gaisce: (Contemplating the mysteries of life)
Flourishing Verdantly ([personal profile] gaisce) wrote2008-12-20 05:29 pm

This counts as Christmas spirit right?

I've finally crawled out of the backlog of all my obligations (okay just some) but the perfect response would be to give myself more work. Everyone I flaked out on before has full permission to smack me here. Yes, even if I'm still working on their other stuff...

The first TEN people to comment in this post get to request a drabble of any pairing/character of their choosing from me. In return, they have to post this in their journal, regardless of their ability level. If you absolutely can't write, I don't see why you wouldn't be able to offer drawings or icons or something instead.

1. [ profile] silverprism - Static Shock: Virgil and Richie
2. [ profile] wonderseal - AtLA/Mulan: Azula and Mulan
3. [ profile] synergic - Princess Tutu: Mytho/Ahiru(ish)
4. [ profile] starsofnite - DC/AtLA: Impulse and Toph
5. [ profile] calophi - TricK: Ueda/Naoko
6. [ profile] lady_ganesh - DC comics: Impulse and Brainy
7. [ profile] etherealprey - Adventures of Sinbad: Maeve/Sinbad
8. [ profile] skyebanshee - Merlin: Merlin/Arthur ...sort of?
9. [ profile] timmesque - Princess Tutu: Mytho/Rue
10. Congratulatory short story of stupid for me for finishing this one for once

[identity profile] 2008-12-21 02:09 am (UTC)(link)
Oh oh! I am going to be completely obvious and ask for more geekslash, because it will never get old.

[identity profile] 2008-12-22 08:55 am (UTC)(link)
“V man, have a little faith. With my brains and your you-ness this will be the best Christmas ever.”

“Or it will be the third time we’ve caused a brownout in the neighborhood. And I don’t know about you, but running away from an angry mob is not how I want to warm up for the winter.”

Richie Foley sighed and pulled off his glasses to try and clean off the fog with his scarf. It was two colored and knitted unevenly, the kind an absentminded grandmother sends each year. His entire winter getup gave him the look of a mad scientist, but it was the remote control in his hands that cinched it.

Virgil Hawkins jumped down the last three steps from the ladder. It would have been easier to fly over the roof with his Static shield and finish the job but there was the concern of their secret identities to worry about. And the odd sense of pride the Hawkins family had to do everything hands on for the Christmas season.

A tradition his friend Richie wholly embraced. Possibly to an extent that was worrisome.

“I already told you I worked out the circuitry so we aren’t going to have to worry about them overheating like at Halloween. They’re so energy efficient it’ll practically be giving electricity back to the grid,” Richie exclaimed proudly.

“And you dialed down the Santa?”

“I dialed down the Santa. His rosy cheeks won’t compete with Rudolph’s nose any longer. There won’t be any traffic concerns from this house unless people stop and gaze in pure admiration.”

Richie rubbed his hands together. Virgil hoped it was from the cold and not the technical genius megalomania. “And you put the Trans-Siberian Orchestra CD in.”

“V, trust me,” Richie said as he pushed the button. “I have it all under co—”

“I’ll have a bluuuuuuuuuuuue Christmas~~ Without you~”

The velvet strains of Elvis’s crooning filled the air as Santa and two snowmen swayed to the music while the Christmas lights blinked in a fast Technicolor procession.

“I didn’t know your mom was an Elvis fan.”

“Heh he heh,” Richie laughed sheepishly. “You know Mom. She’d rather spend Christmas in Hawaii than any place with snow. But this is easy to fix! I just have to coordinate the synch again, with Backpack it’ll be done before you can say ho ho—”

“Ho ho hold up,” Virgil laughed and raised up a hand. Richie stood flustered and his friend brought his arm to wrap around his shoulders. “Richie, man, I know you’re doing this for us but it’s okay. Best gift you can give me is hanging with us Christmas Eve, not hanging the holly.”

“Or mistletoe,” Richie pointed out with a flush.

“Yeah, we’ll leave that to my sister and her boyfriend. But my point stands. You don’t need to do anything for me, bro. Just be you.”

“ who blew up your last singing elf.”

“Man, he had it coming.”

Richie turned back to look at the Hawkin’s front yard with a wistful expression. Virgil looked with him, and realized he had yet to remove his hand.


“Yeah man?”

“Merry Christmas.”

“Heh. Happy Kwanzaa to you.”

[identity profile] 2008-12-21 03:51 am (UTC)(link)

Not pairing, but idk something Azula-y and Mulan-y?

[identity profile] 2008-12-24 10:08 am (UTC)(link)
Yeah, this might not actually fit your request (but you have that other one) still it counts as "something Azula-y and Mulan-y" at least I hope...

One day Azula stole a book from the library of the Royal Fire Academy for Girls. It was a plan borne more from idle daring than curiosity. She was bored, it was there, and so she took it. And because princess did not want for anything, she thought it very clever to steal something that she would never want.

It was slim, with gold tipped pages and ink brushed illustrations for every chapter. A collection of children’s stories that mothers told their children when they tucked them off to sleep. The young princess had never bothered with bedtime stories and her only books were those tutors had instructed her to read in history and warfare.

She didn’t begin reading it until one night where Ursa sent her to bed early for tormenting Zuko to the point of tears. Then, thinking it might as well be useful, Azula picked up the book to pass the time and throw it away as soon as it bored her. And the story was as insipid as anything they made her watch by the Ember Island players.

It was awkward and lacked the focused propaganda of the stories she was used to. Instead of glorious Fire Nation victories and conniving Earth Kingdom soldiers it was set in a fictitious land called China, plagued by war but never saying much about the rightness of the cause or the bravery of the troops. In fact, the focus of the story seemed to be about a girl who ran away from home.

“How boring,” Azula said to nobody in particular, because she preferred to be alone and preferred the silence to think but felt the need to announce it anyway.

“Father, was there ever a girl Fire Lord?”

“No,” Ozai answered before turning to look back up at the tapestries. And Azula watched the golden eyes vanish from her behind the high set of his cheek and the firm line of his mouth. “There have not been any.”

“But there might be? Someday?”

Her father’s voice was alluring and silken in times when it was just the two of them, woven as expertly as any of the tapestries before them. “I don’t know, child. You tell me...”

The girl’s name was Mulan, and she did not actually want to run away from home (unlike Ty Lee who would sigh wistfully at anything that was not being where she was). Instead, she was running away to take her father’s place in the draft because he was a frail and old man.

Azula thought it was stupid for many reasons, but what could you expect from a children’s story? How a family’s honor could be so easily ruined by one person’s mistakes, how weak they all acted. But some morbid fascination made her continue reading. Glad that Ozai, who was powerful and clever and could do anything he wanted, would never be like Mulan’s father.

They were never comparable to her mind, so she did not bother imaging if she was anything like Mulan at all.

[identity profile] 2008-12-24 10:09 am (UTC)(link)
“Girls are crazy!” Zuko howled as he retreated from Azula’s game, sodden and upset.

Azula grinned triumphantly and snuck back to where Mai and Ty Lee stayed behind. Mai was looking even gloomier than before, and Ty Lee’s fickle sympathies had changed to feeling bad for Mai as she tried to wring out the excess pond water from her friend’s clothes.

“Can I go home now?” Mai asked, not daring to make it sound hurt or accusatory, but all the same Azula frowned.

“It is getting late,” Ty Lee added.

“Fine then. I’m done anyway,” Azula sneered, ignoring the fact that there was at least two hours more she set aside before her firebending practice. It wasn’t like she could play with them anyway, with Mai completely wet and Ty Lee looking guilty enough for the three of them.

Azula took to reading the book in the dead of night, creating only the smallest of flames to illuminate the text. She read of Mulan’s disguising herself as a boy and training with them. The story’s words provided nothing but gentle sympathy for her plight to fall behind the other soldiers and the loneliness she felt at the secret. Azula sneered and rolled her eyes each time Mulan stumbled, muttering under her breath how easy they would be for her.

When the army reached the passage, Azula had long since forgotten that she should have been asleep. Here the narrative slipped to the strategy of a light cavalry against heavier forces from the invaders. Azula even managed a small glimmer of approval to see Mulan’s plan of firing at the mountaintop to cause an avalanche worked so well. That was something to surprise her tutors with when they went over the South Pole siege, she imagined.

But Mulan’s victory was not met with cheers by the army she had worked so hard make them accept her. Instead they turned on her in discovery that she was a girl—And what is so wrong with a girl? Azula thought to herself with something nearing a pang of self-recognition—and declared Mulan a traitorous spy. Not content with the brief moment of understanding, Azula sought to put it to rest by skipping to the end to see how it ended. If Mulan rose up and crushed the ones who scorned her, if they put her to death, what fate would play out.

And as Fa Mulan returned to the garden where the cherry blossoms sat, she knelt at the feet of her father’s lame leg and bowed. “Father, I have restored your honor. I humbly ask that you forgive me for what I did to get there.”

And the father leaned on his lame leg and set a blossom in his daughter’s hair. “The greatest honor I could ever wish for would be having you for a daughter.”

Azula threw the book away the next morning. She woke up tired and sluggish, not perfect for her early morning training but far better than anyone else. And as the hours wore on, when her father finally appeared to watch her progress, Azula was flawless.

“I am proud of you, Azula,” Ozai said with a fierce grin. “One day you will bring great honor to the Fire Nation.”

Somehow, even if the words were the same Azula knew she was right the first time: there was nothing of Ozai in Mulan’s father and nothing of Mulan in her.
Edited 2008-12-24 10:10 (UTC)

[identity profile] 2008-12-24 04:16 pm (UTC)(link)
...You're my hero. ♥ ♥ ♥

[identity profile] 2008-12-24 04:20 pm (UTC)(link)
Oh, also it fits the prompt perfectly! It's better than what I could've predicted and I woke up this morning and read it on my phone and was just like "This is the way to start off Christmas~" Thanks for my present :D

[identity profile] 2008-12-21 06:09 am (UTC)(link)
You know I love everything you do. SO YOU PICK.

[identity profile] 2008-12-31 06:36 am (UTC)(link)
One day you will have to specify something as "not bittersweet or angsty jeez" for me. Until then, sorry:

Ahiru didn’t dream much after the story finished. Her memories remained clear, her hopes a little more solid when she had given them to everyone else and found them returned in abundance, but when she curled her head underneath a downy wing each night she didn’t expect dreams.

The nights she did dream, when the full moon hung low and cradled itself in the lake’s waters, it was like her dreams from before the story. A placid waters framed by willow reeds and the prince gracefully dancing in the center of it as his footsteps could follow zephyrs. And sometimes she dreamed of Fakir and Rue dancing with him but those times were rare, distant and foggy. Unlike the ones with Mytho that had her wake with a start, her heart and wings fluttering at the thought.

She wondered why it was different, because they had all grown entangled in her world in some way, Fakir more than she ever suspected. Ahiru wondered it was because he was always real to her—brash and boorish and sometimes perplexing but so ill-fitting to flights of fancy. She liked him best for that. But she could not tell him even if she wanted to, why these dreams still mattered no matter how content she was to be what she always was.

Each dream the prince would stop in mid pirouette and hold out his hand, asking her, “Is there anything I can give you, when you have done so much for me?”

And each time she would find herself mute. The terror of speaking her wish, of even imagining it, closed up her throat. Perhaps she was not so separate from Tutu after all.

I wanted to see you smile. I wanted to see you dance. So I’m happy. Truly, I’m happy, she wanted to say as the dream faded, because she was. But perhaps her time as a human, just like Tutu, had left its mark on her. Because humans can be content and yet leave a part of their heart unfilled for the potential of things still unwritten.

But one night the dream didn’t fade. His smile grew softer but stayed solid around the edges, and his hand reached out to her like a tangible thing. Some gesture between kneeling and sinking he lowered himself to her in one sweeping bow. And when she saw his feet disappear beneath the water she began to flap her wings madly, quacking at him in fear and concern.

As she swam helter skelter around him, pulling at sleeves and fighting against gravity, he wrapped his arms around her. The water lapped against his chest, turning his purple robes dark and heavy with their weight. And he held his hand out to her with the knuckles submerged, a pool of water collecting between the curve of his palm and his fingers for her to look into the reflection if she chose.

[identity profile] 2008-12-31 06:41 am (UTC)(link)
That was more sweet than bitter ♥

[identity profile] 2008-12-31 06:36 am (UTC)(link)
“Dance with me,” he said quietly. It was soft and undemanding, like how he always spoke to her.

Ahiru paused, her body quivering to shake out the water she had gotten between her feathers in her panic. She quacked in confusion, paddling back and forth as if to see if he was all right.

“We never danced, did we? You and I. Not as we are,” he said and stepped forward, his body making ripples so she felt her stomach rise and climb in her body the way she remembered when he lifted her. “Will you teach me?”

Her blue eyes flickered and she lowered her head as if to cover a blush. And the prince waited until pinion feathers touched when Ahiru told him yes.

It was awkward. The prince’s steps dragged behind Ahiru’s webbed feet, his body an unwieldy compliment to her quick, agile darting. His arms extended and fell with shifting weight compared to her feathered wings that rippled outward from them. When she slid beneath the water, he had to trust her as he continued to move his feet from one position to the next before she reappeared with an exultant quack of joy. In the shallows of the lake Ahiru was the première danseur and Mytho’s effortless grace could only keep him on his feet against the pull of her small form, dancing as if she could call up the tides.

When they finished the prince was breathless and laughing. To anyone else he must have looked ridiculous, but Ahiru saw in his eyes a look of joy she had not seen in his features even when she returned the last piece of his heart to him. And it was for her, for dancing with him and being the one to make their dance look beautiful.

Oh, thought Ahiru, who was happy being what she was but still missed things. Longed for things. And didn’t know for what part of her belonged, but still dreamed.

[identity profile] 2008-12-21 02:18 pm (UTC)(link)

[identity profile] 2008-12-22 08:58 am (UTC)(link)

[identity profile] 2008-12-22 09:02 am (UTC)(link)

What, really, you wanted to write that? I thought you were gonna write something Avatar-centric

[identity profile] 2008-12-22 09:07 am (UTC)(link)

Well I know Avatar, so there is the possibility what I wrote for it could be good and semi-IC as opposed to "well spoken tiny boy and dorky demon hunter talk" dialogue for other things.

[identity profile] 2008-12-22 09:10 am (UTC)(link)

Nah it's probably hard to write something you don't know. WRITE ME IMPULSE AND TOPH

Here you go, Impulse and Toph

[identity profile] 2008-12-22 09:36 am (UTC)(link)
“Watch where you’re going, Bigfoot.”

The speedster known as Impulse paused to look at the hand that shot out and rammed into his chest (technically, he ran into the hand when he went running past) and made a slight oof-ing sound to be stopped dead in his tracks. “Bigfoot? Where?”

Toph Bei Fong would have rolled her eyes if she could. “You, dummy.”

“But I’m not furry!”

“But you have big clodding feet. It’s like hearing a stampede when you rush by sometimes, gives me a headache.”

“Sorry,” he quipped, and it was so immediate if it was anyone else Toph would have thought they were just saying it to appease her but Impulse was different.

Everything about him was rushed, from his heartbeat to his fidgeting, and if it wasn’t for the way his voice sounded, a mixture of eagerness and carelessness, then Toph never would have believed he meant it. “So where are you off to now?”

“Nowhere in particular,” Impulse said, finding a convenient tree log to sit down and swing his feet to. “Sometimes I just like running.”

“You just like running?”

“Well yeah, don’t you?”

“I’m kind of rooted. C’mon if you want I’ll let you try to push me from this spot,” she grinned.

“But you don’t like running?”

Toph sighed, sometimes he was a little too much like Aang to miss an obvious invitation for a tussle. “I don’t need to run anywhere usually. I’m the best earthbender in the world and when you’re that good the fights come to you.”

Impulse scuffed the ground with his foot a little. “Oh. I get that about the fights but I mean it doesn’t have to be running to something or away from it just running around. Like in circles or those hamster wheels only you know if you run in those too fast and don’t slow down enough the centrifugal force can send you flying?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the blind earthbender sighed, trying to imagine the weight of her badgermoles in a wheel and distinctly shuddering at the thought. Too confining.

“I just meant sometimes I like to get out and run. Take in the sights—uh,” he fumbled, “you know, wind on your face, burning up the track. When you’re stuck someplace long enough for a while you need to feel like you’re going somewhere or it’s just me maybe I ‘unno...”

Toph grunted and sat next to him on the log. When she ran away from home she very carefully put on her earthbending clothes and strolled out in the dead of night. But it felt like what he was talking about, getting to go somewhere, a destination in mind...a purpose.

“It’s just you, Bigfoot,” Toph chuckled and elbowed Impulse in the arm.

The speedster made a face and rubbed his sore arm. “Owwwwww.”

“I didn’t hit you that hard, suck it up.”

“I was using that arm. You know, arm swinging is very important to running too. You should try these things, it’s good exercise too! If you come with me I’ll take you on the nicest looking track route!”

“...” Toph glared ahead into the air.

“Oh right, well it’s still nice! It has...shade and birds, not the mean ones the kind that actually sing songs.”

“Oh boy, bird communing. What have I been missing from my life.”

“There’s always piggy back riding too just to check it out.”

Toph shook her head. Did he mean a porcupineboar a roosterpig a bearpig or something else entirely. “What’s that?”

Impulse grinned so loud she could hear it. “Lemme show you!”

“No really that’s okay I—dlskj” but too late, because Impulse had already slung her over his back and wrapped his arms around her legs. Without the earth below her she had nothing to do except grab him by the shoulders as he sped off at top speed.

After the nausea and alarm passed (and possibly a small thrill, although she wouldn’t tell him after pulling that stunt) Toph thought piggyback riding on a speedster wasn’t the worst way to get around she had ever experienced.

At least he shed less than Appa.
Edited 2008-12-22 09:36 (UTC)

Re: Here you go, Impulse and Toph

[identity profile] 2008-12-22 10:04 am (UTC)(link)


Re: Here you go, Impulse and Toph

[identity profile] 2008-12-22 10:05 am (UTC)(link)
Damn you, html! Also I didn't realize I was on this journal. NEVERMIND, IT'S FITTING

[identity profile] 2008-12-22 10:09 am (UTC)(link)
I'm glad you liked it! Note to self: bribery for next time, picture of Impulse giving Toph a terrifying piggy back ride...

[identity profile] 2008-12-21 02:18 pm (UTC)(link)

Trick Naoko/Ueda plz!

I already had a holiday drabble post ages ago. I don't know if I'll have time to do yours before Christmas, but I'd definitely still try to gift it late for you if you were interested.

Don't ask for Nodame, though. I don't know if I could pull it off. :) (

[identity profile] 2008-12-25 06:57 am (UTC)(link)
Twas the night before Christmas and not a creature was stirring. Crawling and sneaking, yes, but Naoko Yamada’s pained subterfuge as she inched closer to her goal was cut short as Ueda snatched up the plate full of cookies with one giant hand and held it far over her head.

“Idiot, what are you doing? You know this is supposed to be bait!”

Naoko stood up, glaring at him from beneath the rim of her green elf hat, the only disguise she would allow him to convince her into wearing. The rest of her outfit was the usual white coat and red scarf, which made her look rather Christmas-y anyway. “Ueda-san, it’s been six hours since dinner, it’s almost midnight—either you give me a cookie right now or my stomach will growl loud enough this whole department store will hear it!”

Ueda used his other hand to fix his reindeer horns, still holding the cookies aloft. “No.”

“Ueda-san,” Naoko whined petulantly, “There is no Santa Claus spiritualist coming to this mall! It was just a trick! DON’T BE FOOLED BY MAGICALLY APPEARING GINGERBREAD!”

“I’m not fooled at all,” Ueda groused and picked up the glass of milk before downing half of it in one gulp. “It’s just that I couldn’t see how the illusion was properly done from where I was sitting.”

“You fainted again, didn’t you.”

“Look, we just have to stay here until Christmas morning to prove to the department store owner that Hashibara-san was wrong about his Scrooge summoning. Ha ha ha those people don’t even know that a Disney duck can’t summon a thing. He doesn’t have the pants pockets to hide it.”

“Waaah, at least if I was there when you met Hashibara-san I could have tried the phantom gingerbread.”

You, you shouldn’t try anything someone makes appear out of thin air. It could be poison.”

“Then let me have a cookie you—you Grinch Ueda!”

“Hey, I’m being serious about this. I’m not some silly grinner.”

“Grinch, I said Grinch! Your heart is three sizes too small for a penis three sizes too big!”

Ueda flushed self-consciously. “Idiot, this is supposed to be a silent night, keep quiet or else we won’t catch them by surprise!”

And timed exactly to Ueda’s warning, the jingling of bells and the pitter-patter of reindeer hoofs echoed in the far corners of the department store. Wordlessly Naoko skittered close to Ueda and Ueda made use of his reindeer antlers to hang the display curtains, keeping them concealed. When Naoko peeked out there wasn’t a single thing disturbed, except the milk was completely gone and in its place was a small wrapped gift with the label “To Naoko and Jiro. Merry Christmas. From Santa.”

The idea of actually getting something overcame all of Naoko’s well-built self-preservation and she reached for the box, tearing paper wildly as Ueda glanced around her with his hands out as if to karate chop and wandering Dancers or Blitzens around.

“Eeeeeeeeeh?!” Naoko grimaced and held up their present. “What’s this?”

“Looks like a Santalales viscaceae,” Ueda said as he plucked it from her and held it up for inspection. “Mistletoe. Santa has clearly given himself away with this.”

“W-what how?” Naoko flushed.

Ueda laughed knowingly, pleased at his own cleverness. “Santa knows everyone’s misdeeds. There’s no way someone like you would get anything else but coal! Ahahaha!”

Naoko brought her pointy elf boot down right on his foot. “Shut up what would you know aho-Ueda!”
Edited 2008-12-25 06:58 (UTC)

[identity profile] 2008-12-25 03:02 pm (UTC)(link)
HAHAHA, I want to see elf-Naoko!

“Grinch, I said Grinch! Your heart is three sizes too small for a penis three sizes too big!”


I wouldn't be surprised if sometime later Ueda tried to set up that mistletoe and ended up under it with an undesirable. XD

[identity profile] 2008-12-21 03:46 pm (UTC)(link)
I want something with Bart. I know, Christmas with Bart!

[identity profile] 2008-12-25 11:17 pm (UTC)(link)
How about Christmas with Bart and Brainy?

All told, being stranded in the 31st century wasn’t the worst way to spend Christmas, Bart Allen thought. At least it wasn’t the airport, where you spent all this time waiting in a tiny seated area with nothing but coffee shops (and Bart wasn’t allowed there, even sniffing a double mocha latte would send him bouncing for hours) only to end up in a tiny little seat on a plane in the air where you couldn’t stretch your legs or run around or anything because if you did someone would threaten to jettison you from three thousand feet in the air. And Bart might have thought the free fall was cool but he was pretty sure speedsters weren’t the best people to talk about flying.

Now flying with the Legionnaires was cool. They had rings so even if they were stuck in an airport or an airplane they could just shrug it off and go wherever they wanted to. Bart pressed his nose against the thick forcefield enhanced plexiglass of the Legionnaire headquarters and breathed on it. In the mist his breath made he wrote “Hello Santa” and turned to show off his efforts to Brainiac 5, who was distinctly unimpressed.

“It’s backwards, Allen.”

“Oh,” said Bart, completely nonplused. “Maybe Santa’s really good at reading stuff backwards ‘cause he’s magic. Y’know like Zatanna is and she always speaks backwards for her spells.”

“Magic,” the Coulon snorted and went back to his experiment. “That’s just child’s play. Like Santa.”

“Well of course, that’s because Santa helps kids,” Bart replied knowingly before zipping over to where his friend was. “Hey Brainy! Brainy, would the Legion ever vote Santa in? I bet he’d make a great Legionnaire.”

“No, for so many reasons.”

“Like what?”

Brainy turned with the intent to tell Bart Allen in small words exactly why Santa Claus could never be part of the Legion of Superheroes, but stopped suddenly. He was not one given to sentimentality, but he was logical. And logic dictated if he dashed the young speedster’s question he would be feeling like more of a villain than if he joined the Fatal Five or designed a machine to kick every one of the dog-like inhabitants of G’Newt.

“For one, he doesn’t have a unique power.”

“He does too! He has lots of powers! He can tell if people are bad or good!”

“Saturn Girl.”

“He can eat about a billion cookies!”

“Matter-Eater Lad.”

“Has a belly like a bowl full of jelly?”

“Bouncing Boy.”

“Can travel the whole world in a single night?”

“Your cousin can manage that in a fraction of the time, and so could you if you got your directions right.”

Bart frowned a little. “He’s got a really nice beard and he’s not evil?”

“We are not letting people into the Legion for their beards,” Brainy said. And if he were the type he’d have rolled his eyes by now.

“He’s a symbol of hope, goodwill, generosity and makes millions of kids happy just by believing in him. And that’s not even the kind of magic that Zatanna has.”

Brainy paused, looking at the earnest and guileless hope Bart had on his face through this whole argument. The Coulon, while not feeling his heart grow three sizes like a certain other green skinned Christmas being, did smile a little. “That’s why. Santa can save the world in his way. The Legionnaires can take care of all the other nights besides Christmas Eve.”

Bart nodded. “Okay that makes sense. But he’d still be a really good Legionnaire.”

“Yes, all right so he would.”

“And so would I if the team ever wanted to give me a good Christmas present.”

“Don’t push your luck, Allen.”

[identity profile] 2008-12-26 01:41 am (UTC)(link)
I love you. ♥

[identity profile] 2008-12-21 06:42 pm (UTC)(link)
happy holidays babes, glad to hear you're still alive!

[identity profile] 2008-12-23 01:08 am (UTC)(link)
I am so tempted to ask for Merlin/Arthur, except I am fairly sure you don't watch the new show and I also cannot offer anybody anything.

So I say HELLO!!!! instead (ergo, this is not a real comment ^_^).

[identity profile] 2008-12-24 09:31 am (UTC)(link)
No, but everyone keeps telling me to so maybe when I stop failing at stuff. YOU CAN REQUEST SOMETHING ELSE?

Also hiiiiiiiiiiii and happy holidays.

[identity profile] 2008-12-25 07:59 am (UTC)(link)
Okay I haven't actually...watched Merlin at all everything I know I learned from [ profile] mklutz so you'll forgive me if this sucks right? Right. You're nice like that.

He was the Once and Future King and he was dying. But that could not be, it was not what was meant to be as Merlin looked back on his many, many years to think of the time when the future seemed like such a distant promise for this young, abrasive man. And the once was all he could stand of his presence.

And yet now he was here, and yet not. He was far away with his heart made of oak, dark buried secrets and rings binding him. But his hand was in Arthur’s on the field, praying he did not fall and if he did it would not be alone. Hold on, you prat he thought, through the mist of his consciousness, gripping tighter to the nothingness and Arthur all at once.

He had never let go that time when the Dragon had said their destinies were entwined, hand in hand, heart and heart. Though things had gone so wrong since then. Sweet Gwen, lovely Gwen. For whom he loved in his way, when he was too young to not know it and now too old to feel such things but the old, prophetic calling of his destiny and the magic’s bidding. And Arthur loved her as well, too brash and too heated but it never faded the way it had with others. The way Merlin thought he had faded from the king’s heart.

This is not how it should be, thought Merlin. No, it was exactly how it ended. With Arthur bleeding on the field and Merlin trapped by his own secrets. But still he reached out, his eyes dimming gold and looking to find Arthur. My king, he whispered to the winds of Avalon, Things may come to an end. But it is not the end. Camelot shall live, we may yet have a destiny to complete. But you must forgive me, and I you, and us both Guinevere, Morgana and Lancelot, all our sins if we are ever to continue. Do you forgive me, Arthur?

And across the distance where King Arthur made his last stand he knelt and finally bent to understand the years of forgiveness Merlin had instilled in him. I do, old friend. Dear friend. I cannot hate you any more than myself, we are too alike now.

And that is how Arthur fell, Merlin silenced, but Camelot lived on.
Edited 2008-12-25 08:02 (UTC)

[identity profile] 2008-12-25 06:33 pm (UTC)(link)
And yet now he was here, and yet not. He was far away with his heart made of oak, dark buried secrets and rings binding him. But his hand was in Arthur’s on the field, praying he did not fall and if he did it would not be alone

DUDE!!!! *flails with so much flaily love*

This was achey and lovely and a little sad, but I LOVED IT!!!

draws lots and lots of hearts around this and you and [ profile] mklutz for being made of such win.

Thank you ♥ ♥ ♥

[identity profile] 2008-12-25 08:41 am (UTC)(link)
Uh, Mytho and Rue. The Christmas spirit.

[identity profile] 2008-12-29 11:14 pm (UTC)(link)
Winter in Mytho’s kingdom was not like those in Gold Crown, Rue realized. The snow fell like eiderdown, soft and comforting. The same feeling as when Mytho would wrap his arms around her.

But Rue was used to cold and she was used to darkness, so even though Mytho’s hands were warm and his kingdom glowed in yuletide candlelight, she shivered at times.

“Come warm your hands by our fire, Princess,” the townspeople would say. “It is meager but it’s yours.”

They would greet her in rows, like a corps de ballet, bowing one after the other. The girls’ hair ribbons fluttering in the wind, the men’s watch chain’s clinking like tin drums. And when Rue turned her head to whisper her confusion in Mytho’s ear, he laughed softly at her question and wound his fingers in her long, black hair.

“Rue, they wear it to remember the gift of the Magi.”

“Magi? That’s hardly gold and myrrh, my prince. If they can have anything they want why do they ask for a chain with no watch in their pockets and ribbons that tie back shorn hair?”

“That is the story,” Mytho said softly. “A man and a woman loved each other very much. And the man thought if only he could get her a ribbon for her lovely hair, she would know how much he loved her. And the woman thought if only she got a chain for his watch, he would know how much she loved him. So the man sold his watch for a ribbon, and the woman sold her hair for the chain, and when they gave each other the gifts they embraced each other, saying it was wonderful.”

“But she lost her hair and he lost his watch,” Rue argued. “And neither of those gifts can do anything for them now.”

Mytho took Rue’s hands in his and pressed them against his chest, where she could feel the faint beat of his now-full heart thrum beneath her fingertips. “They were just the wrapping. The gift was how dearly they loved each other. For the man gave her his heart and the woman pledged him her love, tied together in ribbon and chain.”

Rue cried then, suddenly feeling very foolish. Her tears were warm in the winter night, and by the time they slipped down her cheeks they were gone from the fire’s presence whisking them away on one side and Mytho kissing them away on the other.

“Merry Christmas, Rue. Your gift has always been greater than any riches I could ask for.”

[identity profile] 2008-12-27 09:54 am (UTC)(link)
don't you already know what i'm into by now?! Maeve! sinbad! unless you've read twilight hee hee, i can see why 11 year olds love that series now, no big words and senseless i love yous on almost every page!

[identity profile] 2008-12-31 06:53 am (UTC)(link)
I do but there are always new things. But never Twilight my dignity could not permit actually attempting to finish that dross. :P IN CASE YOU ARE TOO BUSY PARTYING ON THE ACTUAL DAY, HAPPY NEW YEARS AND HERE'S TO STAYING WICKED.

“What are you doing?” Maeve asked as if the entire crew had gone mad and she was the only one left sane. Which had occurred once or twice, but Doubar had sworn off the Siren’s Pass ever since that last incident.

“Celebrating the new year, Maeve,” Firouz said a matter-of-factly.

“It’s not the new year for at least a month and a half,” the sorceress retorted with crossed arms. “The moon’s not anywhere near its cusp.”

“Who follows the moon?” Firouz scoffed. “T-the moon is just a fluctuating celestial point that changes every month like the tides. Hardly a good system for calendar calculation.”

“Aye, tides like the sea. I’d think sailors would be a little smarter to follow something that affects them so closely.”

“We’ve been using this calendar for hundreds of years, Maeve,” Sinbad intervened, slipping between them. In the clutter of Firouz’s things it left him with very little space between them.

“And my people have been using the lunar calendar for thousands of years,” Maeve scoffed.

Sinbad avoided her nails as she waved them off, her hand darting close to his chest. “That may be true, but when in Rome do as the Romans do.”

“This is the sea.”

“No, this is a ship and I am it’s captain,” Sinbad said, a little more force in his voice.

“Little brother, it sounds as if you’re encouraging some traditions on the lass. Maybe even that one where people kiss at the start of the New Year?”

“And what kind of tradition is that?” Maeve whirled on the first mate. “He’s not kissing me unless I feel like it, and I certainly don’t now.”

“Maybe next year?”

“Try a hundred!” Maeve shouted and stormed off into her quarters. Her red hair covering the faint blush on her cheeks.

Sinbad resisted asking if she would count them in lunar or solar years. But he made a resolution to broach the subject sometime.