Past Prompts Revisited - 4 Drabbles: Assassin's Creed, DC Comics, Bioshock, Marble Hornets

[burning-eagle.livejournal.com]

I'm kind of going through and hitting up a lot of these old prompts, so hopefully nobody minds batch posts. |D

Title: The Truth
Author: Ema (lightningrapier)
Fandom: Assassin's Creed
Challenge: #012 - Switch
Pairing: Desmond/Sixteen
Rating: PG
Word Count: 300
Summary: Desmond has an opportunity to understand, but should he take it?
Disclaimer: Ubisoft are pretty cool guys.


He'd been running around Florence when he'd seen it - "Stop there," Shaun said, having seen it too. "Another one of those crazy symbols... check it out, Desmond."

The glyph glowed hot white against brick, and Desmond reached out, fingers brushing it. As soon as he did, it was like a whirl of code came out, enveloping him, peeling back the layers of Ezio's Italy and leaving him in a dark, black hole. White bits of code - binary, hex, something Desmond didn't recognize - swirled past, too fast for Desmond to read, let alone comprehend.

"But- but that's how it always is, isn't it?" a voice asked. It was familiar by now - Sixteen, the "subject" before him. But before his messages had always been pre-recorded... now, he sounded almost as if he was answering Desmond's thoughts. "You can't- no matter, heh, no matter what I do, you don't understand." He sounded frustrated, and his voice was getting louder and quieter with each syllable.

Desmond felt an ache in the pit of his stomach - he wished he could understand. He wished he could throw a switch in his brain and make sense out of Sixteen, just once. But once he threw that switch, would he ever be able to go back? Or would he be trapped in a descent into madness, trapped forever in his own ancestors' memories like Sixteen?

"It's- i-it- it's okay," Sixteen said, slowly, and through the code, Desmond suddenly saw a hand reach out, fingertips outstretched, beckoning. "I'll show you." He laughed. "I'll show you, Desmond."

"I don't think this is a good idea," Lucy said, suddenly. "Desmond, are you there? Can you hear me?"

But Desmond ignored her. He reached out, his hand in Sixteen's, letting the other man pull him through the code and closer to the Truth.



Title: Rules
Author: Ema (lightningrapier)
Fandom: DC Comics (Young Justice)
Challenge: #071 - Masks
Pairing: Tim/Kon (Robin/Superboy)
Rating: R
Word Count: 300
Summary: Sometimes Batman's rules really piss Kon off.
Disclaimer: DC Comics!


"Rob, c'mon. Take it off."

Robin's shoulders stiffened considerably in the low light, and Kon felt stupid for having said it (it, the same "it" he'd said over and over and over again). Robin's answer had always been the same, but tonight, he was silent for so long that Kon wasn't even sure that he was going to answer at all.

Finally, after letting out a quiet breath, he murmured, "No."

The syllable had been so low that Kon almost hadn't caught it - and it didn't sound like Rob at all. It sounded darker, different. It sounded like Batman.

"You make it sound like it's your rule," Kon replied, snottily. He knew he was cruising for a fight, but like that was gonna stop him.

"Does it matter whose rule it is?" Robin asked, not turning to face Kon, keeping his eyes on the lit computer screens as he typed away. There was no emotion in his voice, and to Kon, that was infuriating. "It isn't changing."

"What's the matter," Kon challenged, "Bat Family can't trust anybody but their own? Like I'm gonna tell anyone, Rob!"

Robin didn't turn and he certainly didn't answer. Later, when Kon was pressed against him (all muscle and strength and raw energy and god he was hot) and pulling away at the pieces of Robin's costume, baring him to the world, his hands moved up to Robin's face, as his hips pressed against the other boy's, thumbs tracing against the space where the mask met flesh.

"Don't," Rob gasped, his head pressing back against the wall.

"Yeah," Kon breathed. "Wouldn't wanna piss off Batman."

"Just fuck me," Robin answered, yanking Kon closer, and Kon grinned, his mouth moving to Rob's neck, pushing kisses against the skin there.

Someday. Someday, he'd got that goddamn mask off. Until then... well, this wasn't so bad either, really.



Title: Manipulate
Author: Ema (lightningrapier)
Fandom: Bioshock
Challenge: #085 - Working Class Hero (David Bowie Song Titles)
Pairing: Fontaine/Sinclair
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 200
Summary: Sinclair knows, and Atlas knows he knows.
Disclaimer: Bioshock, Fontaine, and Sinclair are property of 2K Games.


"Y'can't expect to keep everyone in the dark, Chief."

Atlas stared over his desk at Sinclair, the man's smug smile enough to boil Atlas' blood. He'd killed men for less than this, but the smile wasn't the problem - Sinclair knew. Oh, sure, he acted like he was only talking business and idle prattle, but he knew, and Atlas knew he knew.

With a wave of his hand, Atlas dismissed the two guards and leaned over the desk, resting on his arms, staring at Sinclair carefully.

"What the hell do you want," he growled, maintaining his accent, just in case.

"You know how it is, Chief," Sinclair said, pretending to examine his nails. "You scratch my back, and, well- I don't go tellin' all of Rapture how great you'd look without any hair."

At first, Fontaine wasn't sure what Sinclair had in mind - it wasn't until the man had Fontaine meet him somewhere "discrete" in Siren's Alley that he got a good idea. Still, it worked out oddly well - Fontaine wouldn't admit that he didn't get some kind of joy out of slamming into Sinclair as hard as he could, and Sinclair found it all too enjoyable to tell Fontaine exactly what to do.



Title: Amnesia
Author: Ema (lightningrapier)
Fandom: Marble Hornets
Challenge: #115 - Masks (…again! This challenge was done twice, apparently. :D)
Pairing: J/Masky (Yes I am going to Hell.)
Rating: PG
Word Count: 400
Summary: J can't ever remember what's happened to him, but maybe he doesn't want to.
Disclaimer: Marble Hornets does not belong to me, and I don't know J, Alex, Brian, or any of the other guys involved. And I hope they never find this. Ever.


J couldn't remember how he'd gotten into this situation - all he knew was that he was lying down, in the carpet and ripped-up newspaper coupons, and his camera was nearby - two feet just out of reach on its side, the red light showing it was on and filming. He racked his memory, trying to retrace his steps, but nothing was coming. Just a faint memory of coming back to this house, looking for Brian, looking for Alex, looking for clues.

There was a rustling sound, and J jerked, moving to sit up - but as soon as he did, a form suddenly sat on his stomach, pushing his shoulder down, pushing J back into the carpet.

It was totheark. The mask was unmistakable, and J felt a sharp pierce of fear in his stomach, but he couldn't bring himself to scream. Totheark leaned down towards him, peering into his face, unspeaking. J stared back, swallowing, hard. His throat and mouth were dry. How long had he been stumbling around without any recollection of it? How long had he been with totheark?

And had... had the Operator been here?

"I need to go home," J whispered, hoarsely, but totheark shook his head, only leaning closer. J felt the cold plastic of the mask press against his cheek; could hear totheark's shaky breathing against the plastic, his fingers boring holes into J's shoulders.

And for a minute, J thought maybe, finally, he understood at least one thing. This guy, whoever he was, didn't want to be alone. Was he scared? J could never tell if he was working for or against the Operator, but the way he was holding onto him now, his breathing forced and erratic, only spoke to the same fear J had come to know too well these past few months.

Slowly, totheark rose, grabbing J's camera and pressing it into his hands. J sat up, watching as totheark sat across from him, cross-legged, watching J, unspeaking. J did the only thing he knew how to do and rose the camera, filming. For a moment, he wished film could capture the warmth of another body pressed to his and the sounds and feeling of the other man's breathing against the mask, just barely brushing J's cheek - but the moment was gone, and if J was honest with himself, he knew that later he'd probably forget any of it had ever happened at all.