HEY GUYS

[meme fic] Olga / Into The Gloaming

From yesterday's DE. 
Prompt from sardonicynic : 
† Olga : ancient ; She can't explain what it's like -- it just is, formless and forever.

She can't explain what it is -- it just is, formless and forever. The shadow at her shoulder, its cool kiss felt along her long bones, woven deep into the fabric of her consciousness. It is curse and comfort, simultaneously.

In the beginning, it haunted her, paced her along the muddy streets of her village, hunted her along the wooded paths back to the low cottages of her family's homestead. Black fingers of silvery darkness, catching at the hems of her skirts, tangling in her long hair. Calling to her in soft whispers, alluring and terrifying.

And then a man came, and paid good coin to take her away, ostensibly to serve as a maid to some noble woman. He showed her how to face the Gloom, how to draw it around her like a cloak, how to move into the folds and gathers of it, and within that void, how to travel vast distances. He showed her how to draw it into herself, to tap the well of strength within.

Now, it is simply a part of her. She breathes and it moves through her veins. She carries it with her always, and it is never far away from her grasp. The Gloom is the first door she ever entered into this world, and it will be the last threshold she crosses when she finally decides to leave it

[meme fic] River Song / You're Using The Wrong Tool

From yesterday's DE. 
Prompt from sardonicynic : 
† River : screwdriver ; "Could you hand me that, please?"

"Could you hand me that?"

"What, this?"

"No, silly. The other..." She waves a hand, impatiently.

"This?"

"No. Look if you want this fixed, you're going to have to... What are you doing?"

"Nothing!"

"..."

"Well, maybe a little... Something."

"Oh really. I thought you wanted to mmf."

"..."

Something trilled and whirred, and a hand fumbled up above the console, blindly punching a button and turning a dial until the noise stopped.

[meme fic] Fiona Glenanne / Swing From The Hip

From yesterday's DE. 
Prompt from spooky_lemur : 
† Fiona: Fiona; childhood memories that keep us going.

She was nine when her Da first put a cricket bat in her hands. It was too big for her to grip properly, so he whittled it down and rewrapped it with waxed linen cord. He showed her how to set her feet at shoulder's width, showed her how to aim for the temple or the outside of the knee cap, but only if she had too.

When she was thirteen, he showed her how to grip the neck of a beer bottle, empty preferably. They don't break as easily. And make sure your hands are tacky, makes it easier to keep that grip. He didn't have to show her where to throw a knee or an elbow. She grew up with six brothers and learned that key information early on.

When she was fifteen, he taught her how to layer nails and broken glass into the capped pipe, how to cut the fuse and thread it through to the primer.

When she was twenty four, his ghost stood at her elbow as she held her mother, listening to Seamus tell them what happened to Claire. His voice whispered to her, telling her she knew what to do. She knew just what to do to set this to rights.

[meme fic] Alex/Gene : Helpless

From yesterday's DE. 
Prompt from fightingthecage : 
† Alex/Gene: Fury.

He makes it seem so effortless, the way he snatches them up by the collar and smashes his forehead into the bridge of their nose. He hefts them by nape and belt and flings them against the side of the Quattro like they weigh nothing. He uses his fists to smash and smash and smash until their faces look like hamburger, and his knuckles are cut to ribbons.

And even as she cringes at the brutality, she envies him that unrefined rage, that brilliant savagery.

She dreams, twisting and turning, tangled in her sheets, and she can't lash out at that bullet, slowly spiralling through the air towards her. She can't throw punches at the never ending loop of film, that same fireball blossoming slowly, unfurling towards the sky. She can't even see the enemy, the force that took her away from her daughter, much less grab it by the lapels and slam it up against the lockers, or push it face first down into the bog.

She only has her mind. Her memories, her rational powers of analysis, her reason. She only has her heart and her will to carry her through this ordeal. And every time she watches him sweep across the chequerboard floor, every time she watches him settle into his usual table, every time he looks at her...

Her fury falters, diminished. She feels the ashes of her memories sift through her fingertips, scattered to the winds.

Whose birthday was it today?

[meme fic] Fiona Glenanne / Four Times Fiona Lived & One Time She Didn't

From yesterday's DE. 
Prompt from fightingthecage : 
† Fiona: Ten years in the future

( warnings for fluff and character death )

[meme fic] Bryan Mills / On Edge

From yesterday's DE. 
Prompt from sardonicynic  : 
† Mills, laconic:  He doesn't like this feeling.  

He doesn't like this feeling.

This odd sensation of being the only person awake in a room full of sleep walkers. It's perpetual, these days, only alleviated by Veronica's presence. He worries that he's not built for retirement, that he'll always be darting at shadows, always be checking where people's hands are and how they carry their weight.

He knows he has to check himself, check the finely honed edge that has become his entire being. He doesn't like feeling like he's always in the holster, safety on. Peace bound.

But he can live with it. For Veronica. For Kim.

And maybe, when the weather's good and he can hear people laughing, maybe he can do it for himself.