Fic - Comment Fic War Round Up!
Hey guys, I got a few hits in at unsettledink's second Comment Fic War! Didn't have time to do as much as I'd hoped, but I really enjoyed writing for a new fandom--- Rango! I only saw the movie a few days ago, and when I saw that my friend anneka_neko had started a thread for the fandom, I couldn't resist the urge to try my hand! I think I developed a bit of a crush on that snake, if I do say so myself.
There's also a sliver of a smutfic for Great Mouse Detective, a snugglefest for Eastern Promises, and a fluffy bit of fluff for my favorite rad bromance, Megamind and Metro Man!
I haven't really had the time to write fic for the past few weeks, so this was the perfect chance to get a quick fix. ;D
Fandom: Rango
Number of fics: 4
Ratings: PG
Warnings: implied snake/lizard romance.
Characters/Pairings: Rattlesnake Jake/Rango
Rattlesnake Jake eats the desert for breakfast, mile after scorching mile consumed by his tireless belly. Of course he hasn't been a true rattlesnake for years, not after losing the titular tail end to the claws of that flying She Devil, but it's funny how a name can stick like that. Ain't no hawks this far out in the sand. Birds gotta keep within flapping distance of a drink. Not Jake. When he puts his head down and sets his mind to it, he can make a crossing that would kill damn near any other creature, and he does it just to pass the time.
A rattle isn't good for much besides intimidation, and Jake's already got that in spades. He gets much more use from its mechanical replacement, a weight he's so used to that he doesn't even feel it anymore. Yeah, he's not one for the rattling these days--- it's a clank, clank, clank that heralds him now, metal on metal, like coppers in Charon's skeletal palm. Takes an hour of cleaning every night, fishing for the stray grains of sand with the end of his whispering tongue, to keep the barrels rolling easy and true.
Some might say that a snake's at a disadvantage in a gunslinger's world. Ain't got no paws to open the chamber, no scaly little hands to load the bullets. But Jake gets by with his teeth, his tongue, and his powerful coils, and there's no one who's outdrawn him yet. He once shared a laugh with a sidewinder. If we can get on this well without claws and paws, just think of what we could do if we had 'em! What would snakes do if they had hands and feet? They'd have their pick of the whole goddamn world, that's what, but in the meantime Jake can smile when the sandstorm blows his way. All around him the desert must bow before the whirlwind, but he can put his head down and pass right through. Don't gotta stop for nobody. That's the rattlesnake way, and Jake gives the storm a mocking shake of his six-shooters as he cruises by, unscathed.
- - -
It turns out, Sheriff Rango has a squishy little pot belly that is ticklish in the extreme.
It turns out, Rattlesnake Jake has a feathery little tongue that is tickly in the extreme.
And it turns out, with the proper amount of lubrication--- sarsaparilla for the one, straight cactus whiskey for the other--- these two properties can be combined to produce a singularly entertaining spectacle the likes of which has never been seen before or since.
And that's chemistry, folks.
- - -
By the blood red light of the setting sun, they come across the remains of the hawk that Rango slew on his first day of existence, the day the hero was born. Scorpions and beetles have picked the body nearly clean, the exposed bone buffed to a marble shine by the gritty desert wind, the remaining shreds of skin dried into leather. There's still a few feathers clinging to the ruins, and Jake glides up close to seize one in his mouth. He wheels, massive, bearing down on the little sheriff in one continuous undulation (in fact, Jake seems to have lived his whole life in a single gesture, fluid and unbroken). Rango doesn't even have time to flinch before the snake is pulling away again, a smile on his wicked face.
Reaching up to feel the damage, Rango finds the feather tucked into the band of his hat, turning his dusty ten-gallon into a warrior's crown.
"Jack the Giant Killer," the snake rumbles contentedly. "The stuff of legends, brother."
- - -
In times of crisis, Priscilla knows where to run, and when Bad Bill starts a scrap at the bar she scoots straight for the sheriff's office.
...which is empty. Startled, she does an impromptu pirouette, spinning in the dusty road and scanning the town for the missing officer of the law. Then she remembers that Rattlesnake Jake came into town last night. That sends her scampering back up the street, past the bar again, and down around to the back of the general store. There's a low-hanging awning where the rattler sometimes sleeps, shielded from the sky and the eye of any airborne predator. If Rango's not around to break up a fight, Jake'll do in a pinch if he thinks it's worth his while, and she might as well try to persuade him before Bill has a chance to throw someone through the big plate glass window. Again.
Snakes don't have eyelids. Jake is all curled up in a big pile of coils, but just because he's not moving doesn't mean he's not awake.
"Mr. Jake?" she calls softly, not so much out of fear but politeness. "You asleep or not?"
"Hnh?" grunts the snake, and his golden eyes suddenly harden into focus. "Who wants to know?"
"I'm lookin' for the sheriff," the little cactus mouse keeps a certain distance. "You seen Rango anywhere?"
"Hnh?" grunts Rango's voice from somewhere close.
Then Jake shivers in a real queer way. His coils come undone in a sudden rush and Sheriff Rango tumbles out. Awkward silence all around.
"I was---" Rango explains meekly. "---cold."
"Bite yer tongue, Sheriff," Jake smirks. "She's young. That don't mean she's stupid."
Priscilla is on the verge of a vain remark when the snake suddenly looms over her. She hears the treacherous rattle of his six-shooters just over her shoulder.
"I mean," he says coolly, poison in his voice. "You'd have to be stupid as sin to go telling anyone what you'd seen just now, wouldn't ya? And you ain't stupid, are ya, little varmint?"
"No, sir," she whispers. "I ain't stupid at all."
And she never tells a soul.
- - -
Fandom: Great Mouse Detective
Number of fics: 1
Ratings: R
Warnings: rimjob.
Characters/Pairings: Basil/Ratigan
"My dear," Ratigan grunts, head thrust down low between his hunched shoulders. "I never thought you could be so bold."
Basil has the rat's heavy tail draped over the back of his neck as his tongue laves roughly at the indecent place beneath it. At the villain's condescending remark he surfaces for air, and on his way back down he closes his teeth on the meat of the hindquarters in a firm and disapproving nip.
"You underestimate me," he growls.
Truer words were never spoken.
- - -
Fandom: Eastern Promises
Number of fics: 1
Ratings: PG-13
Warnings: swearing, man snuggling.
Characters/Pairings: Nikolai/Kirill
It's never a clean break when the crown moves from one head to the next. Like passing a heap of sand between hands, there are always little rivulets that slip through the spaces between, the grains that get separated from the herd and fall away, forever lost. The foundation of the heap stays more or less intact, but the surface of the landscape is changed, sometimes past the point of recognition.
Feels like the whole London underworld takes notice when Semyon goes down hard, the crown skittering from his hands until it rolls to an undignified stop at the feet of his worthless son. That drunk, that bugger, what's his name? The pressure is enormous. Kirill stops sleeping, his nerves frayed to the breaking point, and after three straight days Nikolai comes to him and pulls him down onto the bed.
"Nyet, Kolya," Kirill protests weakly, squirming against him. "I have too much to do. I have to be ready for them. Papa would be ready. He would be ready for anything."
Nikolai does not point out that, clearly, Semyon was not ready for the swift judgment that only so recently fell upon him. Instead, he tightens his iron grip and refuses to let his boss pull away from him.
"Let go of me, you fucker!" Kirill whines. Seems like he's perpetually drunk these days, and his clumsy struggling is no match for the focused and formidable strength of his driver. He curses and pulls, roughly threatens and feebly punches, until he finally wears himself out and collapses in a big, heavy heap on Nikolai's chest. Hot and sticky like a child after a tantrum, he passes out with his face crushed against one broad Siberian shoulder, his breathing falling into something slow and deep.
Nikolai gives his sweaty head a gentle rub. He had planned to subdue Kirill and then leave him to sleep, but he realizes that he has neither the need nor the desire to go anywhere else. He settles his arms around Kirill's back and closes his eyes, loyally following his captain even into the realm of dreams.
Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown? Bullshit. Kirill sleeps like a baby.
- - -
Fandom: Megamind
Number of fics: 1
Ratings: G
Warnings: slash.
Characters/Pairings: Megamind/Metro Man
Yellow roses. For friendship.
Orange roses. For passion.
Red roses. For love.
Megamind finds a scientific satisfaction in the progression through the spectrum, and every time he brings a bouquet to Music Man's hideout, he hopes the former hero takes notice.
- - -
There's also a sliver of a smutfic for Great Mouse Detective, a snugglefest for Eastern Promises, and a fluffy bit of fluff for my favorite rad bromance, Megamind and Metro Man!
I haven't really had the time to write fic for the past few weeks, so this was the perfect chance to get a quick fix. ;D
Fandom: Rango
Number of fics: 4
Ratings: PG
Warnings: implied snake/lizard romance.
Characters/Pairings: Rattlesnake Jake/Rango
Rattlesnake Jake eats the desert for breakfast, mile after scorching mile consumed by his tireless belly. Of course he hasn't been a true rattlesnake for years, not after losing the titular tail end to the claws of that flying She Devil, but it's funny how a name can stick like that. Ain't no hawks this far out in the sand. Birds gotta keep within flapping distance of a drink. Not Jake. When he puts his head down and sets his mind to it, he can make a crossing that would kill damn near any other creature, and he does it just to pass the time.
A rattle isn't good for much besides intimidation, and Jake's already got that in spades. He gets much more use from its mechanical replacement, a weight he's so used to that he doesn't even feel it anymore. Yeah, he's not one for the rattling these days--- it's a clank, clank, clank that heralds him now, metal on metal, like coppers in Charon's skeletal palm. Takes an hour of cleaning every night, fishing for the stray grains of sand with the end of his whispering tongue, to keep the barrels rolling easy and true.
Some might say that a snake's at a disadvantage in a gunslinger's world. Ain't got no paws to open the chamber, no scaly little hands to load the bullets. But Jake gets by with his teeth, his tongue, and his powerful coils, and there's no one who's outdrawn him yet. He once shared a laugh with a sidewinder. If we can get on this well without claws and paws, just think of what we could do if we had 'em! What would snakes do if they had hands and feet? They'd have their pick of the whole goddamn world, that's what, but in the meantime Jake can smile when the sandstorm blows his way. All around him the desert must bow before the whirlwind, but he can put his head down and pass right through. Don't gotta stop for nobody. That's the rattlesnake way, and Jake gives the storm a mocking shake of his six-shooters as he cruises by, unscathed.
- - -
It turns out, Sheriff Rango has a squishy little pot belly that is ticklish in the extreme.
It turns out, Rattlesnake Jake has a feathery little tongue that is tickly in the extreme.
And it turns out, with the proper amount of lubrication--- sarsaparilla for the one, straight cactus whiskey for the other--- these two properties can be combined to produce a singularly entertaining spectacle the likes of which has never been seen before or since.
And that's chemistry, folks.
- - -
By the blood red light of the setting sun, they come across the remains of the hawk that Rango slew on his first day of existence, the day the hero was born. Scorpions and beetles have picked the body nearly clean, the exposed bone buffed to a marble shine by the gritty desert wind, the remaining shreds of skin dried into leather. There's still a few feathers clinging to the ruins, and Jake glides up close to seize one in his mouth. He wheels, massive, bearing down on the little sheriff in one continuous undulation (in fact, Jake seems to have lived his whole life in a single gesture, fluid and unbroken). Rango doesn't even have time to flinch before the snake is pulling away again, a smile on his wicked face.
Reaching up to feel the damage, Rango finds the feather tucked into the band of his hat, turning his dusty ten-gallon into a warrior's crown.
"Jack the Giant Killer," the snake rumbles contentedly. "The stuff of legends, brother."
- - -
In times of crisis, Priscilla knows where to run, and when Bad Bill starts a scrap at the bar she scoots straight for the sheriff's office.
...which is empty. Startled, she does an impromptu pirouette, spinning in the dusty road and scanning the town for the missing officer of the law. Then she remembers that Rattlesnake Jake came into town last night. That sends her scampering back up the street, past the bar again, and down around to the back of the general store. There's a low-hanging awning where the rattler sometimes sleeps, shielded from the sky and the eye of any airborne predator. If Rango's not around to break up a fight, Jake'll do in a pinch if he thinks it's worth his while, and she might as well try to persuade him before Bill has a chance to throw someone through the big plate glass window. Again.
Snakes don't have eyelids. Jake is all curled up in a big pile of coils, but just because he's not moving doesn't mean he's not awake.
"Mr. Jake?" she calls softly, not so much out of fear but politeness. "You asleep or not?"
"Hnh?" grunts the snake, and his golden eyes suddenly harden into focus. "Who wants to know?"
"I'm lookin' for the sheriff," the little cactus mouse keeps a certain distance. "You seen Rango anywhere?"
"Hnh?" grunts Rango's voice from somewhere close.
Then Jake shivers in a real queer way. His coils come undone in a sudden rush and Sheriff Rango tumbles out. Awkward silence all around.
"I was---" Rango explains meekly. "---cold."
"Bite yer tongue, Sheriff," Jake smirks. "She's young. That don't mean she's stupid."
Priscilla is on the verge of a vain remark when the snake suddenly looms over her. She hears the treacherous rattle of his six-shooters just over her shoulder.
"I mean," he says coolly, poison in his voice. "You'd have to be stupid as sin to go telling anyone what you'd seen just now, wouldn't ya? And you ain't stupid, are ya, little varmint?"
"No, sir," she whispers. "I ain't stupid at all."
And she never tells a soul.
- - -
Fandom: Great Mouse Detective
Number of fics: 1
Ratings: R
Warnings: rimjob.
Characters/Pairings: Basil/Ratigan
"My dear," Ratigan grunts, head thrust down low between his hunched shoulders. "I never thought you could be so bold."
Basil has the rat's heavy tail draped over the back of his neck as his tongue laves roughly at the indecent place beneath it. At the villain's condescending remark he surfaces for air, and on his way back down he closes his teeth on the meat of the hindquarters in a firm and disapproving nip.
"You underestimate me," he growls.
Truer words were never spoken.
- - -
Fandom: Eastern Promises
Number of fics: 1
Ratings: PG-13
Warnings: swearing, man snuggling.
Characters/Pairings: Nikolai/Kirill
It's never a clean break when the crown moves from one head to the next. Like passing a heap of sand between hands, there are always little rivulets that slip through the spaces between, the grains that get separated from the herd and fall away, forever lost. The foundation of the heap stays more or less intact, but the surface of the landscape is changed, sometimes past the point of recognition.
Feels like the whole London underworld takes notice when Semyon goes down hard, the crown skittering from his hands until it rolls to an undignified stop at the feet of his worthless son. That drunk, that bugger, what's his name? The pressure is enormous. Kirill stops sleeping, his nerves frayed to the breaking point, and after three straight days Nikolai comes to him and pulls him down onto the bed.
"Nyet, Kolya," Kirill protests weakly, squirming against him. "I have too much to do. I have to be ready for them. Papa would be ready. He would be ready for anything."
Nikolai does not point out that, clearly, Semyon was not ready for the swift judgment that only so recently fell upon him. Instead, he tightens his iron grip and refuses to let his boss pull away from him.
"Let go of me, you fucker!" Kirill whines. Seems like he's perpetually drunk these days, and his clumsy struggling is no match for the focused and formidable strength of his driver. He curses and pulls, roughly threatens and feebly punches, until he finally wears himself out and collapses in a big, heavy heap on Nikolai's chest. Hot and sticky like a child after a tantrum, he passes out with his face crushed against one broad Siberian shoulder, his breathing falling into something slow and deep.
Nikolai gives his sweaty head a gentle rub. He had planned to subdue Kirill and then leave him to sleep, but he realizes that he has neither the need nor the desire to go anywhere else. He settles his arms around Kirill's back and closes his eyes, loyally following his captain even into the realm of dreams.
Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown? Bullshit. Kirill sleeps like a baby.
- - -
Fandom: Megamind
Number of fics: 1
Ratings: G
Warnings: slash.
Characters/Pairings: Megamind/Metro Man
Yellow roses. For friendship.
Orange roses. For passion.
Red roses. For love.
Megamind finds a scientific satisfaction in the progression through the spectrum, and every time he brings a bouquet to Music Man's hideout, he hopes the former hero takes notice.
- - -