dollsome | an eerie, halloweenish, &/or generally autumnal comment ficathon

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comment ficathon

an eerie, halloweenish, &/or generally autumnal comment ficathon

"I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers."

an eerie, halloweenish, &/or generally autumnal
comment ficathon

LET'S DO THIS
1. all fandoms welcome
2. prompts should be somehow related to autumn or halloween; 'tis the season!
3. one prompt per comment, prompts should be formatted along the general lines of '[fandom] - [pairing/character] - [prompt]'
4. when you've filled a prompt, leave a link to it in the filled prompts comment thread
5. include a title, if the title muses are being cooperative :)
6. share!

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Yay, I'm glad you liked it! And thank you!

Gilmore Girls, Jess/Rory, trick or treat, give me something good to eat

Aliens/Cabin in the Woods, gen cast AU with Ripley, there's no such thing as monsters

Friday Night Lights, Tim/Lyla, you might as well be the devil, keeping me up the street

You, madam, are wonderful. ♥

Oh, I like! Perfect! All visceral and angsty.

Also, it makes me want to go cook the butternut squash I just brought home from safeway. Which slightly irrational at 9pm...

eta: grumble. New commenting format won't let me use the html I want to use. Very annoying!

Edited 2012-10-10 04:06 (UTC)

hee! this is really, really great. OH BOYS. of course they would. and cas with the cat ears = GOLD.

You had me with the first line. And thinking of Jayne and his hat, I reckon I can see the rest, too.
Very nice.

you're a wolf, boy, get out of this town
(sorry this is ridic & someone else should totally fill it!)

Cato says, "Moon's bright."

Clove tilts her face up towards it, doesn't bother to rub her eyes or yawn. "It'll be full soon." Her teeth are sharp and white, eyelashes almost black in the silver light. "You ready?"

He almost says, I didn't think we would ever run together again. They didn't expect Twelve girl to last this long. Didn't expect any of them, really.

He cards his fingers through her dark hair and imagines how it will feel when she is pack, her teeth at his throat as they tussle. He misses breathing her in.

Her stare never lets him go.

He bares his teeth. "Of course."

He wonders if he will miss her more when she is gone. He suspects not; he's not one for unachievable things.

It's cold out here. She wishes for her pelt, fox-red and designed for survival, for her paws, quiet and sure on all the unsteady terrain. She was never much for pack; she doesn't miss them.

She sighs and shades her eyes against the too-bright moon, and decides.

If she is going to go it is going to be on her own terms
as herself.

She falls to all fours and lets her body ripple across her.

oh, She thinks, breathing in, the scent of the entire arena coursing through her nose, oh.

It is so good to be home.

Her paws do not slip all the way to the boy by the creek, to his pile of berries on a leaf.

She will have to be human to swallow them. Wolves are designed to survive; children are more delicate things.

Thresh has never had much use for the wolf in the fields; impractical, too low to the ground, too aggressive for their overseers. It was always Rue who loved it, Rue who danced bright eyed and lovely around his heels as a child, around his knees as she got older.

She will never get any older than this.

She always said, "Thresh, it's so beautiful, don't you understand? It's where we're free.

He always thought, freedom is a luxury we can't afford, but instead of saying it ran his fingers through the scruff at the base of her neck, a beautiful dusky dark brown, murmured, "I'll keep you safe."

Twelve looks like a wolf, even wholly human. She says, "I covered her in flowers." Her eyes are sharp and dark and wary.

He thinks about freedom in Rue's light careful voice. He says, "thank you," and wonders what there is left in the world.

It is easy, he realizes:
there is the wolf.

He never believed Rue when she said, "It's what we're supposed to be, Thresh."

Now, he does. He is running and he can feel the joy of it singing through his veins. He has never felt such joy.

He imagines it will be better when his teeth close through Two's throat.

It is a full moon; it is all Katniss can do to keep from dropping to her paws and howling. Peeta's hand is clenching around her wrist - Katniss, he is whispering. He is from the town. They have always been less animal.

Cato is walking towards them. The fur is rippling across his skin but he doesn't seem to care; he will be just as lethal either way, she can tell. She knows wild animals.

Katniss digs her nails into her palms and breathes in the scent of Peeta's skin. Her wolf is much smaller than Cato's, will not be as smart, as controlled. She is a runner but not -- she has not spent very much time aware in her other skin. She trusts her instincts out past the meadow but she does not think her instincts will be enough, not when Peeta is here with his blood so warm and limp.

(And she remembers Haymitch murmured, "the Capitol doesn't like the wolves.")

Cato breathes, "Twelve," and there's like poison laden on his twisting grotesque voice. "Twelve, I'm going to eat you alive."

She says nothing. Everything smells like blood.

Peeta says, "no, you aren't." There's something quiet in the set of him that lets her settle, soothes the roiling heart of her.

Cato falls.
Katniss does not hear his last words. (Last scream.)

Nobody does.

Except:

There is a small dark wolf, all sharp green eyes and sharper white teeth.

He stares at her and growls her name - Clove - which is a scent, which is as close as he has ever come to love.

She dips her head to his throat and blinks, three times,

and rips it out.

the storm is coming soon

“bucky,” steve says. he’s too thin and his breathing’s a harsh tattoo that bucky doesn’t like but his eyes are bright as ever, bright like summer sunshine; bright like his laugh.

nobody’s laughing today.

“steve,” bucky says, careful. the sun catches on his shoulders, hot like it’s summer, like the world isn’t about to end.

don’t go, steve doesn’t say. he sighs and runs a hand through his messy hair.

they are sitting on the steps of steve’s grandmother’s old brownstone. bucky doesn’t smoke around steve. the leaves are about to turn and people keep stopping to smile and wave at them - that’s the neighbourhood, for you.

“i’ll be home soon,” bucky says, catching steve’s wrist between his fingers.

steve’s eyes are magnetic, electric, glowing.

they are both of them not breathing.

bucky wonders if that is steve’s heartbeat thundering in his ears or his own. he wonders if this, if now, is when they will let whatever it is finally drag them in, drag them under.

steve blinks.

bucky is staring at his mouth, at the blue of his eyes.

they are like a fire’s heart, like

the blue of the oldest ice, the blue of the deepest ocean.

oh, james buchanan thinks, oh i’m falling.

he thinks, i’m sorry, steve.

the water is so cold and he has to close his eyes against it--

oh captain, my captain.

“winter soldier, do you copy?”

“that’s not my name,” he says, choking on ice and steel in the back of his throat.

her voice is harsh and cruel. there’s a lilt to it that doesn’t sound like his own. “what’s your name, then?”

he thinks, steve, but that’s not right.

his fingers don’t feel right. nothing feels right.

he swallows.

everything is so cold.

“i don’t know,” he grits out.

“so listen,” she snaps. “it’s for your own good.”

it’s stupid.

he knows that there is such a thing as warmth he just

can’t

remember it.

he keeps thinking: blue eyes.

but his entire world is all red.

“cheer up, soldier,” the red widow murmurs. “it’s not winter yet.” a leaf drifts, crimson like her hair, into her black-gloved palm.

his entire body is always so cold. he says, “it’s been winter for a long time now.”

he hates new york.

the streets always look somehow

familiar.

Wolves are designed to survive; children are more delicate things.

I just love how your writing is always filled with these sharp, gorgeous lines that are absolutely cutting, and this one totally stood out to me. Plus: I love what you've done with this AU, "The Capitol doesn't like the wolves." IT MAKES SO MUCH SENSE.

doctor who, eleven/amy → the leaves in central park were golden; they'll stay that way in his mind.

*bows*

A pleasure to serve.

*g* Glad you liked this!

Thank you! That's very flattering and nice to hear.

I think squash bars could work; in fact, any of these 'recipes', though I don't like beer so I'm not wild about that idea. Squash = delicious.

*g* Thank you!

Thanks so much!

Grr, posting changes. But I'm glad you like the ficlet. Maybe save the squash for tomorrow? (Which is probably today by now...)

*g* The first line is beer_good_foamy's prompt but it spoke to me too and I knew I'd come back and write for it.

Moonrise Kingdom - Sam/Suzy - fall scouting shenanigans

YES. This. \o/

Cheers for this lovely little fill!

Torchwood - Vera/Jilly - "The ghost of her smile still haunts me."

ok, first of all, i don't know anything about hunger games.
second of all, LOVED THIS. i just LOVE your sentences and their rhythm and the words you use and everything.

favorite parts:

He always thought, freedom is a luxury we can't afford, but instead of saying it ran his fingers through the scruff at the base of her neck, a beautiful dusky dark brown, murmured, "I'll keep you safe."

and

Except:

There is a small dark wolf, all sharp green eyes and sharper white teeth.

He stares at her and growls her name - Clove - which is a scent, which is as close as he has ever come to love.

She dips her head to his throat and blinks, three times,

and rips it out.

thank you so much!!!!!

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an eerie, halloweenish, &/or generally autumnal comment ficathon

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Re: The Least Wonderful Night of the Year (Sam, Dean, Cas, PG13)

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