More Yuletide fic
Apparently I never linked to last year's stories, either. Oops.
All the King's Men. Godchild. Written after I'd read volume 6 but before volume 8 came out, but it totally accidentally is completely in accordance with actual canon!
Rated R. At least. Contains lots of explicit and inventive sex, including BDSM and some mindgames, but all consensual.
The request was for Cain/Crehador, but I really ship Cain/Riff, so I had to find a way to make that work.
An undead priest named Father Lucanus Revelation and a plot to poison London with Communion Wine leads to Cain having several fraught encounters with Crehador and Riff while Cain is dressed as an altar boy. I am so going to Hell.
Cain's silken hair fell across his face as he bent over a lower shelf. He removed a vial with no label at all, whose contents resembled liquid amber. A tiny white object was suspended in the thick fluid, but more detail than that Crehador could not see. Cain took out a pipette and withdrew the smallest minim of liquid. He regarded it with none of the proper apprehension any man might feel when observing something venomous, but with a dreadful anticipation. Hypnotized by this strange sight, Crehador forgot the terrible suspicion which had brought him to this place, and watched as Cain, with a languorous sigh, let a single drop fall upon his small pink tongue.
Then Crehador was roused to action! Leaping from his place of concealment, he grasped the eggshell bones of Cain's delicate wrist.
The vial shattered against the marble floor. The white object slowly rose to the surface of the amber pool. (As Cain knew though Crehador did not, it was the skull of an embryonic shrew.)
City of Angels. Written for Francesca Lia Block's Weetzie Bat series, but I think it stands on its own. The prompt was "make this New Yorker miss Los Angeles." I'm really happy with how it came out. Rated G.
It was New Year's Eve, and the excitement of the 3.8 million residents of Los Angeles, plus assorted visitors and passers-through, sizzled through the crisp and only slightly smoggy winter air. All over the city, the thoughts of those 3.8 million (plus extras) bubbled like champagne in anticipation of fireworks and designer dresses and parties and dancing and as-yet-unkissed midnight kisses.
Lucky. Er, Dragonlance. I had way too much fun writing this one. Rated G. Vague hints of slashiness.
The companions had been trudging through the endless maze of mountain caves for several days (as best as they could judge without sun or moon to guide them), and had already battled a rust monster, a skeleton hook horror, and a gelatinous cube. But nothing had truly struck fear into Tanis' heart until he heard the cheerful piping tones of Tasslehoff's voice saying, "Now this looks really interesting!"
All the King's Men. Godchild. Written after I'd read volume 6 but before volume 8 came out, but it totally accidentally is completely in accordance with actual canon!
Rated R. At least. Contains lots of explicit and inventive sex, including BDSM and some mindgames, but all consensual.
The request was for Cain/Crehador, but I really ship Cain/Riff, so I had to find a way to make that work.
An undead priest named Father Lucanus Revelation and a plot to poison London with Communion Wine leads to Cain having several fraught encounters with Crehador and Riff while Cain is dressed as an altar boy. I am so going to Hell.
Cain's silken hair fell across his face as he bent over a lower shelf. He removed a vial with no label at all, whose contents resembled liquid amber. A tiny white object was suspended in the thick fluid, but more detail than that Crehador could not see. Cain took out a pipette and withdrew the smallest minim of liquid. He regarded it with none of the proper apprehension any man might feel when observing something venomous, but with a dreadful anticipation. Hypnotized by this strange sight, Crehador forgot the terrible suspicion which had brought him to this place, and watched as Cain, with a languorous sigh, let a single drop fall upon his small pink tongue.
Then Crehador was roused to action! Leaping from his place of concealment, he grasped the eggshell bones of Cain's delicate wrist.
The vial shattered against the marble floor. The white object slowly rose to the surface of the amber pool. (As Cain knew though Crehador did not, it was the skull of an embryonic shrew.)
City of Angels. Written for Francesca Lia Block's Weetzie Bat series, but I think it stands on its own. The prompt was "make this New Yorker miss Los Angeles." I'm really happy with how it came out. Rated G.
It was New Year's Eve, and the excitement of the 3.8 million residents of Los Angeles, plus assorted visitors and passers-through, sizzled through the crisp and only slightly smoggy winter air. All over the city, the thoughts of those 3.8 million (plus extras) bubbled like champagne in anticipation of fireworks and designer dresses and parties and dancing and as-yet-unkissed midnight kisses.
Lucky. Er, Dragonlance. I had way too much fun writing this one. Rated G. Vague hints of slashiness.
The companions had been trudging through the endless maze of mountain caves for several days (as best as they could judge without sun or moon to guide them), and had already battled a rust monster, a skeleton hook horror, and a gelatinous cube. But nothing had truly struck fear into Tanis' heart until he heard the cheerful piping tones of Tasslehoff's voice saying, "Now this looks really interesting!"