A/N: These are just drabbles that pop into my head. They consist of different topics, different pairing, and different stories generally. I'm using them as a practice tool mostly. That said, I'll take any prompts you would like me to take a stab at. Words, phrases, ideas, anything you'd like to suggest either PM me or leave a review.
Change the World
"Mommy," came the sleepy voice of the six-year old snuggled under the blankets.
"Yes, darling," Hannah turned from the datapad she was reading to her ever curious daughter, wondering what questions or comments she would have. She smiled as the tiny child pulled herself up slightly to look her mother in the eye.
"I'm going to change the world when I grow up," her small face set itself in solid determination, her little shoulders straightening, and the sleep tugging at her eyes disappearing in her focus.
Hannah's smile widened at the comment as she moved to sit beside the girl. Tucking a stray lock of hair behind a small ear, she leaned close to kiss her daughter's forehead. "You do realize," Hannah tilted the small face up to her, holding it gently, "that the world is bigger than this ship." At the definitive nod, Hannah ventured to ask, "So how do you plan on changing the world, darling?"
"I'll always do the right thing," the small head nodded again before a yawn stopped further elaboration. "I'll be just like you," the tiny voice informed Hannah as the child crawled into her mother's lap and promptly fell asleep.
Miranda Cares About More Than Just Her Sister
Miranda is many things, deceiver and liar included. But, she has never lied to herself. By some mysterious internal moral compass, the former Cerberus operative maintains a rigid honesty with herself. So, she freely admits that it is a bit narcissistic to love her sister so fiercely. Oriana is, after all, simply an exact copy (several years her junior) of her own genes. By all rights, her sister is just herself fifteen years younger. The fact remains, however, that Miranda loves Oriana and little else.
Except, perhaps, impossibly, Jack. Pushed up against a half-blown-out wall, gasping for breath, on the precipice of release as the very galaxy comes to an end, fingers digging into a tattooed back, hips grinding against an unexpectedly gentle hand, Miranda must admit she cares about more than just her sister.
It Only Happens in Fairy Tales
Clutching your bleeding side, you grip the gun in your other hand harder in a vain attempt to quell the pain. Every step you take sends shooting pain through every neuron still functioning in your system. The broken bones in your chest grate against the muscle and soft tissue covering your lungs. Breathing has become harder; you suspect that one of your ribs has ripped through your lung. You cough up blood as you come to a stop before the choices in front of you. Is choice really choice when you have no choice at all in the matter? The thought flits through your mind as your face pulls into a grotesque semblance of a smile, completely devoid of mirth but your face muscles twitching in realization of an eternal, immutable truth: saving the world, getting the girl, living happily ever after are things that only happen in fairy tales.
