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FIC: "Like Twins" (Ats, Fred, Illyria)

  • May. 30th, 2009 at 5:08 PM
lily_lovely: Eliza Dushku looking dead sexy (Default)
Title: Like Twins
Fandom: Ats
Character/Pairing: Fred, Illyria
Genre: Dark
Rating: PG
Warnings (highlight to see): **electrical shocks, big gross Pylean demons, scary/sad situations**
Summary: Fred and Illyria are like twins now.
Word Count: 950
X-Posted: [ profile] joss_las, TBA
Beta: Unbeta'd

A/N: Originally posted here for [ profile] joss_las. It's 19 drabbles of 50 words each - not 100, because they're kind of like pairs. Although the last one isn't paired. Oops. :D

I'm actually really proud of myself for this one - mostly because it was very, very difficult for me to manage to write in 50 word sections. It was like drabbles on speed. But at the same time, it felt more comfortable than an actual drabble for me, because I got to continue the story past 100 words. So it's like a baby step.

And, OMG, no one voted for me as the least favorite! I'm ridiculously happy about that. ^-^

Plus, first Fred and first Illyria fics. And second Ats fic. Woot.

Like Twins

They are entwined together in darkness. It's hard to tell where one begins and the other ends.

They are like twins, housed in the same body this way.

But it does not give them the warm comfort of a womb. It is darkness, in a way that makes them afraid.


She cannot quite recall when she first came into being.

This disturbs her. There is nothing she does not know. She is Illyria.

It seems like she has always existed. Before time, before gods, before this girl Fred's planet was dust in the atmosphere.

She will go back and recall.


Fred doesn't remember being a baby.

She imagines there must have been crying, and soft blankets, and hugs, and comforting smells like cinnamon and flour.

Somewhere in the foggiest corners of her memory, she senses the feeling that she was perfectly safe, that nothing mattered at all.

She misses that.


Illyria flows through universes, stars, galaxies. She is amazed by the things she finds; light, water, colors.

She limits her mind to a lone fern. It excites her.

People would later claim that they had seen brilliant blue lightning dancing around a plant, with no thunder clouds to be seen.


Fred is amazed by the way everything works. The way it makes sense, sometimes, but not others.

She does chemical experiments to learn that, for instance, all of the bath products in the house mixed together tastes funny, or that there are approximately 10,983 blades of grass in her lawn.


She can feel more and more power rising within herself. It runs through her like an alcoholic substance; thick and heady.

Illyria's explorations probe deeper now—she is no longer just observing, but acting.

One day she tentatively vaporizes a sapling.

The sudden, blank emptiness that it leaves makes her giddy.


Fred dashes back to her room, then opens her palms gently to reveal the prize—Ravishing Rose lipstick.

She swipes it over her lips carefully, then rubs them together like she's seen her mother do.

She looks in the mirror, and is surprised to find something close to beautiful staring back.


Illyria amasses followers.

They crowd around her like greedy children—desperately hoping that she will bring them power.

She enjoys how they worship her, listening to poems composed for her with joy.

But soon, she finds them dull. They are a swarm of ants, biting at her ankles.

She wants more.


Fred lies on her bed and thinks about chaos theory.

Her inhale could be causing floods in Malaysia. Her exhale could be sending a drought to Ecuador.

Surely, this proves that she is important.

But a deep wave of loneliness reminds her how incredibly small and insignificant she really is.


Illyria creeps behind him like a shadow. She will not be seen, and she will not be noticed, and she will not be considered dangerous until she has already jumped up and ripped his throat out.

Her rival is formidable, but she has gained power.

No one can stop her.


She's on a plane to California.

Fred thinks about her parents. How they waved her smiling goodbyes, and then let their grins collapse into worry when they thought she couldn't see.

But she's not worried.

This is what she wants, after all—to grow, to learn.

Maybe she's a little worried.


Illyria stands, panting, over him. He is vanquished.

Now that her frenetic blood lust has cooled, she looks at those who gathered to witness their battle, and sees the awe in their expressions.

She is pleased when the crazed, cold look she gives them adds some terror to their admiration.


Fred opens her eyes, blinking wildly, and finds herself in some sort of fairy land.

There are two suns in the sky, and a fresh, magical scent in the air.

She stands up, and a green, ugly thing grabs her and drags her away without comment.

She never liked faries.


Illyria rules over all matter. It has no choice but to yield to her desires.

She senses, distantly, that this, too, will come to an end. It pains her.

But she does not lower herself to such a mortal act as crying or screaming. She merely continues the necessary preparations.


Fred gasps softly at the electrical shock. It's just subatomic particles interacting with each other, she forces herself to think.

She bites her lip and picks up the shovel.

She won't let herself cry. Tears are only a byproduct of lacrimation. They are not otherwise necessary for humans to function.


She did not expect her fall to come so quickly.

She feels a curious draining sensation—as if part of herself is being taken away.

Illyria only has time to let out a choked scream before the last words of the spell are uttered, and she is trapped in the sarcophagus.


Fred likes working at Angel Investigations.

Gunn smiles at her, punching her softly on the shoulder as he buys her a taco.

Even if it can sometimes be...problematic.

Wesley stammers out an answer to her question, blushing and looking away.

Working with demons can cause physical suffering and emotional pain.


She is trapped inside her coffin, but she is not dead.

Illyria can feel the others all around her. Caged inside their own boxes, their energies scream and fight, flexing against their restraints.

But she doesn't resort to such childish whining.

She thinks about her eventual escape. And she waits.


They know what is coming, and they hopelessly resist it.

They slowly melt into one another, forgetting that they ever existed separately. They are Fred-Illyria-Fred-Illyria-Fred Illyria-Fredillyria.

Their thoughts congeal together, until Illyria was born in Texas, and Fred came into existence before time.

Neither of them are able to protest.