal, no consolation prize.
“I wouldn't want to live forever,” Bruce has said on too many occasions. Though he always follows up with a wry smirk and “But dying right now isn't an option either.”
A smile tries to tug at Clark's lips, but it washes away just as quickly. The fingers in his hold are only growing colder, and not even Superman's excessive heat can keep them warm. Bruce's breathing is getting slower and slower, and the last time he opened his eyes was hours ago.
Clark's not letting go until the absolute end, and perhaps not even then. He presses his lips to thin knuckles and keeps his silent vigil. They are none of them invincible, and Batman least of all.
For mistress_pirate
Prompt: TatsukixIchigo, FYE 'verse, learning experience
Fandom: Bleach. Warning: het, groping
Ichigo is quite possibly more than a little tipsy. The world is tilting left and right. His face is flushed and warm. He's got a grin on his face that really doesn't belong.
But then, Tatsuki doesn't seem any more sober. She's giggling of all things as she drapes against his side, stumbling a little down the sidewalk. No way she's going to make it to her tiny apartment. Good thing she's grown quite used to sharing Ichigo's bed.
They may never be true lovers, but there is an affection of sorts between them. Ichigo knows that there's a certain someone Tatsuki has her eyes on, and Tatsuki knows of the unrequited crush that Ichigo's clinging to. So really, it's win-win for both of them.
“I think your drunk,” Tatsuki says, laughing as Ichigo struggles to pull out his keys and let them into his apartment.
“I think I am, too,” Ichigo replies, and shoves open the door with his shoulder, both of them stumbling inside. “But so are you.”
She grins up at him, grip unrelenting and stronger than any woman's ought to be. “Oh, I know I am,” Tatsuki all but purrs. “Which means anything I decide to do tonight, I can blame on the alcohol. Care to be naughty with me?”
Ichigo's door slams shut behind him and he feels his face turn aflame. “Depends on what you mean by that,” he retorts with false bravado, unable to deny the twisting of interest in his belly, the wonderful way Tatsuki is rubbing up against him.
“Take me to your bedroom and I'll show you,” Tatsuki replies, one arm curving around him, her hand unashamedly groping his ass through his jeans.
Like hell Ichigo's going to say no.
“Sounds good to me,” he says, and in agreement, they half-stagger, half-bounce off the walls of the hallway, heading toward Ichigo's bedroom.
Tatsuki's of no help, her hands more useful in wandering, drawing a yelp from Ichigo when she shamelessly palms his groin. “Geez, Ichigo. Might as well be a virgin with that kind of reaction,” she teases.
The burning in his face must have become a bonfire and there's nothing Ichigo can do to stop it. “Ummm.”
“Seriously?” Tatsuki's grin is downright devilish. “Oh, this is going to be so much fun.”
Ichigo suddenly realizes that he might be in a little over his head. But what a way to go.
a/n: Six more to come!
But then, Tatsuki doesn't seem any more sober. She's giggling of all things as she drapes against his side, stumbling a little down the sidewalk. No way she's going to make it to her tiny apartment. Good thing she's grown quite used to sharing Ichigo's bed.
They may never be true lovers, but there is an affection of sorts between them. Ichigo knows that there's a certain someone Tatsuki has her eyes on, and Tatsuki knows of the unrequited crush that Ichigo's clinging to. So really, it's win-win for both of them.
“I think your drunk,” Tatsuki says, laughing as Ichigo struggles to pull out his keys and let them into his apartment.
“I think I am, too,” Ichigo replies, and shoves open the door with his shoulder, both of them stumbling inside. “But so are you.”
She grins up at him, grip unrelenting and stronger than any woman's ought to be. “Oh, I know I am,” Tatsuki all but purrs. “Which means anything I decide to do tonight, I can blame on the alcohol. Care to be naughty with me?”
Ichigo's door slams shut behind him and he feels his face turn aflame. “Depends on what you mean by that,” he retorts with false bravado, unable to deny the twisting of interest in his belly, the wonderful way Tatsuki is rubbing up against him.
“Take me to your bedroom and I'll show you,” Tatsuki replies, one arm curving around him, her hand unashamedly groping his ass through his jeans.
Like hell Ichigo's going to say no.
“Sounds good to me,” he says, and in agreement, they half-stagger, half-bounce off the walls of the hallway, heading toward Ichigo's bedroom.
Tatsuki's of no help, her hands more useful in wandering, drawing a yelp from Ichigo when she shamelessly palms his groin. “Geez, Ichigo. Might as well be a virgin with that kind of reaction,” she teases.
The burning in his face must have become a bonfire and there's nothing Ichigo can do to stop it. “Ummm.”
“Seriously?” Tatsuki's grin is downright devilish. “Oh, this is going to be so much fun.”
Ichigo suddenly realizes that he might be in a little over his head. But what a way to go.
a/n: Six more to come!
