n_wilkinson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
n_wilkinson) wrote2011-12-11 07:22 pm
n_wilkinson) wrote2011-12-11 07:22 pm
Entry tags:
Song Meme #2
a/n: Continuing my tradition of small ficlets to pass the time, I now bring three ficlets set in the War of the Animum universe. I know that I really need to update Wolf in the Fold and I promise that it's not been abandoned. I plan on spending time just sitting down and WRITING this thing the first chance I get. But I've got a laundry list of stories that I'm working on.
Song: "Alice," Avril Lavigne
Character: Frost, canon, pre-Darkness Descends
Warnings: None
Song: "Firework," Katy Perry
Character: Mira (upcoming character), canon, post Wolf in the Fold
Warnings: None, hints to nonexplicit noncon
Song: "Love Hate Heartbreak," Halestorm
Characters: Sleet POV, Frost/Sleet, Canon, during Wolf in the Fold
Warnings: NSFW, slash, porn
Song: "Alice," Avril Lavigne
Character: Frost, canon, pre-Darkness Descends
Warnings: None
What do you want most in the world?
The whisper seems to come from all around him, within him even. This time, it is so insistent Frost nearly opens his mouth to respond before clamping his lips shut again.
The first time he heard the voice, he thought it a consequence of too much drink and too little sleep. He dismissed his hallucination and moved on.
But every week the voice grew louder, more insistent, and always the same question.
What do you want most in the world?
Frost has always thought that it could be something simple. Power. Wealth. But he's beginning to think it's more than that. More than the perfect amethyst. More than retaining control of Kurnugia.
He tries to pretend the voice can promise nothing. But there's something in the way it slithers through his ears, climbs down his spine, that makes Frost believe.
There's something out there, beyond his worldly ambitions. And the voice can help him claim it. If only he'd listen.
What do you want most in the world?
Frost has his answer.
The whisper seems to come from all around him, within him even. This time, it is so insistent Frost nearly opens his mouth to respond before clamping his lips shut again.
The first time he heard the voice, he thought it a consequence of too much drink and too little sleep. He dismissed his hallucination and moved on.
But every week the voice grew louder, more insistent, and always the same question.
What do you want most in the world?
Frost has always thought that it could be something simple. Power. Wealth. But he's beginning to think it's more than that. More than the perfect amethyst. More than retaining control of Kurnugia.
He tries to pretend the voice can promise nothing. But there's something in the way it slithers through his ears, climbs down his spine, that makes Frost believe.
There's something out there, beyond his worldly ambitions. And the voice can help him claim it. If only he'd listen.
What do you want most in the world?
Frost has his answer.
Song: "Firework," Katy Perry
Character: Mira (upcoming character), canon, post Wolf in the Fold
Warnings: None, hints to nonexplicit noncon
She remembers once, a long time ago, when the fireflies danced on the river's edge. Their colors reflecting on sluggish waters, the sky filled with stars above them.
They'd been so beautiful, so free. Everything Mira herself longed to be.
They'd been beauty in the midst of a life filled with ugliness. Beauty where Mira could only remember feeling shame and agony and not even in exchange for a handful of coin. Beauty where Mira had been helpless, like she isn't now.
The fireflies are nothing but insects. No intelligence. No sentience. Their lives are so simple and basic, formed by instinct alone. Shaped by their environment.
Mira remembers thinking that sapience is probably man's greatest curse. Or perhaps intelligence alone. Which is why she never hated herself for her lack of education.
No, she couldn't read or write. But she had common sense and street knowledge, both more valuable than written word, complicated maths or painfully recited history. Mira couldn't calculate to save her life, but then again, her life had never been dependent on an education.
Out on the streets, education mattered little. She needs her wits, to be more clever and faster. She has to hold her head up high, no matter what lows she must submit to in order to survive.
Mira knows that she is considered the bottom of the heap, barely above the thieves and murderers and the rapists. She's not evil, has never committed a truly criminal act in her life, yet she is given the same hate-filled regard.
This she also accepts.
There is not a day that goes by that Mira doesn't remember the fireflies, because they remind her of something she won't let happen again. A time when she was weak, little more than her stepbrother's punching bag. And worse.
Never again. She promised herself.
And now, with Orthrus at her side, Mira finds it much easier to keep that promise. Never again.
They'd been so beautiful, so free. Everything Mira herself longed to be.
They'd been beauty in the midst of a life filled with ugliness. Beauty where Mira could only remember feeling shame and agony and not even in exchange for a handful of coin. Beauty where Mira had been helpless, like she isn't now.
The fireflies are nothing but insects. No intelligence. No sentience. Their lives are so simple and basic, formed by instinct alone. Shaped by their environment.
Mira remembers thinking that sapience is probably man's greatest curse. Or perhaps intelligence alone. Which is why she never hated herself for her lack of education.
No, she couldn't read or write. But she had common sense and street knowledge, both more valuable than written word, complicated maths or painfully recited history. Mira couldn't calculate to save her life, but then again, her life had never been dependent on an education.
Out on the streets, education mattered little. She needs her wits, to be more clever and faster. She has to hold her head up high, no matter what lows she must submit to in order to survive.
Mira knows that she is considered the bottom of the heap, barely above the thieves and murderers and the rapists. She's not evil, has never committed a truly criminal act in her life, yet she is given the same hate-filled regard.
This she also accepts.
There is not a day that goes by that Mira doesn't remember the fireflies, because they remind her of something she won't let happen again. A time when she was weak, little more than her stepbrother's punching bag. And worse.
Never again. She promised herself.
And now, with Orthrus at her side, Mira finds it much easier to keep that promise. Never again.
Song: "Love Hate Heartbreak," Halestorm
Characters: Sleet POV, Frost/Sleet, Canon, during Wolf in the Fold
Warnings: NSFW, slash, porn
A smarter man would call for help. Sleet knows his decision-making when it comes to Frost has always been skewed.
A wiser man might turn tail and run. But Sleet has never considered himself wise.
Balaam is behind Frost's eyes. Sleet should tremble in fear, but something propels him forward, heart thumping a mad rhythm in his chest.
“My Sleet,” Frost purrs and for once, the possessive tone doesn't bother him. He reaches out, hand impossibly gentle, cradling Sleet's face.
He should shiver, should run in fear. But Sleet doesn't. He sags, eyes fluttering closed, soaking in the warmth of Frost's touch. “You're going to kill me, aren't you?” Sleet asks, but it's more of a whisper. Strangely, he's not frightened.
“I would never kill you.” Frost's eyes flash at him, cycling between a familiar brown and an eerie onyx shade. “How could I?”
Sleet's fingers clench and unclench at his side. “You've tried before.”
“We're in a war, what do you expect?” His warm fingers continue to stroke Sleet's cheek, but the touches had purpose, less accident and more intent.
Sleet does shiver then, not out of fear, but out of hunger. “You're not Balaam's puppet,” he says shakily, wanting it to be true but knowing it could also be a lie.
“We serve each other,” Frost corrects and gives Sleet a tug.
He stumbles into those arms all too gladly. Briefly, he wonders why Erebus is being so quiet. The annoying deity hasn't had a word to say yet. But the space in Sleet's head that Erebus occupies is eerily silent.
He's here alone with Frost and the demon in Frost's head.
Frost is warm, familiar. Sleet presses against him, suddenly hot with need. Desperate to kiss Frost, desperate to remember what used to be, opposed to what they are now.
Frost's free hand tangles in Sleet's hair, gripping, tilting his head back before Frost's lips come crashing down on his. The kiss is hungry, claiming, Frost's tongue sweeping inside Sleet's mouth as though it has every right. Sleet moans, clutching at Frost's tunic, heat surging through him, his cock throbbing with need.
Sleet stumbles backward, hits a wall and groans. Frost's mouth leaves his, biting at Sleet's jawline, nipping his way to Sleet's sensitive ears. Sleet finds his hands captured by Frost's, pressed to the rock wall behind him, sharp stone biting into sensitive flesh.
“Join me,” Frost murmurs into his ear, voice ripe with promise, his tongue curling around Sleet's ear.
His eyes close of their own accord as Sleet grinds down on Frost's knee, lust making him dumb, making him want things he shouldn't.
“I can't,” he gasps out, senses spinning.
“Can't or won't?”
He honestly doesn't know. Both perhaps. “Frost...”
His grip on Sleet's hands tighten, making the delicate bones throb with discomfort. “You are mine,” Frost all but snarls, pressing hard against Sleet, trapping him between brick and heat. “And nothing's going to change that.” He lowers his voice into a throaty rasp that doesn't match Frost at all as he rears back enough to look Sleet in the eyes, something flickering over his face like a shadow. “You are ours.”
He strikes, like a snake after prey, kissing Sleet hard and Sleet startles, eyes snapping open, heart popping in his chest, as he suddenly stares into utter darkness. Darkness that has eyes and hands gripping him. He flails desperate to break free, somehow managing to toss away sheets and blankets that have gotten far too clingy. He's covered in sweat, his breathing ragged.
A dream. It had been a dream.
He's shaking, hot all over despite the chill of winter creeping in everywhere around him. Sleet wraps his arms around his shoulders, distinctly unsettled.
It was just a dream, but it felt a lot like more.
a/n: Hopefully these will whet your appetite while I try and work on getting some stuff finished.
Feedback is love!
A wiser man might turn tail and run. But Sleet has never considered himself wise.
Balaam is behind Frost's eyes. Sleet should tremble in fear, but something propels him forward, heart thumping a mad rhythm in his chest.
“My Sleet,” Frost purrs and for once, the possessive tone doesn't bother him. He reaches out, hand impossibly gentle, cradling Sleet's face.
He should shiver, should run in fear. But Sleet doesn't. He sags, eyes fluttering closed, soaking in the warmth of Frost's touch. “You're going to kill me, aren't you?” Sleet asks, but it's more of a whisper. Strangely, he's not frightened.
“I would never kill you.” Frost's eyes flash at him, cycling between a familiar brown and an eerie onyx shade. “How could I?”
Sleet's fingers clench and unclench at his side. “You've tried before.”
“We're in a war, what do you expect?” His warm fingers continue to stroke Sleet's cheek, but the touches had purpose, less accident and more intent.
Sleet does shiver then, not out of fear, but out of hunger. “You're not Balaam's puppet,” he says shakily, wanting it to be true but knowing it could also be a lie.
“We serve each other,” Frost corrects and gives Sleet a tug.
He stumbles into those arms all too gladly. Briefly, he wonders why Erebus is being so quiet. The annoying deity hasn't had a word to say yet. But the space in Sleet's head that Erebus occupies is eerily silent.
He's here alone with Frost and the demon in Frost's head.
Frost is warm, familiar. Sleet presses against him, suddenly hot with need. Desperate to kiss Frost, desperate to remember what used to be, opposed to what they are now.
Frost's free hand tangles in Sleet's hair, gripping, tilting his head back before Frost's lips come crashing down on his. The kiss is hungry, claiming, Frost's tongue sweeping inside Sleet's mouth as though it has every right. Sleet moans, clutching at Frost's tunic, heat surging through him, his cock throbbing with need.
Sleet stumbles backward, hits a wall and groans. Frost's mouth leaves his, biting at Sleet's jawline, nipping his way to Sleet's sensitive ears. Sleet finds his hands captured by Frost's, pressed to the rock wall behind him, sharp stone biting into sensitive flesh.
“Join me,” Frost murmurs into his ear, voice ripe with promise, his tongue curling around Sleet's ear.
His eyes close of their own accord as Sleet grinds down on Frost's knee, lust making him dumb, making him want things he shouldn't.
“I can't,” he gasps out, senses spinning.
“Can't or won't?”
He honestly doesn't know. Both perhaps. “Frost...”
His grip on Sleet's hands tighten, making the delicate bones throb with discomfort. “You are mine,” Frost all but snarls, pressing hard against Sleet, trapping him between brick and heat. “And nothing's going to change that.” He lowers his voice into a throaty rasp that doesn't match Frost at all as he rears back enough to look Sleet in the eyes, something flickering over his face like a shadow. “You are ours.”
He strikes, like a snake after prey, kissing Sleet hard and Sleet startles, eyes snapping open, heart popping in his chest, as he suddenly stares into utter darkness. Darkness that has eyes and hands gripping him. He flails desperate to break free, somehow managing to toss away sheets and blankets that have gotten far too clingy. He's covered in sweat, his breathing ragged.
A dream. It had been a dream.
He's shaking, hot all over despite the chill of winter creeping in everywhere around him. Sleet wraps his arms around his shoulders, distinctly unsettled.
It was just a dream, but it felt a lot like more.
a/n: Hopefully these will whet your appetite while I try and work on getting some stuff finished.
Feedback is love!