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ways_back_room2016-09-09 05:54 am
bjornwilde) wrote in ways_back_room2016-09-09 05:54 am
Entry tags:
DE: Fic Friday
Been awhile so let's do fic! Tag in with the pups you'd like to write for to get prompts to write from. Fics can be as short or long as you wish.
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There’s a right way and a wrong way to live. The priests were big on it. And the parents - everyone’s, not just his own, which is why everyone ever is boring as hell, because no, it’s wrong to take that, or touch that, or break that; it’s wrong to set things on fire, or speak out of turn, or say what you think; it’s wrong to be smart, it’s wrong to be different, to be louder, or quieter, or better. Especially that last, as if being better doesn’t give you the right to toss their conventions out the window and live the way you deserve to.
There’s a right way and a wrong way to be free, and he chooses the right way every time. Most people are scared of it, don’t know what to do, limit themselves to a space their brains can deal with. They live in boxes that might as well be coffins, so they might as well be coffins and Jim smiles when he gives the order, closes his eyes and hums along with the melody of a well-placed bomb, spreads his arms to the sky and sets them free from themselves. They’d thank him if they could understand, so it’s lucky he doesn’t need thanks and if they don’t get it, it’s not his problem.
There’s a right way and a wrong way to die. They fall in the dark with their eyes closed, bumbling around in circles. Wrong, wrong and wrong, so let him be the better man once again and show them how it’s done. Dupe the world and go out on top; set yourself free while you’re at it. Go out with a quip and a handshake, a grin and one last trick. Life’s all a magic trick, one long sleight of hand to pretend any of it means a thing. There’s a long way and a short way to live, and he chooses the right way every time.
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Jim trained himself not to feel pain at the hands of a bully. He did it the conventional way: he ignored the jibes, and told himself he was the better man. He rose above them.
He trained himself not to be scared when he was cornered by bigger boys - they were all bigger, why was everyone bigger - by standing with a straight back and a lazy smile, daring them to hit him. So they did, and they laughed, and after a few months he didn’t cry when he got home any more. After a year, he didn’t cry at all.
He trained himself not to fear death when he accepted that he was not the better man, he was just the smarter one. He watched Carl choke and die from the other side of the swimming pool, just a kid in the midst of a crowd shocked to silence and tears. It happened too quickly for the teachers to get everyone out. He tilted his head and examined his feelings, counting along with the chest compressions and futile second-hand breath pushed into lungs too full of water to respond, too paralysed to answer the call to life. He was pleased to find nothing but satisfaction. The death you fear does not have to be your own.
But this morning there’s a thrill of…something, inside. Anticipation more than fear; sadness rather than pain. The gun is heavy in his coat, and he’s never liked to use guns himself, they’re so ordinary. Any idiot can pull a trigger. But an idiot of Sherlock’s calibre will be expecting something far more elaborate and besides, there’s something so final about blowing the back of your head off.
He has a minute before final positions are called, and the curtain will rise for the closing scene. It’s a chilly autumn morning, the breeze cold on a face warmed from constant fire within. He looks over London from the roof of Barts hospital, and thinks will I miss this? It’s more of a worry than wondering if there’ll be time for it to hurt (it’ll only burn for a second); more of a concern than fear (the scary thing is to endure more of this); and the thought of death is only a relief these days. But will he miss it, though? The place, the person, the game? Despite himself, to spite himself, he admits that maybe he will.
But every good show has to come to an end. Sherlock hasn’t learned that yet, but he will. Let this be a lesson to him. Pain, heartbreak, loss, death…you always feel it, but you don’t have to fear it.
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Quentin
Sameth
William Evans
Charles Xavier
Ivan Vorpatril
Demeter
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Charles - Awkward empraces
A reminder
Toby was in that happy and rare state of almost asleep with both cats on her, Spike nearby when Quentin said with disgust through his voice, "What's that smell in the kitchen?"
"What smell?" Dealing with Pureblood sensibilities and their kitchen wasn't what she planned on for today. Cagney meowed pitifully as Toby sat up and then stood up, dislodging all the cats and Spike, who added his rattle to the meowing.
"The one that's just there. Its like a hint of gym socks and I don't know, something else," Quentin was at the edge of the kitchen and Toby tried not to laugh at how unhappy he seemed.
She went through the door and stopped, there was a weird whiff of something, "Okay, yes, there is a smell but its not as awful as gym socks. Why do you even know that?"
"High school, locker rooms are worse than your apartment was."
"I can always feed you to the Luidaeg."
"Find out what stinks first." Toby sighed, teenagers are weird and she opens the fridge, which actually has food in it. May and Jazz seem determined to make cooking happen, but no cheese.
She's not going to open the compost or the trash when Raj appears leaning on Quentin, "Ugh, someone killed a cheese."
"You can't kill cheese," Quentin said and Toby could hear him rolling his eyes.
"Yes, you can, it takes great skill and forgetting, there," Then Raj was a cat and teasing a little piece of something that might have once been yellow from under the cabinets, "Cheese!"
The smell seemed to grow once it was out from the cupboards, Toby gagged, "Get it out of the house and then both of you, get pizza or something yummy."
Raj went out the door with Quentin a good distance behind him.
Re: A reminder
That was a great read. :)
Old Life
Charles turned his chair and put on one of his best smiles, "Yes, its me. I had an accident but now I'm running a run in that drafty place I grew up in."
Fred's long legs carried him close to Charles in a few steps and he opened his arms for hug, Fred was from an affectionate family, Charles savored his hugs as a boy and wished for more as he was older.
Now Fred paused and then they shared an awkward hug as Fred bent himself in half, "Tell me about it over a drink, if you can," Fred glanced around searching for a nurse, someone to take care of him.
"I have time," Charles said, keeping his voice neutral.
Re: Old Life
Ouch. Nicely done.
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Shinatose Izana
Ato Touji
Amelia Heartstriker
Sabine Wren
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Touji-all me
Hearstriker-found
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Lost and found, found and lost. That is the way of the world. You gained power, you lost it. But knowledge was something that was bigger than power and once you knew something, it was much harder to lose it. That was the lesson she learned from her grandfather and that was the lesson her mother never understood.
And that was why her mother would never be able to take her down. She would out live that bitch despite herself, and laugh on her grave when the time came.
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But he would do better now that he'd seen how far he could take it. He would reign it in and turn it, forge it into a weapon to make the world better.
Whatever it took, he would do it.
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And thank you for great prompts. TBH, Amelia's is more head canon as she's a side character and past stuff isn't a priority in canon. Touji's just came to me, but I think it fits in with canon very well.
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Jay - Mojitos...ETA: Actually, I'd love any interaction with Kate Kane. :)
And welcome to the party!
Jay – Mojitos
She leant into Kate, whispering something in her ear. Kate didn’t look up but waved to the bartender. A moment later, a mojito was set in front of Jay. She knew him clear enough, and remembered the last mission they went on together before-. Before Jay stopped being a bat.
He raised an eyebrow at them and lifted his glass in salute, taking a sip. No message on the napkin, no code on their fingers. Just the drinks.
A few minutes later, he returns the favour with a pair of margaritas.
This went back and forth all night, the drinks getting more and more ridiculous. The bartender, keeping track of this, leant over to whisper in Jay’s ear. “Mate, not sure you’re gunna get anywhere there. Pretty sure they’re together.”
Jay chuckled and ordered a round of slippery nipples “I know they are. That’s not the point.”
The barman laughed and started mixing another round of cocktails.
Re: Jay – Mojitos
Sinric - Flat bread and dates
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Jay-balance
And no matter how hard he trained, the cave’s high wire set still scared him.
Not that he’d ever tell Bruce. Bruce was determined to teach him how to use them just as well as Dick could.
He spent hours up there, especially when Bruce was out. He had the balance, he knew he did. But he had to get past that fear of falling.
Alfred watched the cave feeds later, after Jason had gone to bed. “He’s working very hard, Master Bruce.” There was a chiding to his tone. “But his nature is very different to Master Dick’s.”
“I know, Alfred.” Bruce shed his armour, checking the fresh bruises on his ribs. “But I need him to work that out.”
Alfred shook his head, closing the screen. Life would be easier for all of them if Bruce and Jason could find a better balance of talking than he and Dick had.
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