Hyelandia

Art: Susie and the Pirate Crew (LPFOS)

2008-11-15T15:59:35Z

I Was Kidnapped by Lesbian Pirates From Outer Space - Susie, Captain Janet, Alice, Marge, Velma, Dr. Wendy; G

Disclaimer: I Was Kidnapped by Lesbian Pirates From Outer Space (c) Megan Rose Gedris. The author makes no claim to owning the rights to the originating stories or characters.

Note: Awesome comic.

Art: Character designs (Love Is Where You Find It)

2008-11-15T15:52:39Z

Love Is Where You Find It - Rita, Dee, Karen, Martie; G

Disclaimer: Love Is Where You Find It (c) Paula Christian. The author makes no claim to owning the rights to the originating stories or characters.

Note: I know Rita was supposed to be incredibly beautiful, but somehow I just saw her more like this.

Art: Character designs (Another Kind of Love)

2008-11-15T15:50:00Z

Another Kind of Love - Ginny, Laura, Madeline; G

Disclaimer: Another Kind of Love (c) Paula Christian. The author makes no claim to owning the rights to the originating stories or characters.

Note: Just character designs - I often feel the need to draw characters from the books I read.

Fic: Languages (Nation)

2008-11-11T05:35:29Z

Nation - Ermintrude, the King; G, 100 words

Disclaimer: Nation (c) Terry Pratchett. The author makes no claim to owning the rights to the originating stories or characters.

Note: Written for a prompt by Jeminisoul.

Languages

'What? What does it want?' asked the King, backing away from the pantaloon bird as it approached him.

'Food,' said Daphne simply. ‘It’s all a pantaloon bird ever wants. I wouldn’t give it any, though.'

'Why?'

'It’ll never leave you alone.'

Recently she had had to explain everything to her father, from chewing food for old people to the viciousness of the hogs. 'Look, Papa,' she said, 'just listen to the island, and the people. They’ll tell you what they want.'

Six months later, the King gave her much the same advice, as, terrified, she faced her first royal ball.

Fic: Dream Life (Nation)

2008-11-11T05:28:38Z

Nation - Ermintrude/Mau; G, 100 words

Disclaimer: Nation (c) Terry Pratchett. The author makes no claim to owning the rights to the originating stories or characters.

Note: For Sei-kun, who gave me the prompt.

Dream Life

She woke up, and for the moment didn't know where she was. She sat up on the white beach and saw her legs stretch out in front of her, tattooed with the marks of wife and mother. (In her dream she had been a ghost.)

She took in the reef, the moon sparkling on the water, and Mau (how can I know his name when I can't remember mine?), coming towards her, grinning and waving his fishing spear. There was a sparkling silver fish on it. Suddenly she realized - this was a dream, too.

Queen Ermintrude woke with a start.

Fic: It's Only a Date (Another Kind of Love)

2008-11-11T05:24:30Z

Another Kind of Love - Madeline/Laura/Edie; PG, 200 words

Disclaimer: Another Kind of Love (c) Paula Christian. The author makes no claim to owning the rights to the originating stories or characters.

Note: The book this is fic for is a lesbian pulp from the 1961. I think this is the obscurest "fandom" I've written since Sylvia Scarlett. Part of the blame is due Rubynye, who provided an additional prompt to "birthday" on Drabble-a-Trois.

It's Only a Date

'Oh, I know it's silly.' Madeline laughs, and the laugh turns into a sob.

Laura looks around helplessly, holding Madeline's shaking form. Everybody's already on stage or at the sidelines, and the dressing room only holds them. She kisses Madeline, strokes her neck. 'Darling, I'll love you when you're a wrinkled little old lady - mind you, I'll be one, too.'

'47!' Madeline attempts another ghastly laugh. Will it be like this every year? Laura wonders.

The door opens with a slight squeak and Edie walks in for her first costume change. She takes in the scene, and a strange smile crosses her lips. She strides over and promptly slaps Madeline, twice.

'Edie!' Laura gasps, horrified.

Madeline stares at her, then wipes her face and stands up. 'Goodness, I must be a mess.'

'Mm-hmm.' Edie grins.

'Well, I admit I would never have thought of that,' says Laura to Edie, as Madeline is fixing her make-up.

'There's a lot you you can learn about a person in twenty minutes.' She winks and slaps Laura's bottom before disappearing into the clothes rack.

Laura gets the sudden, wicked feeling that there might yet be another twenty for the three of them.

Fic: Demon-Ridden (Buffy the Vampire Slayer)

2008-10-05T12:19:00Z

Buffy the Vampire Slayer - Xander/Angel; R, 280 words

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (c) Joss Whedon. The author makes no claim to owning the rights to the originating stories or characters.

Note: Originally written for the Porn-Battle.

Demon-Ridden

Xander remembers being a beast - blood on his tongue, and a wild song between his teeth. So does Angel. It's there between their mouths when they kiss, the howl, the thrill.

They contain it. Neither of them could take this, if they didn't.

'Don't tell Buffy,' they say at the same time, and laugh. Of course they won't. They kiss again, all teeth and skin. And, later, Angel says, 'Have you, before...?' and Xander says, 'Don't make this situation any more awkward than it already, oh god, Angel.'

It almost couldn't have happened in a nice comfy bedroom; this sort of thing needs the occasional acorn under your back, the chill before your flesh heats up and you might as well be lying next to a furnace (even Angel's does, with his icy skin and the icy blood in his veins from his broken thermos).

Their prey (big, bad) lies sundered at their feet, forgotten, melted into the shadows of branches and rock. There's nothing more dangerous in these woods than them.

Well, than Angel, anyway.

Xander comes back to himself with the first chill of wind on his bare arm, as the sex-heat begins to recede. He's going to hate himself in the morning. So many reasons to choose as for why. He nudges away a branch that's bruising his side. He's beginning to notice the aches.

Then Angel wraps an arm around his waist, and he's still warm, with sex, and with Xander. Xander relaxes back into him. There's still a twitch between them, a knot of need.

Tomorrow's might be the sort of regret that he's bound to have again. It might even be worth it.

Fic: Talk Geek to Me (Buffy the Vampire Slayer)

2008-10-05T12:10:09Z

Buffy the Vampire Slayer - Xander/Andrew; NC-17, 468 words

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (c) Joss Whedon. The author makes no claim to owning the rights to the originating stories or characters.

Note: Originally written for the Porn-Battle.

Talk Geek to Me

'Oh god.' Xander rubs his eyes and then keeps them closed, hoping that when he opens them he'll see his own room.Unfortunately he can't close his ears.

'I can get you some aspirin if you like.' Andrew's lying on his stomach on the double-bed, propped up on his elbows. 'I have migraines whenever the heat gets up to 88 degrees.'

'You're naked.'

Andrew smiles girlishly. 'You were amazing.'

'And also naked.'

'Yep. We had naked times.'

'I'm not even gay.'

'That's cool. I think bisexuality's a valid orientation. You know, historically...'

'I'm not bisexual.'

'What then - pansexual?'

'I'd like to think of myself as straight, thank you.'

'Yeah, because straight guys have naked times together all the time.'

'We did have sex, didn't we?'

'And how!'

'Why, why do I get drunk?'

'So you could lose your day-to-day inhibitions and ride me like a pretty pretty pony?'

Xander groans.

'Fine, so you Googled the new Star Trek movie, and you thought the new Kirk looked like a guy who used to beat you up in junior high.'

Xander's new groan reaches a higher level of intensity and woe.

'Frankly, I'm looking forward to it. I think they're really going to honour the original. Cast choices...'

'Shut up. You can't honour the original with a glitzy Hollywood movie! The sequels, sure, I love every even-numbered one, but the whole point of he original now is the crazy mixed with the good. They miss the point! They always miss the point!'

'You know, this is how we got started the first time.'

'What?'

A gleam came into Andrew's eye. 'I'm just saying, this movie could be really awesome in a way the original never was.'

'What?!'

'Let's face it, the original had English-speaking aliens on every planet who looked exactly like humans. At least in Stargate they had an explanation for that.'

'Stargate? You're comparing Star Trek to Stargate? That bilge?'

'Shut up, Stargate is awesome!'

Xander feels a twitch, downstairs, and blinks in surprise. Andrew notices, and a little hopeful grin lights up his face. Suddenly, to Xander, he looks less like, well, Andrew, and more like a messy-haired Xander-ridden bundle of angelical cuteness, and the twitch becomes a definite upwards movement.

'Wait. This is how we got started?'

Andrew pushes aside the covers and throws a leg over Xander's hips. 'The Next Generation is the real Star Trek, if you ask me. Picard and Riker over Kirk and Spock. I'm sorry, but everything's just better with ridgy foreheads.'

Xander grabs Andrew's hips. He's so gorgeous right now, all pale skin and availability. 'I've got no beef with the Next Generation.' He rubs little Xander along the inside of Andrew's thigh, oh god, the need is building up, and he whispers, 'Tell me some more about Stargate.'

Andrew grins.

Fic: Danger (Buffy the Vampire Slayer)

2008-10-05T12:04:55Z

Buffy the Vampire Slayer - Xander/Spike; R, 142 words

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (c) Joss Whedon. The author makes no claim to owning the rights to the originating stories or characters.

Note: Originally written for the Porn-Battle.

Danger

Xander's never had a desire to live dangerously. That's just how things turn out. Rather than wanting more excitement, he finds it gets exhausting to always be frightened, always be alert. There are too many ridgy demon things and not enough loafing on a sofa in the life of Xander Harris.

Then why does he always end up in bed with the ridgy demon things? It's one thing for the afternoons and another for 3 am, he figures.

'Bum-pirate,' says Spike, pointlessly, panting in Xander's ear.

'I really fucking hate you,' Xander growls between his teeth. 'Oh god, Spike, deeper, please. Son of a bitch. Ow!'

'You deserved it. Why can't people just leave my mother out of it?'

'Less talk more fucking.'

'Hold your horses, cowb-- ohh. Mm, yes.'

Next afternoon, he'll be complaining bitterly about the vampire on his sofa.

Fic: Pushing It (Buffy the Vampire Slayer)

2008-10-05T11:09:56Z

Buffy the Vampire Slayer - Andrew/Spike; NC-17, 1220 words

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (c) Joss Whedon. The author makes no claim to owning the rights to the originating stories or characters.

Note: Originally written for the Porn-Battle.

Pushing It

'If you don't shut your face I'm going to tear it off.'

'You're not supposed to do that kind of stuff anymore.'

'I think under the circumstances it would be excused.'

Out of all the people to get stuck with, Spike has got stuck with Andrew, alone in a small stone room, and they're not to move or kill each other for the next few hours. Spike doubts even the First could have thought of anything worse.

Andrew starts to toss a pebble against the wall, pick it up, and toss it again.

'Stop that.'

'I have to do something, Spike!'

'Don't. It's not going to make the time pass any faster and it’s driving me bonkers.'

A dreamy look comes into Andrew's eyes. 'All we have to decide is what we do with the time that is given us.'

'Shut... up!' Spike throws a rock at the wall, hard. It echoes, and Andrew cowers in the corner. Spike settles back against the wall.

Silence.

'It's not even in the book.' To Andrew's amazement, this is Spike.

'What's that?'

'It's not in the book, that quote. Everybody said, ooh, those movies were so true to the book. Bollocks. Half the dialogue is Peter Jackson.'

'And Fran and Philippa, of course.'

'What?'

'Fran Walsh and Philippa Boyens, who co-wrote it. Although I admire you sticking up for the original, sometimes you just have to let go and learn to love the new stuff, too. Now, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine...'

'Shut... up!'

'Okeydokes.' Andrew huddles in on himself sulkily.

'You're such a geek.'

'Yeah, well, get over it! We can't all be... handsome... blond... creatures of the dark. Anyway you're probably a brunette under the bleach.'

'Brunette means a brown-haired girl. Am I a girl?'

'Now you're just being disagreeable. If that's how you would choose to use the time that is given us, then, well, you just... suck.'
Spike eyes Andrew, his vision swimming slightly. Rage and anxiety and something else are welling up inside him, and there are only two ways to still that beast.

He’s not allowed to kill Andrew. The other way, Andrew wants. He can smell it off him.

'Maybe we could play a game. I bet I could come up with a one-shot campaign, and I think I have my dice bag somewhere in here...' He pats around his pockets and reaches for his backpack.

'Andrew.' Spike is standing over him, towering black leather and violence. He descends, blotting out the torchlight, and Andrew closes his eyes, expecting pain. Spike smells like the leather, and like dust and age.
It's so cool.

'Please, if you're going to do that, at least make a me a vampire afterwards!'

'Shut up, you bloody idiot.'

Spike's tongue tastes tangy, and his breath (he does breathe, why does he breathe?) smells like iron on the wind. Andrew's sex is throbbing, tight against his zipper. It hurts, and it's wonderful and it needs to be touched, but he puts his hands on Spike's shoulders instead. So hard, oh god, is this really happening? He keeps his eyes closed, kisses Spike back, best as he can (and this is very different from all his previous kisses). Spike cups his face, holds it still, tongues his mouth, with a touch, a tease, a flick, and Andrew feels like he could come right now.

'If you tell anyone, I really will tear your head off. It's doable, trust me. Wherever, whenever, I will know, and I'll kill you.'

'Okay,' says Andrew, and pulls Spike down for another kiss.

Nails on his stomach, running up his shirt; on his nipple, rubbing, pinching lightly, and Andrew moans quietly, bucks his hips. This won't take long at all, Spike thinks, and decides what he wants. Andrew's trousers are quickly undone, and his blood-thick sex fills Spike's hand. He risks it, and pulls Andrew down on the floor, kisses his stomach, and licks along the tempting shaft.

It's so close, it's so hot. He fights back the demon, the hunger. He takes it in his mouth, down to his throat, so hot and warm, just once, twice, three times and he has to let it go or he won't be able to hold back. Andrew's face is screwed up with the effort of not coming. 'Come on, you little twat,' Spike murmurs, and jerks him, once, twice, rubbing his thumb under the head, and with a little cry Andrew does as he's told.

Spike is hard as rock, but he's used to this sort of thing. Boys never last. But boys can do it all over again. He starts to strip Andrew, even as the boy still twitches with aftershocks. His trousers are at his ankles when Andrew asks, 'What are you doing?'
'What does it look like? We're not done. Turn over.'
'By the power of Greyskull,' Andrew whispers, his eyes widening.

'Also, shut up.'

'We can't do that! I've never done it! I… I haven't gone to the bathroom.'

'I don't care.'

'Have you got condoms?'

'Are you daft? I don't get diseases, I'm dead.'

'You could be a carrier!'

'Diseases can't live in me. Okay? Same as they can't live in corpses. Most you're going to get from me is a sore bum. Now turn over or I'll turn you over. You want it anyway, don't you?'

Andrew knows he does, and flushes scarlet. 'Holy...'

'Shut up.' Spike grabs Andrew's ankles and begins to turn him over, at the same time as the boy scrambles to turn around himself. The ground is going to chafe his knees, but he doesn't care. It's only been minutes, but he's hardening faster than that time Warren read out original Star Wars movie dialogue in Klingon.

He feels something nuzzling the back of his balls, and yep, with just that little Andrew is ready to roll.

'I... I have an anomalous kneepad,' he gasps, his muscles spasming in anticipation.

Spike snarls and spreads Andrew's cum between them, and pushes, moist now, tough but yielding, so tight it almost hurts. He snarls again, the beast close to his skin, and squeezes the fresh living flesh between his hands, and pulls Andrew's hips up against him. Andrew cries out, startled, jumping, and Spike lays himself along his warm flesh, pushing in, out, in, mmm, sweet, nice. He fumbles underneath the boy. Andrew sounds like he's weeping, his cries getting higher, he's gulping his breath, faster. Nice.

Faster.

Oh yes. It's perfect. Spike's working up to the point of release, and he opens his eyes to look at Andrew spread under him, half-dressed and muscle-tense and entirely his, and there it is, the glorious white light that blocks out the world, blocks out a life too long and complicated.

Fucking brilliant.

Andrew's slick and sweaty and made up of all sorts of tasty fluids, so Spike contends with a quick flick of the tongue on his cheek (salty, mmm) and gets up fast, buttons himself, stands with his back to the stone wall in the far corner, and catches his breath. He draws in the coolness from the stone. It'll be all right in a minute, as long as he doesn't look at Andrew.

Andrew gets up, groggy, dishevelled, and puts his clothes back on shakily.

'Spike, that was...'

'Shut up,' Spike whispers.

Fic: Twixt (Angel)

2008-10-05T10:53:27Z

Angel - Angel/Spike; R, 310 words

Disclaimer: Angel (c) Joss Whedon. The author makes no claim to owning the rights to the originating stories or characters.

Note: Originally written for the Porn-Battle.

Twixt

Edinburgh

Angelus likes to play with his food. He figures that might be a part of it. There's a whiff of something in William, as in Dru, a taste of humanity he could get to if he could just bite deep enough. And he does bite very deep. On William's shoulder, crunch, all the way, but all he can taste is that girl and the wine, and William's bubbling scream.

Drusilla giggles, then laughs, and Angelus grins wildly like a boy, his mouth and chest bloodied. Darla smiles. 'Go on, my love,' she says, and Angelus shoves his leg between William's thighs. He's met with a punch that he can feel right down to his spine. William's spun around, his true face upon him, and he’s reaching for the chair. Now the chair's broken and he's holding a stake.

It's a different game, but Angelus is up for it. He pulls his sword.

-

Calcutta

'Come on,' Angelus says. The sunshine is creeping along the floor, muted but scorching. 'Come on, you son of a bitch.'

'Leave my mother out of this,' says William the Bloody, but he picks up his pace by a fraction. Angelus snarls, his teeth sharp against white cotton.

-

Los Angeles

He did always like the poetry.

He used to say it was the worst kind of doggerel, and made the girls laugh at William the Bloody Awful, but he listened to it, listened closely, and walked to its cadences when they went out hunting and playing and William was muttering under his breath.

It wasn't in the violence, and it wasn't in the sex, that speck of something human in Spike that made him so hungry. He used to look for it in the beast-things, when it was there all along, in his language. Spike writes himself into being.

Wordless, angry, Angel looks at him, and yearns the skill still.

Fic: The Very Idea! (Aubreyad/Northanger Abbey)

2008-10-05T10:42:51Z

The Aubreyad/Northanger Abbey crossover - Mrs Williams/Mrs Morris, Isabella/OFC, Isabella/Catherine implied; PG-13, 1006 words

Disclaimer: The Aubrey/Maturin series (c) Patrick O'Brian, Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen. The author of this fanwork makes no claim to owning the rights to the originating stories or characters.

Note: Originally written for Perfect Duet's ficathon and the prompt "Mrs Williams/Mrs Morris - Scandalous!".

The Very Idea!

When Mrs Random, neighbour of Mrs Williams and Mrs Morris, came over for a tea and an exchange of local gossip, as she frequently did, she found the ladies in a jolly mood. They looked as conspiratorial as ever, sitting in two chairs drawn up close to each other and looking tremendously pleased with themselves. Mrs Williams was wearing one of her more coquettish hats.

They talked of this and that as the tray was brought in, exchanging pleasantries and baby news. It was quite amazing what a store of information the ladies had retained regarding matches and children and shady financial dealings, without seemingly keeping any records. All through this, however, Mrs Random had to steel herself not to fidget, so bursting was she with her terrible news.

Finally, when the three of them were alone and tea was already warming their bellies, Mrs Random dropped her voice and leaned in close. ‘I have something terrible to tell you, Mrs Morris, Mrs Williams,’ she whispered. ‘Something so unnatural it almost cannot be told. But I must, or you will not know to stay away from those wicked, two-faced women.’

The ladies leaned close as well, their eyes so keen and hungry that Mrs Random felt quite pleased with herself. ‘Is it the questionable paternity of Mr Mills, the shopkeeper?’ asked Mrs Williams.

‘Not the goat swindle at the Agricultural Show? That’s old news, my dear.’

‘No, no,’ said Mrs Random with secret glee, ‘it’s much worse than that! It concerns Mrs Reverend Tilney. And I’m sure you remember the visit she had from that unpleasant Mrs Isabella Tewt?’

The ladies nodded their head and cooed their yeses, encouraging Mrs Random to continue. Mrs Tewt had been a sight in the market indeed, in her red plumed hat and close-gathered dress and what the ladies were convinced could not be anything but rouge.

‘Well! Though Mrs Tilney sent her packing fast enough, it’s common knowledge they were together in Bath for a year or so in their youth and simply could not be separated. They say they had a tiff over Isabella wanting to marry Mrs Tilney’s, then Ms Morland’s, brother. However true that might be, the friendship ended and we were all pleased to assume Isabella had been less obviously wicked in her younger days. But I received letters from my cousin in London just this morning that shed a different light on the issue.’ She produced the letters from her handbag and flourished them dramatically. She withdrew them quickly as she saw Mrs Morris’s fingers twitch towards them.

‘These letters concern Mrs Tewt and a famous London scandal involving a certain lady, who shall remain nameless as her case does not concern our little community here. The case hangs upon the testimony of the maid. The lady and Mrs Tewt had been bosom buddies, and there shall be more about that later,’ Mrs Random tittered, ‘and they had been seen everywhere together – theatre, opera, restaurants around the city. It was said that the lady supported Mrs Tewt, who was quite penniless. Her husband had abandoned her long ago, and good for him, if you ask me. Well! One morning, the maid says, she came to awaken the lady and draw the curtains, as was her duty, and she came upon her lady in bed with Mrs Tewt, both naked as the day they were born (though there is a rumour that Mrs Tewt was still wearing her garters) and asleep in each other’s arms. Now that alone she found most queer, but said nothing, and brought them dinner in bed as she was bid. When she returns, the ladies are sitting up, now somewhat covered, and locked in a passionate embrace!’

Mrs Random sat back to admire to look of surprise and stupefaction and the beginning of outrage on the ladies faces, so much alike and in tandem she could have just looked at one’s face and guessed the other’s expression.

‘Well! Is that not shocking, dear Mrs Williams, dear Mrs Morris? Of all the unnatural passions! Perverting nature and friendship for pleasure! That such women exist! Of course, it will be hard to prove and prosecute, but public opinion will condemn the harlots! And my question is –‘ she dropped her voice ‘-how does that reflect on our own Mrs Tilney and her girlhood friendship with that very same Mrs Tewt?’

Mrs Williams found her voice first. ‘Preposterous!’ she spluttered.

‘Incredible!’ cried Mrs Morris, springing to her feet. ‘Vile!’

‘Oh, I quite agree!’ said Mrs Random.

‘How dare you bring us such lies? What put such an impossible thing in your mind?’

Mrs Random’s mouth fell open in surprise. ‘But – every word is true! My cousin-‘

‘I care little for your cousin! And you! How could you believe even for a moment such an obviously untrue accusation!’

‘My dear friends, the letter-‘

‘Out! Out of our house! You dirty-minded woman! Come back when you have learned your Bible – which is the highest authority, and would surely mention such a crime as this – and have half a brain to think, and imagine, and see that such a thing is impossible, for simple biological reasons that you, as a married woman, should be well aware of!’

Mrs Random blushed, flustered and half-stumbled her way out, bewildered and shocked and miserable. After what the ladies had said about Tom Wilde and his pigs she was surprised anything could have garnered such a reaction. She felt like a fool, and cried a little on her solitary walk home.

Alone in their drawing-room, Mrs Williams and Mrs Morris looked at each other, still rather excited an out of sorts after such an explosion. It was just the sort of thing to give old age a bit of a thrill. ‘I don’t think she will be spreading that one around any further,’ said Mrs Morris, grinning just a little roguishly.

‘My brilliant darling,’ said Mrs Williams fondly, and kissed Mrs Morris, in a way not condemned by the Bible.

Fic: Precise and Accurate Description (Lack Of) (the Aubreyad)

2008-10-05T10:35:40Z

The Aubreyad - Jack/Stephen; PG-13, 295 words

Disclaimer: The Aubrey/Maturin series (c) Patrick O'Brian. The author of this fanwork makes no claim to owning the rights to the originating stories or characters.

Note: Originally written for Perfect Duet's ficathon and the prompt "Jack/Stephen - the word paederast strikes me as inaccurate".

Precise and Accurate Description (Lack Of)

‘I never thought I’d see the day,’ said Jack, wiping sweat off his brow. ‘I had the thought, once or twice, now I think back, but I put that down to heat or overwork or the long lack of woman. But to turn out in my old age to be a paederast after all…’

‘The word paederast strikes me as inaccurate on this occasion,’ answered Stephen, pushing his glasses back up his nose. They were just about hanging onto the tip at the time. ‘After all, there were no boys involved.’

‘Yes, yes, dear Stephen, but the act remains unlawful despite the age, and quite frankly more surprising. You’re no Adonis, my friend.’

‘Well aware,’ said Stephen, and adjusted his hips, eliciting a groan, half pleasure and half frustration, from Jack. ‘And you yourself could stand to lose half that weight, and are so scarred I can barely see the true colour of your skin. But, my heart, if only beautiful people rutted, it would put phrenologists out of business.’

‘I doubt we’re in any danger of spawning interesting new freaks on the market. Oh, Stephen, this is a sin we’ve committed, isn’t it?’

‘No more than adultery. We’ll have to make our amends when we can. Still, I don’t think God would punish a man for doing what is necessary to his survival, and Jack, without you, I would have died a long time ago.’

Jack gathered Stephen close, thin and awkward as he was, already retreating from him, and held him gently enough that Stephen eventually relaxed against him, mellow and as seemingly boneless as a cat.

It was not about physical beauty, lack of woman, or the heat, or even survival. ‘Dear Stephen,’ Jack whispered, unable to put this love into words.

Fic: A Good Bet (Aubreyad)

2008-10-05T10:28:14Z

The Aubreyad - Fanny, Charlotte; G, 385 words

Disclaimer: The Aubrey/Maturin series (c) Patrick O'Brian. The author of this fanwork makes no claim to owning the rights to the originating stories or characters.

Note: Originally written for Perfect Duet's ficathon and the prompt "Fanny, Charlotte - beaux".

A Good Bet

‘I shall never get married,’ sighed Fanny. She was drooping over the little tea-table in the sitting-room, knowing full well her mother taught her better than to ever slouch, her stiching dangling from her idle hand.

‘Possibly. However, I am quite drowning in beaux and could pick and choose if I liked.’ Charlotte sat primly at the edge of her chair, straight-backed as she stitched.

‘You cat! I could take any of your beaux if I liked – and so could the pig-girl! I shan’t get married until I find the perfect man, and I don’t think such exists.’

‘Fib! You know you were all but in love with Mr Pullings once.’

‘That was a long time ago and in any case, he’s married. But you can’t marry a sailor, or you’ll never see him! And if you marry a medical man, he might stick around, but then you’d have corpses in your cellar and horrible books with pictures on the bookshelves. It’s the same with all the professions. You’d have to marry a lord or a second son with a private fortune, someone who doesn’t run off or bring his work home. I know I could never marry anyone poor. And he’d have to be handsome, and kind, and courageous, and utterly devoted to me. Now tell me, Charlotte, does that description fit any of your wonderful and numerous beaux?’

‘I bet one day you’ll fall in love with someone poor, ugly and cowardly, but you won’t mind one bit because at least you got one out of five.’

‘Oh, you bet, will you? I accept that bet. If I marry someone sub-par, you will have my blue sea shell mirror. And if I don’t, you shall bow down before me and kiss my feet and apologize for being a fibber and a cat both.’

Charlotte hesitated. It was a long shot either way. Then again, she had coveted the blue mirror since they were children, and you could always argue what sub-par really meant, and even come off all pious about how betting was not ladylike. She smiled. ’I accept!’

It turned out that, when Fanny did marry, she was much too happy and much too rich to mind the loss of the mirror. Somehow, the victory wasn’t as satisfying as Charlotte had imagined.

Fic: Tangle and Defeat (The Sandman)

2008-10-01T09:16:01Z

The Sandman - Dream/Desire, refers subtly to a canon Dream relationship; NC-17, 698 words

Disclaimer: The Sandman (c) Neil Gaiman. The author of this fanwork makes no claim to owning the rights to the originating stories or characters.

Note: Originally written for Porn-Battle. I wonder if I should add hermaphrodite/male and hermaphrodite/female to tags? Or other/male etc? Hmm.

Tangle and Defeat

Morpheus traces the wraiths of a sleeper's desires, molds them, gives them shape. Here a mythic beast, tall as a tree, high-breasted and bull-headed; here a beautiful woman crying; here a young man as full and sweet as a freshly picked blueberry. And there, behind them, the darkness of what the sleeper really wants; a primordial blackness full of creeping crawling intentions.

There's potential there, and he reaches out, puts mouths on tree branches that grab at you as you pass, soft moss that feels like flesh to the touch.

He feels a touch, almost a caress, along his sigil. Bright and cold and intense, it feels.

'Not now, sibling,' he growls.

'But you call to me, brother,' says Desire, in its gallery, lounging against an ornate desk it just thought up, its cabinets bursting with love letters and suicide notes.

'I am making.'

'You are working in my field, brother. You're changing this man's mind.'

'I am fulfilling him. I am...'

'He will become a Corinthian thing. I like him just as he is, and so does my twin. He's ours too. Stop.'

'You do not call me just to talk over the petty wants of a single sleeper.'

'I suppose I am bored. Won't you come over?'

'No.'

'Haven't you forgiven me?'

'I have not forgotten.'

'May I come to you?'

'...Very well.'

They stand in Dream's gallery, Desire like a knife encased in a silk sheath, Dream as black and deep as mystery.

'May I offer you refreshments?'

'No,' whispers Desire, and slinks close, catching Dream's cloak in a slender bone-white hand. 'I'm horny.'

'I hate you still.'

'Yes,' whispers Desire, pressing close. 'Yes.'

Desire never begs - it doesn't have to. 'I could look like her,' it says, as Morpheus' lips touch its neck, a low moan of need in his throat. 'I could smell like her.'

'Don't you dare.'

They stand in Dream's bedroom, which is never slept in and was only put in when Lucien took over and began to model the palace after human needs. Desire's silken gown falls off its shoulders, Dream tugs at a belt he could wish away in an instant. Desire undoes it deftly, its fingertips on what's beneath like concentrated heaven. The jeans come off faster, the cloak pools at their feet, and Morpheus falls back on the soft white sheets. Where Desire's hands touch them, they become red, like passion, like blood, like the secret flesh.

'Another page in our Endless family epic--'

'Quiet.'

Desire falls silent, though it spares a thought to Destiny in his garden, and kisses Morpheus, tastes sweet sorrow on his tongue, feels the rush of its own desire and hatred mingle in the heady mix that called it here. Morpheus alabaster skin is warm to the touch, smooth and rippling and spare, and his movements of flesh-need coax the song of triumph in Desire's soul. 'I'm in you, brother,' it whispers.

Without a word, Morpheus spreads his legs, wraps them around Desire's hips, and Desire can feel his cock hot and thick against its belly. It takes it but a moment to guide itself into it's brother, tight but moist and deep and sweet.

Flesh-bliss is only surface. This is soul-bliss. A thousand dreamers come in their sleep. A hundred thousand. They will never forget what they see, the rutting of gods in a changing room, eternity in each gasp and thrust.

The palace shakes in the unravelling aftershocks. A ming vase dreamed of by an archeologist shatters, books fall off the library shelves and pile themselves on the aisles, some chocolate cakes become ostriches, and every flesh and blood dreamthing feels the stirring of the mating instinct. It passes quickly. The Dream King is rarely so careless.

Desire lies its head on its brother's chest, slipping into an unaccustomed calm. It had been a long time since it had taken a lover, and had almost forgotten this part - or at least the way it felt first-hand. Desire felt peaceful, pleasant. Unbidden thoughts and images appeared before its eyes.

It sat up, disquieted, scared.

Dream touched its arm, a light caress. 'And I'm in you, sibling,' he said.

Fic: Your Mark (Banana Fish)

2008-10-01T09:09:53Z

Banana Fish - Ash/Eiji; PG, 200 words

Disclaimer: Banana Fish (c) Akimi Yoshida. The author of this fanwork makes no claim to owning the rights to the originating stories or characters.

Note: Originally written for Porn-Battle, but has no actual porn in it.

Your Mark

You only knew him for a short time, Eiji says to himself.

I knew him for a lifetime. From the moment we met to the moment we parted.

After all these years, he still has the impression of Ash's body against him, their fingertips pressed together.

-

The nightlamp was failing and streetlight cast eerie shapes on the far wall. Eiji lay on his back, fully-dressed, half-dreaming, when Ash set his hand, palm down, on Eiji's belly. It was a thoughtless, meditative gesture, and his eyes were looking at something far away, but Eiji's heart skipped a beat.

Slowly, tenderly, he picked up the hand and brought it up to his lips, kissing the palm. He met Ash's eyes. His face was carefully expressionless. Eiji hated to see that.

'I'm not stupid,' he said, flushing. 'I know everybody already thinks we're doing it.'

'Doesn't mean we have to.'

'No.'

Eiji closed his eyes, and kissed the tip of Ash's index finger. He could feel it quiver, only for the fraction of a second.

Then there was a touch on his arm, and then Ash was kissing him, brokenly, passionately, clutching his shoulders until it hurt.

-

How can you let that go?

Fic: Minuscule scale tiny-teeny ficlets (multi-fandom)

2008-09-23T08:11:12Z

Multiple fandoms - multiple characters and pairings; multiple ratings and a growing word count

Disclaimer: Discworld (c) Terry Pratchett. Firefly (c) Joss Whedon & Mutant Enemy. Hot Fuzz (c) Edgar Wright & co. Lord of the Rings (c) J.R.R. Tolkien. The Producers (c) Mel Brooks & co. The author of these fanworks makes no claim to owning the rights to the originating stories or characters.

Note: Written for memes and requests by friends, specifying one-sentence or six-word ficcing.

Discworld

Susan:
Nobody's grandfather should be a part of her psyche; nobody's grandfather should be her beginning and her end.

Susan/Adora Belle:
Generally sarcasm works, and it should work now - it has kept Spike safe all these years - but Susan can catch her whiplash tongue in her mouth and leave her heart defenseless.

Susan and Death:
The first time she realizes who took her parents away, love falls away from her, like freezing water falling off her back.

Twoflower:
The world is vast - glorious - endless.

Detritus:
His thoughts begin to move, like first light after a dark night; the whingeing sound focuses itself, and there's Cuddy, grinning as he tightens the bolts of the cooling helmet.

Firefly

Zoe, Kaylee, Wash:
"And when she is all grown," said Kaylee, her fingers still sprawled over the secret beneath Zoe's warm skin, "Auntie Kaylee will make damn sure she knows what it means to be her father's child."

Note: Now remixed as a full drabble by Were-Lemur! Here.

Hot Fuzz

Nicholas/Danny:
On their seventh viewing of Bad Boys II, Nicholas remarks, quietly, that Burnett and Lowrey should "just kiss and be done with it"; and Danny's face, when their eyes meet, betrays him.

Lord of the Rings

Legolas and Gimli:
Gimli claims he's got used to the outdoors, though other dwarfs think he's lost his marbles; but rather than that being entirely true it's simply become worth it.

Merry, Pippin and Rosie:
Merry and Pippin had made a pact not to let Sam marry anyone who wasn't worth every drop of him, and thought for a while that the merry young Rosie of their memory might be two halves too flighty; but when they saw her standing tall and proud next to a hill in ashes, her arms full of bandages and potions, well, there was nothing more to say.

Eärendil and Gamgees:
It's a golden evening and Eärendil shines but faintly in the sky; Sam looks at his wife, instead, and sees it bright on her brow: the hope they fought for, in full bloom of its promise.

The Producers

Max/Leo:
The glories of this world may come and go, but all I need is a pot of cash beneath the cellar floor, a flask of booze, a book of accounts - and thou beside me, whimpering softly in the darkness.

Strangers in Paradise

Casey/David/Katchoo:
"This little piggy," Casey said, grinning, "or this?" and looked up at the messed up lovers she'd let herself love, groggy and groaning as they woke up to find her wiggling their toes.

Fic: Firefly Kisses (Lord of the Rings)

2008-09-12T12:30:01Z

Lord of the Rings - Éowyn/Arwen/Aragorn; PG, 122 words

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings (c) J.R.R. Tolkien. The author of this fanwork makes no claim to owning the rights to the originating stories or characters.

Note: Originally written for Drabble-a-Trois and the prompt points of a triangle.

Firefly Kisses

Sometimes, like now, while the sunset paints the world anew, Éowyn’s can feel Arwen’s ghost walk through her mind, even as the Queen remains seated, watching, with her ancient smile. The touch shivers her with pleasure (and not fear, as another’s once did).

She wonders if Aragorn feels it too, and glances over to him standing by the window. Her gaze makes a line, and his eyes connect with Arwen’s profile, while Arwen’s attention caresses Èowyn’s tresses. For a moment, everything is just where it should be.

A blush creeps over Èowyn’s face, and an unspeakable thought in her mind. In another life…

‘No,’ says a voice dripping with magic. ‘In this one.’

Arwen’s fingertips on her arm sparkle like firefly kisses.

Fic: Metal, Oil and Perfume (Firefly)

2008-09-04T08:31:18Z

Firefly - Inara/Kaylee; PG, 100 words

Disclaimer: Firefly (c) Joss Whedon/Mutant Enemy. The author of this fanwork makes no claim to owning the rights to the originating stories or characters.

Note: Originally written for Femslash100 and the drabbletag prompt Kaylee/Inara - reluctance.

Metal, Oil and Perfume

'No.' Kaylee turned away. Inara's heart fell down to the pit of her stomach. She let go her silk-soft hold on Kaylee's wrists.

'Kaylee...'

'Not like this.' Kaylee wiped her oil-smudged face, only spreading the smudge. 'C'mon, I'm all sweaty and iron-smelling and gross.'

Inara's heart bounced back, and her laughter rippled in the wake of her joy. 'Oh love,' she breathed, 'don't you know?' She moved in. 'I like it.'

Kaylee felt her knees go weak, but Inara caught her, pressed her against the warm purring engine, and smudged them both with lipstick and oil.

The engine pumped on.

Fic: Fear of Falling (Anne of Green Gables)

2008-09-04T08:28:24Z

Anne of Green Gables - Diana Blythe/Delilah Green; PG, 250 words

Disclaimer: the Anne books (c) L.M. Montgomery. The author of this fanwork makes no claim to owning the rights to the originating stories or characters.

Note: Originally written for Femslash100 and the prompt enchantment. Spoilers for the entire series.

Fear of Falling

Delilah Green looked smart in her green velvet outfit, her curls as glossy as ever, her eyes just as lovely under the shade of her new hat. She made Di feel shabby in her CRC uniform, but that wasn't why Di hated her - Di, who aside from the uniform hadn't had a new piece of clothing since the war began. She knew the price of each item Delilah wore, and the price of a box of bandages.

'I'm just dying to help our lads,' said Delilah. 'I can't describe how my heart has been breaking - my own neighbour's son is out there. I'm so envious, Di, precious. You get to work here, make a difference - while I am stuck at home, simply because my health won't permit duress!'

At least she wasn't blaming her husband.

But, Judas as Di knew Delilah to be, watching her, she felt that queer, familiar sense of falling, a shudder through her body that signified longing. She had kissed Delilah's lips often as a child, and felt something akin; but she had lost some innocence since. Oh, but that she could kiss her again, and believe a lie, for just a moment!

She took Delilah's money and bid her goodbye, stiff and formal, all for the fear of falling.

'That Di Blythe,' said Delilah later to her husband, 'is a strange one. She was hardly civil to me, and looked about to fling my last pennies back on my face. You'd think she has no heart.'

Fic: Smoke and Roses (Discworld: Monstrous Regiment)

2008-09-04T08:20:56Z

Discworld: Monstrous Regiment - Polly/Mal; PG, 100 words

Disclaimer: Monstrous Regiment (c) Terry Pratchett. The author of this fanwork makes no claim to owning the rights to the originating stories or characters.

Note: Originally written for Femslash100 and the prompt voice.

Smoke and Roses

Polly had heard a voice described as "smokey" before, by a lady back in the Duchess who wore too much pink for her age, but had only imagined the voice of someone who never parted with his pipe, cracked and husky, a damaged voice. It took two years of listening to Mal joke, threaten, cajole, report, howl before she could bring into focus that quality of the sound that reached into something irrational in her.

'Like smoke,' she breathed, understanding; and she inhaled it from Mal's lips, Maladicta's, all rose and rotting hearts, feeling the tug right in her soul.

Art: Triwizard Dragon (Harry Potter)

2008-08-31T14:39:56Z

Harry Potter - Harry, Cedric, Krum, Fleud; G

Disclaimer: Harry Potter (c) J.K. Rowling. The author makes no claim to owning the rights to the originating stories or characters.

Note: Drawn as a Livelongmarry commission for Selene.

Fic: Fresh Sheets (Anne of Green Gables)

2008-08-27T18:33:44Z

Anne of Green Gables - Diana/Anne, Diana/Fred; PG, 200 words

Disclaimer: the Anne books (c) L.M. Montgomery. The author of this fanwork makes no claim to owning the rights to the originating stories or characters.

Note: Originally written for Femslash100 and the prompt nostalgia.

Fresh Sheets

Diana Wright prepares for bed, her hips aching, as they've done in bad weather ever since Anne Cordelia's birth. Her years weigh heavy on her as she washes in cold water - she's too tired to warm it up again just for herself, after young Fred and Anne Cordelia have done with the first batch, and with Fred away in town for the night. She climbs into bed alone, shivering and miserable, but the bed greets her with the sweetness of fresh sheets, and she’s soon enclosed in a pocket of warmth.

The pain and the age slip away, then, and she smiles, her still-girlish dimples wasted on the darkness. She has shared this bed with Fred happily, but this moment - between faintly lavender-scented sheets, just after they accept one and before they settle - belongs to someone else. Diana remembers in a hot flash of nostalgia her old love, enacted between entwined pinkies, in passionate young hearts, and under guest-fit sheets. Anne Shirley - no other girl touched her. Anne, with her grey eyes twinkling with good humour, or shining with some romantic fancy - Anne of white thighs and sweet lips.

Diana slips into slumber, a girl of sixteen once more.

Fic: Sun, Moon, Star, Tower (Discworld: Monstrous Regiment)

2008-08-25T18:26:47Z

Discworld: Monstrous Regiment - Shufti/Johnny, Polly/Mal; PG, 200 words

Disclaimer: Monstrous Regiment (c) Terry Pratchett. The author of this fanwork makes no claim to owning the rights to the originating stories or characters.

Note: Originally written for Femslash100 and the prompt sun.

Sun, Moon, Star, Tower

Betty had never told anybody about the dreams, and she was never going to - not after what they'd done to Aunt Millie. It hadn't used to be like that - Aunt Millie was ancient and crooked-backed and didn't know what not to say when the soldiers came around - not the tired, beaten up lot, but the soldiers with the stern eyes and fine fresh clothes and the murders lurking on the sides of their fists. Betty knew better, now. It wasn't like it used to be.

So she stood outside that summer morning, trying to think of Johnny rather than the night wights, the bloody sky she'd seen so clearly (and that clarity was a mark of the true dreaming), or the strange company she'd kept in her dream. The sun had taken the shape of a young man, or perhaps a woman, and the moon gazed at her with curious hunger, while the morning star stuttered about God in a freshly dug grave. Things of flesh and things of spirit and everywhere, destruction, and the tower grumbling over the egde of the world.

But here was Johnny, coming down the road, with his smile that set her heart a-twitter.

Fic: Pillow School (Discworld: Monstrous Regiment)

2008-08-25T18:21:15Z

Discworld: Monstrous Regiment - Tilda/Magda; PG-13, 200 words

Disclaimer: Monstrous Regiment (c) Terry Pratchett. The author of this fanwork makes no claim to owning the rights to the originating stories or characters.

Note: Originally written for Femslash100 and the prompt letters.

Pillow School

They start with their names. They're printed on the slips of paper they got from the army saying that yes, they had earned medals, even if they happened to be misplaced - or pawned - or not yet minted at the moment, because paper is cheaper than metal.

'Teh. Ee. El. Dah? But which one of these letters is 'dah'?'

'Maybe it's 'deh' and 'ah'?

'You make that sound, you know.' Grin.

'What?'

'Deh-ah. That's how I know I'm doing something right.'

A kiss shivered on a neck, and someone breathed in sharply.

A murmur: 'Yes, like that.'

For the moment, the alphabet was forgotten. There might have been much to learn that wasn't easy to teach yourself, but there were also clean sheets and warm flesh and love.

Two floors down the cellar was cold and damp, but they would never sleep in one again, or steal scraps, or wear anybody's bloody colours. They had four good hands and two good heads between them and an outlook this monster of a city, this gaping maw with turrets for teeth and an endless labyrinth of streets, could not but embrace; and even letters would have to bend to their will.