Merry Christmas! (and holiday ficlets)
Dec. 25th, 2007 11:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tsuru_sanI hope everyone's holidays have been lovely! Besides getting some awesome gifts, including a The Emperor's New Groove on DVD and book repair kit, I got to spend time with my mom's side of the family, and we all had a great time. We also had soooo much food. I haven't eaten this many sweets since Halloween. ;3
And now, for those who requested them, here are ze Christmas fics:
Title: A New Lease on Life
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean
For:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jestana
Rated: PG
Prompt: Pirates of the Caribbean, Jack/Norrington after AWE
Damn Turner, damn him to hell. It was all his fault; it was always his fault. Well...to be fair, sometimes it was Sparrow's fault, but mostly it was Turner's. This, however, this just dwarfed everything Turner had done thus far. Freeing Sparrow, stealing a naval vessel, winning away Elizabeth...none of that could even hold a candle to this.
As if reading James Norrington's mind, a honeyed and slightly inebriated voice said genially, "Aw, don't hold it against the whelp, mate. 'E was just tryin' to help."
"By sending me back to the mortal coil naked and in your boat?" Norrington glared over his pale shoulder at Jack Sparrow. "I really don't see how this is helpful."
"Y'know, I don' see what yer so bent over. Yer not the one who suddenly found a cranky ex-naval officer plopped right in his lap. The naked bit I really see as more of a plus than a minus," Jack added with a positively lecherous grin.
The glare that greeted such a statement was a true masterpiece of human expression. "You are the last person I want to end up naked with, you revolting pirate."
"Am not," Jack protested sullenly. "It just so happens that 'm very snuggly y'know...or ye would know if ye weren't so busy tryin' to hang me all o' the time."
Norrington's shoulders slumped, but he kept his bare back to Sparrow and didn't even bother to reply.
Jack sighed and tossed James a blanket. "I heard what ye did aboard the Dutchman, how ye saved Elizabeth an' all that. Very brave, mate."
Norrington shivered miserably, but like a drowning man being thrown a lifeline, he still latched onto the olive branch Jack was offering. "Please, Sparrow, if you bear me no ill-will then please take me back to Port Royal. I just want to go home."
"Home to what, mate?" Jack asked, but not unkindly. "Would the navy even give ye yer commission back? And if they didn't, then what? There's no Beckett or Governor Swan to help you this time."
James flinched. "Lord Beckett was hardly a source of help."
Sparrow nodded understandingly. "Aye, I wager ye've had a right nasty time of it. Cutler's a real bastard, ain't 'e?" Jack flashed a winning smile. Then the pirate's eyes widened. "I've got it, mate! I've got it! Ye can be me first mate!"
Norrington opened his mouth to protest, but Jack barreled on ahead before the other man could get a word in edgewise.
"C'mon, James," Jack cajoled. " 'M not so bad... I'll even be willing to forget that whole heart business, savvy? Say ye'll be me first mate. It could be fun..."
The former Admiral sighed. "Considering my current array of options, I suppose I have little choice."
Sparrow grinned and gestured grandly. "Then welcome to me ship, mate!"
"We're in a dinghy," James pointed out dryly.
Jack huffed and set his hat at a jaunty angle. "That we may well be, but 'm still captain of it."
Green eyes rolled. "Of course you are..."
-fin-
Title: The Nature of Giving
Fandom: Underworld
For:pilar_sama
Rated: PG
Prompt: Lucian/Singe
The first thing Lucian noticed when he walked into Singe's laboratory was the present. Of course, the little wrapped box was hard to miss. Against the muted, even drab, background of the lab, the present shown like a bright, colorful beacon. It was a small, square little thing covered in shiny red paper over which was tied an elegant green bow.
Singe came over immediately as soon as he saw his lover enter the room. Picking up the brightly wrapped box, he said, "I was hoping you'd be by soon. I wanted to give you this."
The lycan leader looked surprised; he and Singe had never made a habit of exchanging holiday presents before. "It's for me?"
"Indeed," Singe said, pressing the gift into Lucian's hands. "Please open it."
Lucian held the small box; it fit easily in his hand. Tape and paper had been applied with incredible—one might even say scientific—precision, and Lucian smiled wryly with the knowledge that Singe had probably gotten out the rulers and calculators to get exact measurements for where the wrapping ought to go.
With a surprisingly great amount of care, Lucian unwrapped the gift to reveal a plain black box. Lifting the lid, the lycan's eyes widened. Inside the box was an impressive pocket watch, Swiss-make and gold, of course, instead of silver. Lucian smiled in amazement. "My dearest friend, it's beautiful."
Singe's own smile was a pleased one. "I'm so glad that you like it. I know your old watch broke recently so I thought that you would be in need of something new."
"It's very thoughtful, thank you." Lucian bit his lower lip and added sheepishly, "I'm afraid I didn't get anything for you..." He shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. Normally Lucian would never have shown such unsteadiness, but with only Singe there, it was okay. The scientist had already seen so much of Lucian that the lycan leader did not mind feeling embarrassed in front of the younger werewolf.
Singe just smiled and waved away Lucian's meek protest. "Do not be so foolish, my friend," the scientist chided gently. "One does not give a gift expecting something in return." Singe paused, his smile taking on a more seductive edge. "However," he added, "if you really would like to reciprocate, you can come over here and give me a kiss."
Lucian was happy to oblige. Repeatedly.
-fin-
Title: Black King Takes White Knight
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean
For:swingjugend
Rated: PG
Prompt: PotC: Norrington/Beckett during AWE
At first, Cutler Beckett only saw James Norrington as a particularly beneficial investment, a convenient chess piece on the playing board of the world. Useful? Certainly. Cunning and resourceful? Most definitely. And underneath it all, there was a kernel of ruthlessness in the navy man that Beckett found singularly impressive. Despite his utter respect for honor and duty, Norrington could put aside his morals when the situation demanded it. Beckett admired that in a pawn.
The problem came when he saw Norrington as not a pawn.
Desires grew, and the more Cutler saw of the newly-minted Admiral, the more he wanted him, and for the first time in a long time, Beckett fretted. He wanted Norrington not just under his command but in his bed as well, and yet the EITC lord hesitated, unable to decipher what the consequences of his actions might be.
Weeks' worth of headaches and indecision finally came to a boiling point one afternoon at Fort Charles. The afternoon was balmy but pleasant, and in the fort's center courtyard, a few of the naval officers were fencing, blunted epées whirling about in mock duels, and in the middle of it all was the Admiral. Beckett practically gaped at the strange and impressive creature that was James Norrington unwigged and de-uniformed but still clean and elegant in good clothes with his chestnut hair tied back in a stylish queue.
Watching that magnificent hawk in a dive, seeing the graceful twist of the epée's point, Beckett found himself even more unsure. Could Norrington be tamed, truly? Was it possible to take him without breaking him? Beckett did not think it could be done, and Beckett was, sometimes to his private dismay, hardly ever wrong.
Silently, Cutler watched the match till its end (James was the victor of course) while mentally weighing his options. Not that he needed to. If there was one thing that Beckett had grown used to, it was getting what he wanted. The fire in those green eyes would come fully under the young Lord's control, and Norrington would either have to bend or break; it was as simple as that.
If Cutler Beckett couldn't have James Norrington, then neither could anyone else.
-fin-
Title: Strange and New
Fandom: Bible
For:galael
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: Bible, angel and demon - Raphael and Asmodeus or not
Raphael's skin was soft and warm under Asmodeus's lips, but it was still an angel's skin, pure and holy, and if the demon's lips lingered too long, they started to burn and were scorched a little. It was a strange feeling, and it stung some but not badly enough to make Asmodeus halt his seductions.
Planting little butterfly kisses along Raphael's jaw line, Asmodeus tugged at the high shirt collar covering the healer's neck. Pulling the light blue and brown cloth down, the archdemon revealed more creamy pale skin and peppered a new trail of slightly less innocent kisses there as well. A brush of sharp fangs against his unprotected throat made Raphael shiver, but Asmodeus was the Archdemon of Lust, and he knew that Raphael was shivering with pleasure as much as fear.
When Asmodeus pulled back, his normally chalk white lips were raw and abraded to a bruised shade of pink, but damn, Raphael looked good. Disheveled with his shirt collar yanked down and his robes bunched up to his knees, Raphael was a pretty, blushing picture of angelic debauchery-in-progress. The demon was quite pleased with himself as well as relieved to see that the archangel's skin was unmarred. Apparently Asmodeus's infernal aura didn't burn like the healer's divine energies did.
Raphael blinked, green eyes focusing a little. Somehow he managed to blush more, his face growing even redder. "I, um, I..." he stammered. "Oh! You're hurt! Asmodeus, you're bleeding!"
The demon tilted his head. "Hmm?" Gingerly he touched his lips, and his fingertips came away stained red. "Huh, I hadn't noticed." Asmodeus shrugged nonchalantly, but Raphael looked genuinely aggrieved.
"I hurt you! I didn't even realize... I'm so sorry..." Raphael slid closer until he was straddling the demon's lap, ivory robes bunching over his beige pants and white boots. "Here, let me make it better." Tenderly, the angel brushed a few strands of black hair from Asmodeus's white face. The angel leaned close and hesitated briefly, but then he took the archdemon's lips in a gentle kiss.
It was painful, of course, especially since Asmodeus's lips were sore already. This time though the pain was brief. There was a sudden cool sensation, a slight prickling, and Raphael healed the demon. Almost immediately the burning started again but then so did the healing, and a delicious shudder ran down Asmodeus's spine. Such a new feeling, this harsh/heavenly combination, and Asmodeus pressed closer, forked tongue flicking against Raphael's lips, and the angel parted them obligingly.
It was a heated kiss, intimate and thorough. Asmodeus's slender hands snaked across Raphael's thighs before settling at the small of his back and pulling the angel flush against him. Asmodeus had already discarded his armor, except for the gauntlets on his forearms, so the only thing really separating the demon and the angel was the fabric of their robes.
Asmodeus pushed his hips up against Raphael's, and the angel moaned into the kiss as a tremor of pleasure ran through his whole body. When the two immortals finally broke apart, Asmodeus was gratified to see the archangel trying to catch his breath even though he didn't actually need to breathe. Smiling devilishly, the demon pushed the angel down onto the dewy grass beneath them.
Green eyes gazed up apprehensively but not unhappily. "What now?" Raphael asked.
Asmodeus chuckled. "As tempting as the prize is," he said while stroking Raphael's hip. "I don't want the game to end just yet."
The healer blinked, not understanding. Asmodeus grinned down at the astonished angel and gathered the shadows to himself, preparing to leave. Oh, he'd have Raphael eventually, but the demon didn't want the conquest to be too easy.
-fin-
Title: A Little Reassurance
Fandom: 1776
For:halls_mistress
Rating: G
Prompt: 1776, no particular pairing...writer's choice.
When Charles Thomson entered Congress, he found it pleasantly cool since only a few of the window shades were up. The place was eerily quiet too. Congress wasn't meeting for another hour, and at least half of the delegates would probably still arrive late anyway. It didn't matter that the Declaration of Independence had recently been signed; the Congressmen were still as lackadaisical as ever. Thomson figured that even if the regulars were to invade Philadelphia with King George III leading them, the Congressmen would still meet late—if they showed up at all of course. Knowing some of the delegates, a British invasion might be viewed as a holiday from Congressional duties.
Closing the door to the main room quietly behind him, Charles was gratified to see that John Hancock was seated at his desk and working on what was probably correspondence. The two men had been so busy in the last couple weeks that they'd hardly had a chance to get a minute alone or to even see each other outside of Congress.
Hancock did not look particularly pleased though. An annoyed scowl had settled over his handsome features, and even though he acknowledged Thomson's presence with a polite nod, his attention still seemed focused elsewhere.
Concerned, Charles quickly made his way to John's table and placed a light but affectionate kiss on the seated man's cheek. "What's wrong, John?" the secretary asked gently.
"Ah, it's foolish, Charles, really." Hancock replied, waving away the question. "Honestly, I don't see why I'm allowing it to bother me."
"Well tell me then, you silly thing, if something's bothering you. On my word, I shan't repeat it," Thomson assured.
Hancock shifted awkwardly in his chair. "It's about the...signing."
"The signi—oh." Thomson's eyes widened. "You're not having...second thoughts about it...are you?"
"Second thoughts about it? You mean about independence? Heavens, no, Charles!" John exclaimed. "I'm all in favor of it, devotedly, wholeheartedly. It's just... My signature is..."
Thomson blinked, unsure if he'd heard right. "Your...signature, John?"
"Yes. It's a bit, well, large, don't you think? No one else signed that big," Hancock added. "Mine almost looks gaudy in comparison."
"Is that all you're worried about?" Thomson smiled. "My dear John, don't be silly. You will go down in history as a great patriot. No one will care how you signed the Declaration—the point is that you signed it!"
Hancock nodded. "I suppose you're right. After a century or more, who would remember the size of a signature anyways?"
-fin-
Title: Moments Before the Fall
Fandom: Bible
For:mypaleangel
Rating: PG
Prompt: Bible, perhaps Lucifer/Gabriel
In the annals of human writing and in the minds of the human race, there were varying impressions of the Fall, of that Great War in Heaven. Usually the stories talked about deadlocks between the Host and the rebels which ended when Seraphim Michael, leader of Heaven's armies, swung his flaming sword and sent Lucifer reeling from Heaven after a grueling one-on-one battle. Many churches and church-affiliated buildings had statues like that—of Michael fearlessly stabbing the dragon Lucifer—sitting in nooks and crannies for the faithful to see and to pray to Saint Michael for intersession. Most conceptions went something like that.
And most conceptions were generally wrong. First, Michael's sword was not flaming for that final blow, and second, although Michael was indeed the one to physically fling Lucifer from the realm of Heaven, there was no Hollywood-style, climatic battle. In fact, by the time Michael struck down Lucifer, the rebels had already lost. There was bloodshed and violence, and it wasn't a glorious triumph of good over evil but rather a painful tragedy of loss and separation.
The beginning of the end came when the ranks of the rebels, thinned from fighting but still numerous, found themselves caught precariously between the flaming swords of the Host and a hungry darkness expanding ever closer to them. The dark chasm that had opened up behind them had never been there before, but by the will of God, it appeared now, and it made even the most hardened hearts tremble with apprehension and foreboding.
The beaten angels staggered, exhausted and disorganized from the vicious hand-to-hand fighting. Seraph Beelzebel had a flaming sword in one hand, and with the other, he was trying to hold up Cherub Asmodiel who'd had one of his four wings hacked off. Both their white robes were stained red with blood. Further down the line were others: Beleth was missing both wings, and beside him, Beliel was nursing a gaping gash in her side. The ranks of the Host and the rebels had swelled and clashed, but now at last both sides drew back, and all eyes turned to the center where three angels stood separate from all the rest.
Between the two battling throngs were Seraphim Michael and Lucifer and Cherub Gabriel. Michael and Gabriel had stood together to fight off the Morningstar, but all three angels were quickly being drained of the energy to continue. However, it was only the opening of the ominous pit behind them that had halted their battle.
Gabriel dropped his sword and looked pleading at Lucifer who had always been close to him, practically begging him to end the fighting even though it was already too late. The yawning pit was proof of the futility of reconciliation.
"Lucifer it's over!" Gabriel cried out. "Throw down your sword and repent!"
Lucifer shook his head and instead held out his hand to the white angel, eyes desperate. "Gabriel, my beloved, will you not stand with me...?"
Gabriel trembled with sorrow, but his hands were kept resolutely at his sides. "You know I would go with you anywhere—absolutely anywhere! Except here. You're at the Edge already and still you can't even see that what you've done is wrong!"
Lucifer shuddered, swallowing hurt and betrayal, and his beautiful blue eyes were glassy with tears. "Please, Gabriel...will you not—?"
"No."
Lucifer's strident posture went slack, and Pride gave way to Sorrow, and Lucifer stood for that brief moment between angel and Fallen angel, seeing the fruits of his transgressions and seeing what he was now about to lose. Then the Morningstar doubled over, and though there was no sound, there was a great sense of shattering, of something breaking irreparably.
Resolve splintering, Gabriel reached out to touch his dearest companion, but Lucifer's head whipped up before Gabriel's white fingertips made contact with the Morningstar's golden hair. Yellow serpent's eyes with slit pupils regarded the Cherub, and Gabriel drew back with a gasp of shock. Michael's sword rose as Lucifer lunged at Gabriel, pain and fury contorting the former Seraph's still beautiful face. Too stunned, Gabriel made no move to dodge the attack, but Lucifer lurched grotesquely to a halt as Michael ran him through on his blade.
Still too close, Lucifer swiped at Gabriel with his claws, demon claws, and drew blood. More stunned than in pain, Gabriel brought a pale, trembling hand to his face as crimson blood went trickling down his cheek. The wound would heal though it would forever leave a single line, a thin scar, on Gabriel's brow.
With a hiss of pain, Lucifer pushed onto the sword until it was buried in his stomach up to the hilt, and his face was only a few inches from Gabriel's. Unnatural yellow eyes fixed on Gabriel's still blue gaze, and the Morningstar ground out through clenched fangs, "You traitor, I will get you, and when I do, all the angels in the heavens will not be strong enough to save you."
With a jerk of his arm, Archangel Michael drew his sword from Lucifer's body. The defeated angel staggered, and Michael grabbed him by the wings and yanked him upright. The growing gap had expanded even further behind the three angels, and now they were on the precipice. Michael held Lucifer out toward the edge, and the Morningstar sank his new claws into Michael's arm, trying to keep his balance and not topple backward.
Blood ran in rivulets down Michael's forearm, but the warrior ignored it. The pain of seeing his brother and sister angels about to be thrown from Heaven hurt worse than any physical injury could. He forced his face to be stone though as it was very clear that the sinner angels had already turned their backs on God.
"If any being here is a traitor, it is you, Most Loved Child of the Father," Michael said coldly. "You forfeit your grace to feed your Pride. Now into the Pit with you."
Michael shoved, and Lucifer stumbled over the edge of the chasm. He flapped his wings frantically, but somehow they seemed to fail him.
Gabriel watched, horrified, as Lucifer Fell.
-fin-
Notes: Beelzebel = Beelzebub, Asmodiel = Asmodeus, and Beleth = Byleth, and Beliel = Belial.
And although no one requested it, here's a Good Omens fic for good measure. For Christmas dessert this evening, my family had plum pudding, and it was certainly an, ahem, memorable taste experience. Memorable enough that I decided to write this short little fic.
Also on a Good Omens note, my mom (who I convinced a couple months ago to read GO) got me an angel ornament, but on the gift tag she wrote To: Sam / From: Aziraphale and Crowley. My mom is made of win.
And, yes, now the fic...
Title: Crowley vs. the Plum Pudding
Fandom: Good Omens
Rating: PG
Summary: Aziraphale has a special dessert in honor of the holiday season.
It was, all in all, quite an unappetizing affair. Bits and pieces of bright green and red fruit poked up out of vomit brown cake, and there were globs and clumps of brandy sauce oozing down the sides and pooling in the middle of the slightly smashed ring of plum pudding. It was the last thing Crowley would ever consider putting in his mouth, and he told Aziraphale so.
"Well, the lovely young lady at the bakery said that it's positively delicious," Aziraphale huffed. "Besides, I've always wanted to try one."
"Angel, it's a fruitcake."
"Actually, Crowley, it's a plum pudding." the angel corrected. "According to the young baker, fruitcakes have raisins while plum puddings have plums...or did she say prunes? Hmm, well anyway, there's a difference."
Crowley tilted his sunglasses down and looked very seriously over the rims at Aziraphale. "You realize there's actually very little difference between prunes and raisins, right? And fruitcakes are creatures of the Devil. Seriously, I've been working for years to give them the bad reputation that they currently enjoy. Not that I really needed to work at it. The blasted little things are awful all on their own as you will soon see, angel."
"Won't you still have some?" Aziraphale asked. "I'm sure it will taste lovely with a cup of this delightful cinnamon and clove tea I've brewed."
Crowley muttered noncommittally but allowed Aziraphale to hand him a teacup and plate with a piece of the noxious looking plum pudding on it. The angel and the demon took their food and drink out to the sitting room in the flat above Aziraphale's bookshop. Aziraphale planted himself on a comfy armchair (1) while Crowley occupied a well-worn sofa.
Pushing bits of cake around with his fork, the demon eyed it dubiously. It was such an old-fashioned dessert and definitely not the kind of thing that the human Crowley was pretending to be would eat. "I don't know who told you otherwise, but these are definitely raisins," Crowley complained. "I don't think I'll be eating this..."
Aziraphale sighed. "Honestly, my dear, you're so negative. At least take a proper bite of it instead of mashing it around on your plate."
The demon rolled his eyes, but apparently he was in an obliging mood because instead of snapping back at the angel, Crowley turned his plate until he found a generally raisin-free portion of the pudding where one of the unnaturally bright red cherries was sticking up out of the cake breading. With an air of great suffering, Crowley speared the cherry and some of the plum pudding onto his fork and popped the morsel into his mouth. The effect of the food was almost instantaneous. The demon blanched, and he had the most singular expression on his face that resembled the look of someone who had just recently quaffed an entire glass of freshly squeezed lemon juice.
Aziraphale bit his lip to hide his amusement. This was, he believed, what humans called a "Kodak moment", and the angel was just wishing that he had one of those Kodak things lying around when Crowley leapt to his feet and made a beeline for the kitchen.
The angel took a reserved sip of tea as he listened to the choking and hacking noises coming from the area near the trash bin. He was probably thinking about how excessive the gasping gags were (2).
Crowley returned a few moments later looking astoundingly grumpy and cradling the container of hard sauce in the crook of his arm. The demon flopped down (3) onto the couch in the sitting room and began eating the leftovers of buttery brandy sauce right out of the container, forked tongue licking every trace of the stuff from his fingers.
"At least the blessed hard sauce is good," the demon grumbled sullenly.
"So long as you're enjoying it. Merry Christmas, Crowley." Aziraphale smiled good-naturedly. As long as Crowley didn't go touching the books with his sticky fingers, the angel didn't mind the demon polishing off the remaining brandy sauce. But really the pudding wasn't that bad.
"Pfft, Merry Christmas," Crowley sneered. "Bite me, angel."
-fin-
__________________________________________
1. With tartan upholstery of course.
2. What he was really thinking about was something along the lines of damn melodramatic demons who had no respect for plum puddings/fruitcakes/whatever the hell this thing was.
3. Stylishly of course.
And now, for those who requested them, here are ze Christmas fics:
Title: A New Lease on Life
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean
For:
jestanaRated: PG
Prompt: Pirates of the Caribbean, Jack/Norrington after AWE
Damn Turner, damn him to hell. It was all his fault; it was always his fault. Well...to be fair, sometimes it was Sparrow's fault, but mostly it was Turner's. This, however, this just dwarfed everything Turner had done thus far. Freeing Sparrow, stealing a naval vessel, winning away Elizabeth...none of that could even hold a candle to this.
As if reading James Norrington's mind, a honeyed and slightly inebriated voice said genially, "Aw, don't hold it against the whelp, mate. 'E was just tryin' to help."
"By sending me back to the mortal coil naked and in your boat?" Norrington glared over his pale shoulder at Jack Sparrow. "I really don't see how this is helpful."
"Y'know, I don' see what yer so bent over. Yer not the one who suddenly found a cranky ex-naval officer plopped right in his lap. The naked bit I really see as more of a plus than a minus," Jack added with a positively lecherous grin.
The glare that greeted such a statement was a true masterpiece of human expression. "You are the last person I want to end up naked with, you revolting pirate."
"Am not," Jack protested sullenly. "It just so happens that 'm very snuggly y'know...or ye would know if ye weren't so busy tryin' to hang me all o' the time."
Norrington's shoulders slumped, but he kept his bare back to Sparrow and didn't even bother to reply.
Jack sighed and tossed James a blanket. "I heard what ye did aboard the Dutchman, how ye saved Elizabeth an' all that. Very brave, mate."
Norrington shivered miserably, but like a drowning man being thrown a lifeline, he still latched onto the olive branch Jack was offering. "Please, Sparrow, if you bear me no ill-will then please take me back to Port Royal. I just want to go home."
"Home to what, mate?" Jack asked, but not unkindly. "Would the navy even give ye yer commission back? And if they didn't, then what? There's no Beckett or Governor Swan to help you this time."
James flinched. "Lord Beckett was hardly a source of help."
Sparrow nodded understandingly. "Aye, I wager ye've had a right nasty time of it. Cutler's a real bastard, ain't 'e?" Jack flashed a winning smile. Then the pirate's eyes widened. "I've got it, mate! I've got it! Ye can be me first mate!"
Norrington opened his mouth to protest, but Jack barreled on ahead before the other man could get a word in edgewise.
"C'mon, James," Jack cajoled. " 'M not so bad... I'll even be willing to forget that whole heart business, savvy? Say ye'll be me first mate. It could be fun..."
The former Admiral sighed. "Considering my current array of options, I suppose I have little choice."
Sparrow grinned and gestured grandly. "Then welcome to me ship, mate!"
"We're in a dinghy," James pointed out dryly.
Jack huffed and set his hat at a jaunty angle. "That we may well be, but 'm still captain of it."
Green eyes rolled. "Of course you are..."
-fin-
Title: The Nature of Giving
Fandom: Underworld
For:
pilar_samaRated: PG
Prompt: Lucian/Singe
The first thing Lucian noticed when he walked into Singe's laboratory was the present. Of course, the little wrapped box was hard to miss. Against the muted, even drab, background of the lab, the present shown like a bright, colorful beacon. It was a small, square little thing covered in shiny red paper over which was tied an elegant green bow.
Singe came over immediately as soon as he saw his lover enter the room. Picking up the brightly wrapped box, he said, "I was hoping you'd be by soon. I wanted to give you this."
The lycan leader looked surprised; he and Singe had never made a habit of exchanging holiday presents before. "It's for me?"
"Indeed," Singe said, pressing the gift into Lucian's hands. "Please open it."
Lucian held the small box; it fit easily in his hand. Tape and paper had been applied with incredible—one might even say scientific—precision, and Lucian smiled wryly with the knowledge that Singe had probably gotten out the rulers and calculators to get exact measurements for where the wrapping ought to go.
With a surprisingly great amount of care, Lucian unwrapped the gift to reveal a plain black box. Lifting the lid, the lycan's eyes widened. Inside the box was an impressive pocket watch, Swiss-make and gold, of course, instead of silver. Lucian smiled in amazement. "My dearest friend, it's beautiful."
Singe's own smile was a pleased one. "I'm so glad that you like it. I know your old watch broke recently so I thought that you would be in need of something new."
"It's very thoughtful, thank you." Lucian bit his lower lip and added sheepishly, "I'm afraid I didn't get anything for you..." He shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. Normally Lucian would never have shown such unsteadiness, but with only Singe there, it was okay. The scientist had already seen so much of Lucian that the lycan leader did not mind feeling embarrassed in front of the younger werewolf.
Singe just smiled and waved away Lucian's meek protest. "Do not be so foolish, my friend," the scientist chided gently. "One does not give a gift expecting something in return." Singe paused, his smile taking on a more seductive edge. "However," he added, "if you really would like to reciprocate, you can come over here and give me a kiss."
Lucian was happy to oblige. Repeatedly.
-fin-
Title: Black King Takes White Knight
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean
For:
swingjugendRated: PG
Prompt: PotC: Norrington/Beckett during AWE
At first, Cutler Beckett only saw James Norrington as a particularly beneficial investment, a convenient chess piece on the playing board of the world. Useful? Certainly. Cunning and resourceful? Most definitely. And underneath it all, there was a kernel of ruthlessness in the navy man that Beckett found singularly impressive. Despite his utter respect for honor and duty, Norrington could put aside his morals when the situation demanded it. Beckett admired that in a pawn.
The problem came when he saw Norrington as not a pawn.
Desires grew, and the more Cutler saw of the newly-minted Admiral, the more he wanted him, and for the first time in a long time, Beckett fretted. He wanted Norrington not just under his command but in his bed as well, and yet the EITC lord hesitated, unable to decipher what the consequences of his actions might be.
Weeks' worth of headaches and indecision finally came to a boiling point one afternoon at Fort Charles. The afternoon was balmy but pleasant, and in the fort's center courtyard, a few of the naval officers were fencing, blunted epées whirling about in mock duels, and in the middle of it all was the Admiral. Beckett practically gaped at the strange and impressive creature that was James Norrington unwigged and de-uniformed but still clean and elegant in good clothes with his chestnut hair tied back in a stylish queue.
Watching that magnificent hawk in a dive, seeing the graceful twist of the epée's point, Beckett found himself even more unsure. Could Norrington be tamed, truly? Was it possible to take him without breaking him? Beckett did not think it could be done, and Beckett was, sometimes to his private dismay, hardly ever wrong.
Silently, Cutler watched the match till its end (James was the victor of course) while mentally weighing his options. Not that he needed to. If there was one thing that Beckett had grown used to, it was getting what he wanted. The fire in those green eyes would come fully under the young Lord's control, and Norrington would either have to bend or break; it was as simple as that.
If Cutler Beckett couldn't have James Norrington, then neither could anyone else.
-fin-
Title: Strange and New
Fandom: Bible
For:
galaelRating: PG-13
Prompt: Bible, angel and demon - Raphael and Asmodeus or not
Raphael's skin was soft and warm under Asmodeus's lips, but it was still an angel's skin, pure and holy, and if the demon's lips lingered too long, they started to burn and were scorched a little. It was a strange feeling, and it stung some but not badly enough to make Asmodeus halt his seductions.
Planting little butterfly kisses along Raphael's jaw line, Asmodeus tugged at the high shirt collar covering the healer's neck. Pulling the light blue and brown cloth down, the archdemon revealed more creamy pale skin and peppered a new trail of slightly less innocent kisses there as well. A brush of sharp fangs against his unprotected throat made Raphael shiver, but Asmodeus was the Archdemon of Lust, and he knew that Raphael was shivering with pleasure as much as fear.
When Asmodeus pulled back, his normally chalk white lips were raw and abraded to a bruised shade of pink, but damn, Raphael looked good. Disheveled with his shirt collar yanked down and his robes bunched up to his knees, Raphael was a pretty, blushing picture of angelic debauchery-in-progress. The demon was quite pleased with himself as well as relieved to see that the archangel's skin was unmarred. Apparently Asmodeus's infernal aura didn't burn like the healer's divine energies did.
Raphael blinked, green eyes focusing a little. Somehow he managed to blush more, his face growing even redder. "I, um, I..." he stammered. "Oh! You're hurt! Asmodeus, you're bleeding!"
The demon tilted his head. "Hmm?" Gingerly he touched his lips, and his fingertips came away stained red. "Huh, I hadn't noticed." Asmodeus shrugged nonchalantly, but Raphael looked genuinely aggrieved.
"I hurt you! I didn't even realize... I'm so sorry..." Raphael slid closer until he was straddling the demon's lap, ivory robes bunching over his beige pants and white boots. "Here, let me make it better." Tenderly, the angel brushed a few strands of black hair from Asmodeus's white face. The angel leaned close and hesitated briefly, but then he took the archdemon's lips in a gentle kiss.
It was painful, of course, especially since Asmodeus's lips were sore already. This time though the pain was brief. There was a sudden cool sensation, a slight prickling, and Raphael healed the demon. Almost immediately the burning started again but then so did the healing, and a delicious shudder ran down Asmodeus's spine. Such a new feeling, this harsh/heavenly combination, and Asmodeus pressed closer, forked tongue flicking against Raphael's lips, and the angel parted them obligingly.
It was a heated kiss, intimate and thorough. Asmodeus's slender hands snaked across Raphael's thighs before settling at the small of his back and pulling the angel flush against him. Asmodeus had already discarded his armor, except for the gauntlets on his forearms, so the only thing really separating the demon and the angel was the fabric of their robes.
Asmodeus pushed his hips up against Raphael's, and the angel moaned into the kiss as a tremor of pleasure ran through his whole body. When the two immortals finally broke apart, Asmodeus was gratified to see the archangel trying to catch his breath even though he didn't actually need to breathe. Smiling devilishly, the demon pushed the angel down onto the dewy grass beneath them.
Green eyes gazed up apprehensively but not unhappily. "What now?" Raphael asked.
Asmodeus chuckled. "As tempting as the prize is," he said while stroking Raphael's hip. "I don't want the game to end just yet."
The healer blinked, not understanding. Asmodeus grinned down at the astonished angel and gathered the shadows to himself, preparing to leave. Oh, he'd have Raphael eventually, but the demon didn't want the conquest to be too easy.
-fin-
Title: A Little Reassurance
Fandom: 1776
For:
halls_mistressRating: G
Prompt: 1776, no particular pairing...writer's choice.
When Charles Thomson entered Congress, he found it pleasantly cool since only a few of the window shades were up. The place was eerily quiet too. Congress wasn't meeting for another hour, and at least half of the delegates would probably still arrive late anyway. It didn't matter that the Declaration of Independence had recently been signed; the Congressmen were still as lackadaisical as ever. Thomson figured that even if the regulars were to invade Philadelphia with King George III leading them, the Congressmen would still meet late—if they showed up at all of course. Knowing some of the delegates, a British invasion might be viewed as a holiday from Congressional duties.
Closing the door to the main room quietly behind him, Charles was gratified to see that John Hancock was seated at his desk and working on what was probably correspondence. The two men had been so busy in the last couple weeks that they'd hardly had a chance to get a minute alone or to even see each other outside of Congress.
Hancock did not look particularly pleased though. An annoyed scowl had settled over his handsome features, and even though he acknowledged Thomson's presence with a polite nod, his attention still seemed focused elsewhere.
Concerned, Charles quickly made his way to John's table and placed a light but affectionate kiss on the seated man's cheek. "What's wrong, John?" the secretary asked gently.
"Ah, it's foolish, Charles, really." Hancock replied, waving away the question. "Honestly, I don't see why I'm allowing it to bother me."
"Well tell me then, you silly thing, if something's bothering you. On my word, I shan't repeat it," Thomson assured.
Hancock shifted awkwardly in his chair. "It's about the...signing."
"The signi—oh." Thomson's eyes widened. "You're not having...second thoughts about it...are you?"
"Second thoughts about it? You mean about independence? Heavens, no, Charles!" John exclaimed. "I'm all in favor of it, devotedly, wholeheartedly. It's just... My signature is..."
Thomson blinked, unsure if he'd heard right. "Your...signature, John?"
"Yes. It's a bit, well, large, don't you think? No one else signed that big," Hancock added. "Mine almost looks gaudy in comparison."
"Is that all you're worried about?" Thomson smiled. "My dear John, don't be silly. You will go down in history as a great patriot. No one will care how you signed the Declaration—the point is that you signed it!"
Hancock nodded. "I suppose you're right. After a century or more, who would remember the size of a signature anyways?"
-fin-
Title: Moments Before the Fall
Fandom: Bible
For:
mypaleangelRating: PG
Prompt: Bible, perhaps Lucifer/Gabriel
In the annals of human writing and in the minds of the human race, there were varying impressions of the Fall, of that Great War in Heaven. Usually the stories talked about deadlocks between the Host and the rebels which ended when Seraphim Michael, leader of Heaven's armies, swung his flaming sword and sent Lucifer reeling from Heaven after a grueling one-on-one battle. Many churches and church-affiliated buildings had statues like that—of Michael fearlessly stabbing the dragon Lucifer—sitting in nooks and crannies for the faithful to see and to pray to Saint Michael for intersession. Most conceptions went something like that.
And most conceptions were generally wrong. First, Michael's sword was not flaming for that final blow, and second, although Michael was indeed the one to physically fling Lucifer from the realm of Heaven, there was no Hollywood-style, climatic battle. In fact, by the time Michael struck down Lucifer, the rebels had already lost. There was bloodshed and violence, and it wasn't a glorious triumph of good over evil but rather a painful tragedy of loss and separation.
The beginning of the end came when the ranks of the rebels, thinned from fighting but still numerous, found themselves caught precariously between the flaming swords of the Host and a hungry darkness expanding ever closer to them. The dark chasm that had opened up behind them had never been there before, but by the will of God, it appeared now, and it made even the most hardened hearts tremble with apprehension and foreboding.
The beaten angels staggered, exhausted and disorganized from the vicious hand-to-hand fighting. Seraph Beelzebel had a flaming sword in one hand, and with the other, he was trying to hold up Cherub Asmodiel who'd had one of his four wings hacked off. Both their white robes were stained red with blood. Further down the line were others: Beleth was missing both wings, and beside him, Beliel was nursing a gaping gash in her side. The ranks of the Host and the rebels had swelled and clashed, but now at last both sides drew back, and all eyes turned to the center where three angels stood separate from all the rest.
Between the two battling throngs were Seraphim Michael and Lucifer and Cherub Gabriel. Michael and Gabriel had stood together to fight off the Morningstar, but all three angels were quickly being drained of the energy to continue. However, it was only the opening of the ominous pit behind them that had halted their battle.
Gabriel dropped his sword and looked pleading at Lucifer who had always been close to him, practically begging him to end the fighting even though it was already too late. The yawning pit was proof of the futility of reconciliation.
"Lucifer it's over!" Gabriel cried out. "Throw down your sword and repent!"
Lucifer shook his head and instead held out his hand to the white angel, eyes desperate. "Gabriel, my beloved, will you not stand with me...?"
Gabriel trembled with sorrow, but his hands were kept resolutely at his sides. "You know I would go with you anywhere—absolutely anywhere! Except here. You're at the Edge already and still you can't even see that what you've done is wrong!"
Lucifer shuddered, swallowing hurt and betrayal, and his beautiful blue eyes were glassy with tears. "Please, Gabriel...will you not—?"
"No."
Lucifer's strident posture went slack, and Pride gave way to Sorrow, and Lucifer stood for that brief moment between angel and Fallen angel, seeing the fruits of his transgressions and seeing what he was now about to lose. Then the Morningstar doubled over, and though there was no sound, there was a great sense of shattering, of something breaking irreparably.
Resolve splintering, Gabriel reached out to touch his dearest companion, but Lucifer's head whipped up before Gabriel's white fingertips made contact with the Morningstar's golden hair. Yellow serpent's eyes with slit pupils regarded the Cherub, and Gabriel drew back with a gasp of shock. Michael's sword rose as Lucifer lunged at Gabriel, pain and fury contorting the former Seraph's still beautiful face. Too stunned, Gabriel made no move to dodge the attack, but Lucifer lurched grotesquely to a halt as Michael ran him through on his blade.
Still too close, Lucifer swiped at Gabriel with his claws, demon claws, and drew blood. More stunned than in pain, Gabriel brought a pale, trembling hand to his face as crimson blood went trickling down his cheek. The wound would heal though it would forever leave a single line, a thin scar, on Gabriel's brow.
With a hiss of pain, Lucifer pushed onto the sword until it was buried in his stomach up to the hilt, and his face was only a few inches from Gabriel's. Unnatural yellow eyes fixed on Gabriel's still blue gaze, and the Morningstar ground out through clenched fangs, "You traitor, I will get you, and when I do, all the angels in the heavens will not be strong enough to save you."
With a jerk of his arm, Archangel Michael drew his sword from Lucifer's body. The defeated angel staggered, and Michael grabbed him by the wings and yanked him upright. The growing gap had expanded even further behind the three angels, and now they were on the precipice. Michael held Lucifer out toward the edge, and the Morningstar sank his new claws into Michael's arm, trying to keep his balance and not topple backward.
Blood ran in rivulets down Michael's forearm, but the warrior ignored it. The pain of seeing his brother and sister angels about to be thrown from Heaven hurt worse than any physical injury could. He forced his face to be stone though as it was very clear that the sinner angels had already turned their backs on God.
"If any being here is a traitor, it is you, Most Loved Child of the Father," Michael said coldly. "You forfeit your grace to feed your Pride. Now into the Pit with you."
Michael shoved, and Lucifer stumbled over the edge of the chasm. He flapped his wings frantically, but somehow they seemed to fail him.
Gabriel watched, horrified, as Lucifer Fell.
-fin-
Notes: Beelzebel = Beelzebub, Asmodiel = Asmodeus, and Beleth = Byleth, and Beliel = Belial.
And although no one requested it, here's a Good Omens fic for good measure. For Christmas dessert this evening, my family had plum pudding, and it was certainly an, ahem, memorable taste experience. Memorable enough that I decided to write this short little fic.
Also on a Good Omens note, my mom (who I convinced a couple months ago to read GO) got me an angel ornament, but on the gift tag she wrote To: Sam / From: Aziraphale and Crowley. My mom is made of win.
And, yes, now the fic...
Title: Crowley vs. the Plum Pudding
Fandom: Good Omens
Rating: PG
Summary: Aziraphale has a special dessert in honor of the holiday season.
It was, all in all, quite an unappetizing affair. Bits and pieces of bright green and red fruit poked up out of vomit brown cake, and there were globs and clumps of brandy sauce oozing down the sides and pooling in the middle of the slightly smashed ring of plum pudding. It was the last thing Crowley would ever consider putting in his mouth, and he told Aziraphale so.
"Well, the lovely young lady at the bakery said that it's positively delicious," Aziraphale huffed. "Besides, I've always wanted to try one."
"Angel, it's a fruitcake."
"Actually, Crowley, it's a plum pudding." the angel corrected. "According to the young baker, fruitcakes have raisins while plum puddings have plums...or did she say prunes? Hmm, well anyway, there's a difference."
Crowley tilted his sunglasses down and looked very seriously over the rims at Aziraphale. "You realize there's actually very little difference between prunes and raisins, right? And fruitcakes are creatures of the Devil. Seriously, I've been working for years to give them the bad reputation that they currently enjoy. Not that I really needed to work at it. The blasted little things are awful all on their own as you will soon see, angel."
"Won't you still have some?" Aziraphale asked. "I'm sure it will taste lovely with a cup of this delightful cinnamon and clove tea I've brewed."
Crowley muttered noncommittally but allowed Aziraphale to hand him a teacup and plate with a piece of the noxious looking plum pudding on it. The angel and the demon took their food and drink out to the sitting room in the flat above Aziraphale's bookshop. Aziraphale planted himself on a comfy armchair (1) while Crowley occupied a well-worn sofa.
Pushing bits of cake around with his fork, the demon eyed it dubiously. It was such an old-fashioned dessert and definitely not the kind of thing that the human Crowley was pretending to be would eat. "I don't know who told you otherwise, but these are definitely raisins," Crowley complained. "I don't think I'll be eating this..."
Aziraphale sighed. "Honestly, my dear, you're so negative. At least take a proper bite of it instead of mashing it around on your plate."
The demon rolled his eyes, but apparently he was in an obliging mood because instead of snapping back at the angel, Crowley turned his plate until he found a generally raisin-free portion of the pudding where one of the unnaturally bright red cherries was sticking up out of the cake breading. With an air of great suffering, Crowley speared the cherry and some of the plum pudding onto his fork and popped the morsel into his mouth. The effect of the food was almost instantaneous. The demon blanched, and he had the most singular expression on his face that resembled the look of someone who had just recently quaffed an entire glass of freshly squeezed lemon juice.
Aziraphale bit his lip to hide his amusement. This was, he believed, what humans called a "Kodak moment", and the angel was just wishing that he had one of those Kodak things lying around when Crowley leapt to his feet and made a beeline for the kitchen.
The angel took a reserved sip of tea as he listened to the choking and hacking noises coming from the area near the trash bin. He was probably thinking about how excessive the gasping gags were (2).
Crowley returned a few moments later looking astoundingly grumpy and cradling the container of hard sauce in the crook of his arm. The demon flopped down (3) onto the couch in the sitting room and began eating the leftovers of buttery brandy sauce right out of the container, forked tongue licking every trace of the stuff from his fingers.
"At least the blessed hard sauce is good," the demon grumbled sullenly.
"So long as you're enjoying it. Merry Christmas, Crowley." Aziraphale smiled good-naturedly. As long as Crowley didn't go touching the books with his sticky fingers, the angel didn't mind the demon polishing off the remaining brandy sauce. But really the pudding wasn't that bad.
"Pfft, Merry Christmas," Crowley sneered. "Bite me, angel."
-fin-
__________________________________________
1. With tartan upholstery of course.
2. What he was really thinking about was something along the lines of damn melodramatic demons who had no respect for plum puddings/fruitcakes/whatever the hell this thing was.
3. Stylishly of course.
