WIP Amnesty
Feb. 7th, 2005 01:28 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
valarltdLet me see.
Most of the Necrocest is in my![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
angelnanowrimo journal. And i just got part of the ending today. Luke is not operating in reality at the beginning, and it only gets worse. It's going to be sorta gross, but I think I'll have Leia more dessicate than decay.
the Susan/Jadis piece just needs some editing.
The Brimstone Christmas fic is up.
"Drive" is for Torquere and is mostly done.
Ah, here we go.
He landed the Falcon in a desolate field a day’s walk from the nearest town. There was hard thinking to be done, and Han Solo was a man who lived by reflexes and snap decisions. He left the pondering and brooding to his bondmate, which was probably part of the problem.
He lowered the ramp, grabbed a beer and walked outside to watch the sunset and the stars.
“Does he always do that to you?” The question gnawed at his mind like a rachi going after a house-shingle. He shoved it away and thought about Luke instead.
He’d sent a message ahead that he was having drive problems and would be stopping to fix them. Luke would worry, he always did, but he would believe the lie and be glad to see Han when he arrived.
Han watched the darkness fall, slowly, gradually, until only the pinpoints of stars were left to vaguely outline the shape of his beer.
“Does he always do that to you?”
There was no evading the question now. He’d been ducking it for weeks, ever since the mildly telepathic Ventranian ambassador had asked him as they danced at the embassy reception.
She had danced well, her slim body fitting into his arms, her blue skin mellow in the soft lights. Her four legs had set a rhythm he’d been able to match, and she covered the question with the music.
He’d ignored it then, and spent the three week trip out to Tatooine batting it away when it recurred.
“Does he always do that to you?”
“Do what?”
“Coerce you into doing what he wants. You were tapping your stylus during the negotiations, so bored you were. He barely glanced and you dropped it as if it burned.” She pointed up other little things: disagreements over the past week and how Luke always got his way, how they left when Luke said it was time, and all the little things Han took for granted about his life.
“I never noticed,” Han had said to her.
But he was noticing now. Now that he’d had three weeks on his own and was already dreading the fight they would have when he got home. They always fought when one had been away for a while.
After the initial burst of rekindled passion, they’d be at each other for a few days, each unable to do anything right in the other’s opinion. Then the fights would taper off, once they were used to each other again.
It was the standard pattern of their married life, and neither man thought anything of it. Neither had much experience with how married folks acted. Han had never lived with anyone other than Chewbacca. While Luke’s aunt and uncle had seldom quarreled, he had told Han of a few roof-raising fights.
But the ambassador’s question refused to be put off.
If he was so in love, why was he dreading going home? That question hit him like a bantha stampede. Why was he not wanting to see his mate, have hot welcome-home sex, and then sleep with his mate in his arms? Why did it feel more like heading for an execution?
I miss the soul her love could give
to things so commonplace
But most of all,
I miss that look of angel in her face.
And as she lies beside me now,
I know I can't erase
The fact that I'm the one who took
the angel from her face. --Statler Brothers
Jedi knight Anakin Skywalker strode through the great doors of the
palace of Theed. The servants scattered out of range of his notorious temper.
One hastily commed the Queen.
Padme greeted her husband with a loving kiss, swept into the a bear-hug
that enveloped her small form. He held her tightly, as if unwilling to
let go.
He breathed in the clean smell of her hair, her real hair, no wig or artifice.
No painted formality intruded as he scattered kisses over her face.
She was warm and soft, and it had been two whole months since he had been home.
A light tug at the top of Anakin's boot distracted him. He looked down to see
four small teeth bared in a huge smile as his son let go of his leg and attempted to
stand on his own. Prince Lucian landed on a well-padded bottom and tried to decide
whether to cry. Anakin scooped the baby up and ruffled his pale hair.
Lucian laid a trusting, heavy head on his daddy's shoulder before nipping at his jaw.
Padme tensed, fearful of Anakin's temper, and ready to intervene if
he tried to hurt the baby. Instead, Anakin gently pulled him away, and kissed
the boy's cheeks, saying "Kiss. No bite. Kiss." punctuating the instruction
with demonstrations. Amused by Lucian's crowing delight, Anakin blew a raspberry
on the soft infant tummy.
"You little womp rat," he laughed when Lucian razzed back. "What's for dinner, my angel?
This little stinker has me famished. Six days of ship rations, and two months of my own
cooking before that."
"You cook?" she teased as she always did.
"Better than my master does. I just burn the food. Obi-Wan--"
"Burns the whole kitchen," they finished together. It was an old joke.
Broken, in the place of Dragons.
By Angel
He strode the deserted streets, earth’s air cold against his hell-acclimated skin, even in LA. Jax. It had been Gilbert Jax again. And he’d sent the bastard to Hell a second time.
This encounter had left Ezekiel Stone more shaken than he liked to admit. He hated the triumphant feeling that had swept him when he pinned the rapist and carved his eyes out. The final scream of the wicked soul being sucked back to damnation had thrilled him.
“You’ve acquired a taste for the hunt, Ezekiel.”
He didn’t even have to turn. He could sense the Devil’s presence just behind him. Stone ignored his master and kept walking.
“How did it feel, killing him again? Was it as satisfying as the first time?” A long hand slid over the spot on his arm where Jax’s name had burnt itself off his body. “Did you feel the burn, Ezekiel?”
Stone shrugged off the hand and kept walking. He wasn’t going to let the Devil spoil his triumph.
“Tsk, tsk. Pride goeth before a fall.” Stone didn’t like the gloating sound in Lucifer’s voice.
“You should know. Go to Hell.”
The mocking laughter from behind him was the only sound. He was alone again.
Later, stretched on his bed, the motel’s TV playing the only channel it could get at this hour, a televangelist of the stripe that seemed to exclusively populate southern California.
“And we are a byword among the heathen!” he bellowed.
Stone wasn’t sure what the preacher was on about. Democrats or gays or both, he didn’t much care. It was another voice to pierce the silence around him. He stared at the ceiling.
“For your sake we are killed all day long. Our heads are bowed to the dust and our bellies cleave to the earth,” came the malign whisper from beside him. “I’ve always liked that one.” A faint chuckle, and the Devil added, “I should. I inspired it after all.”
“Musta been a short trip,” Stone muttered, more to himself than aloud.
The metal slid along his cheek, warm as skin. Leia’s fingers brushed over his face and he could smell her arousal as he knelt here, between her feet as she sat. The metal was a tube, and she pressed it to his closed lips.
“Open for me, “ she coaxed. He didn’t want to but her command was irresistible. He opened his mouth.
The metal tube slid in, past his teeth, over his tongue. He gagged as it touched the back of his throat. She backed up a little.
“Just suck it,” she said softly. “I’m sure you’ve got some experience. Corellians are walking digests of sexual expertise, or so the rumors say.”
He’d had no experience in this sort of thing, but tried anyway, sucking a little, keeping his tongue away from the metal.
“So good,” she moaned. “More! Lick it.”
No help for it now, he let his tongue slide along the metal tube, which he suspected was her lightsaber.
“Perfect. Don’t stop.” The scent of arousal increased, and he heard her gasp loudly.
This had to be the weirdest sex he’d had: bringing the Empress off by sucking her lightsaber. She was reacting almost as if it were a part of her body and not just a weapon. Footsteps behind him made him pull up but her hand guided him back to it, and he kept sucking, knowing that a slip of his tongue in the wrong direction, over the activating stud, would send coherent energy slicing through his brain and the back of his skull.
“Many and varied the uses of the Force, my Empress?” Luke’s voice, too silky and too pleased as he always sounded these days. Shit. The one person he didn’t want to see him in this position.
“So very good,” she moaned.
“He does that well, I think.” Greedy lust tainted the clear voice of his one-time friend.
The arousal scent diminished and she pulled the saber from his mouth. “He’s mine. Don’t forget your place, Lord Skywalker. Were I to command it, you would be on your knees beside him doing the same.”
“If that would please you, my Empress.” Now Luke’s voice was cold and warning.
She tugged Han until he stood and pulled him down for a kiss. “You pleased me very well, darling.” He could almost hear the jealousy crackling off of Luke.
While earlier the jealousy had been strictly of him for touching Leia, somewhere it had changed and Luke was jealous of them both. More than once he’d caught Han alone, and stroked him suggestively, before cursing Han as a Force-blind animal unworthy of himself or Leia and shoving him away.
Leia drew the kiss out, taunting her consort and Right Hand.
“It is a grave day indeed, when I learn of the arrival of my grandchild through a holonews trailer.” Vader towered over the Empress, but she remained defiant. “Why did you not inform me of this?”
“I didn’t know who to tell first. “ Leia was pure ice, with no indecision in her tone.
“It is my son’s, is it not?”
“It could be yours.”
“No, quite impossible. The meddroids inform me that Luke is the only offspring I will sire. My own master saw to that.” Bitterness in the metallic voice as a large hand rested on her belly. “Too early. Too early to tell.” He withdrew and caught her chin between gloved fingers. “Little Empress, if that child within you is not my son’s, it will not be born. If your toy pirate has planted it, he has signed his own death warrent.”
She jerked her chin from his hand. “I would remind you exactly who is the Empress, Lord Vader, and who is merely a superannuated servant.”
More upon request
Most of the Necrocest is in my
angelnanowrimo journal. And i just got part of the ending today. Luke is not operating in reality at the beginning, and it only gets worse. It's going to be sorta gross, but I think I'll have Leia more dessicate than decay.the Susan/Jadis piece just needs some editing.
The Brimstone Christmas fic is up.
"Drive" is for Torquere and is mostly done.
Ah, here we go.
He landed the Falcon in a desolate field a day’s walk from the nearest town. There was hard thinking to be done, and Han Solo was a man who lived by reflexes and snap decisions. He left the pondering and brooding to his bondmate, which was probably part of the problem.
He lowered the ramp, grabbed a beer and walked outside to watch the sunset and the stars.
“Does he always do that to you?” The question gnawed at his mind like a rachi going after a house-shingle. He shoved it away and thought about Luke instead.
He’d sent a message ahead that he was having drive problems and would be stopping to fix them. Luke would worry, he always did, but he would believe the lie and be glad to see Han when he arrived.
Han watched the darkness fall, slowly, gradually, until only the pinpoints of stars were left to vaguely outline the shape of his beer.
“Does he always do that to you?”
There was no evading the question now. He’d been ducking it for weeks, ever since the mildly telepathic Ventranian ambassador had asked him as they danced at the embassy reception.
She had danced well, her slim body fitting into his arms, her blue skin mellow in the soft lights. Her four legs had set a rhythm he’d been able to match, and she covered the question with the music.
He’d ignored it then, and spent the three week trip out to Tatooine batting it away when it recurred.
“Does he always do that to you?”
“Do what?”
“Coerce you into doing what he wants. You were tapping your stylus during the negotiations, so bored you were. He barely glanced and you dropped it as if it burned.” She pointed up other little things: disagreements over the past week and how Luke always got his way, how they left when Luke said it was time, and all the little things Han took for granted about his life.
“I never noticed,” Han had said to her.
But he was noticing now. Now that he’d had three weeks on his own and was already dreading the fight they would have when he got home. They always fought when one had been away for a while.
After the initial burst of rekindled passion, they’d be at each other for a few days, each unable to do anything right in the other’s opinion. Then the fights would taper off, once they were used to each other again.
It was the standard pattern of their married life, and neither man thought anything of it. Neither had much experience with how married folks acted. Han had never lived with anyone other than Chewbacca. While Luke’s aunt and uncle had seldom quarreled, he had told Han of a few roof-raising fights.
But the ambassador’s question refused to be put off.
If he was so in love, why was he dreading going home? That question hit him like a bantha stampede. Why was he not wanting to see his mate, have hot welcome-home sex, and then sleep with his mate in his arms? Why did it feel more like heading for an execution?
I miss the soul her love could give
to things so commonplace
But most of all,
I miss that look of angel in her face.
And as she lies beside me now,
I know I can't erase
The fact that I'm the one who took
the angel from her face. --Statler Brothers
Jedi knight Anakin Skywalker strode through the great doors of the
palace of Theed. The servants scattered out of range of his notorious temper.
One hastily commed the Queen.
Padme greeted her husband with a loving kiss, swept into the a bear-hug
that enveloped her small form. He held her tightly, as if unwilling to
let go.
He breathed in the clean smell of her hair, her real hair, no wig or artifice.
No painted formality intruded as he scattered kisses over her face.
She was warm and soft, and it had been two whole months since he had been home.
A light tug at the top of Anakin's boot distracted him. He looked down to see
four small teeth bared in a huge smile as his son let go of his leg and attempted to
stand on his own. Prince Lucian landed on a well-padded bottom and tried to decide
whether to cry. Anakin scooped the baby up and ruffled his pale hair.
Lucian laid a trusting, heavy head on his daddy's shoulder before nipping at his jaw.
Padme tensed, fearful of Anakin's temper, and ready to intervene if
he tried to hurt the baby. Instead, Anakin gently pulled him away, and kissed
the boy's cheeks, saying "Kiss. No bite. Kiss." punctuating the instruction
with demonstrations. Amused by Lucian's crowing delight, Anakin blew a raspberry
on the soft infant tummy.
"You little womp rat," he laughed when Lucian razzed back. "What's for dinner, my angel?
This little stinker has me famished. Six days of ship rations, and two months of my own
cooking before that."
"You cook?" she teased as she always did.
"Better than my master does. I just burn the food. Obi-Wan--"
"Burns the whole kitchen," they finished together. It was an old joke.
Broken, in the place of Dragons.
By Angel
He strode the deserted streets, earth’s air cold against his hell-acclimated skin, even in LA. Jax. It had been Gilbert Jax again. And he’d sent the bastard to Hell a second time.
This encounter had left Ezekiel Stone more shaken than he liked to admit. He hated the triumphant feeling that had swept him when he pinned the rapist and carved his eyes out. The final scream of the wicked soul being sucked back to damnation had thrilled him.
“You’ve acquired a taste for the hunt, Ezekiel.”
He didn’t even have to turn. He could sense the Devil’s presence just behind him. Stone ignored his master and kept walking.
“How did it feel, killing him again? Was it as satisfying as the first time?” A long hand slid over the spot on his arm where Jax’s name had burnt itself off his body. “Did you feel the burn, Ezekiel?”
Stone shrugged off the hand and kept walking. He wasn’t going to let the Devil spoil his triumph.
“Tsk, tsk. Pride goeth before a fall.” Stone didn’t like the gloating sound in Lucifer’s voice.
“You should know. Go to Hell.”
The mocking laughter from behind him was the only sound. He was alone again.
Later, stretched on his bed, the motel’s TV playing the only channel it could get at this hour, a televangelist of the stripe that seemed to exclusively populate southern California.
“And we are a byword among the heathen!” he bellowed.
Stone wasn’t sure what the preacher was on about. Democrats or gays or both, he didn’t much care. It was another voice to pierce the silence around him. He stared at the ceiling.
“For your sake we are killed all day long. Our heads are bowed to the dust and our bellies cleave to the earth,” came the malign whisper from beside him. “I’ve always liked that one.” A faint chuckle, and the Devil added, “I should. I inspired it after all.”
“Musta been a short trip,” Stone muttered, more to himself than aloud.
The metal slid along his cheek, warm as skin. Leia’s fingers brushed over his face and he could smell her arousal as he knelt here, between her feet as she sat. The metal was a tube, and she pressed it to his closed lips.
“Open for me, “ she coaxed. He didn’t want to but her command was irresistible. He opened his mouth.
The metal tube slid in, past his teeth, over his tongue. He gagged as it touched the back of his throat. She backed up a little.
“Just suck it,” she said softly. “I’m sure you’ve got some experience. Corellians are walking digests of sexual expertise, or so the rumors say.”
He’d had no experience in this sort of thing, but tried anyway, sucking a little, keeping his tongue away from the metal.
“So good,” she moaned. “More! Lick it.”
No help for it now, he let his tongue slide along the metal tube, which he suspected was her lightsaber.
“Perfect. Don’t stop.” The scent of arousal increased, and he heard her gasp loudly.
This had to be the weirdest sex he’d had: bringing the Empress off by sucking her lightsaber. She was reacting almost as if it were a part of her body and not just a weapon. Footsteps behind him made him pull up but her hand guided him back to it, and he kept sucking, knowing that a slip of his tongue in the wrong direction, over the activating stud, would send coherent energy slicing through his brain and the back of his skull.
“Many and varied the uses of the Force, my Empress?” Luke’s voice, too silky and too pleased as he always sounded these days. Shit. The one person he didn’t want to see him in this position.
“So very good,” she moaned.
“He does that well, I think.” Greedy lust tainted the clear voice of his one-time friend.
The arousal scent diminished and she pulled the saber from his mouth. “He’s mine. Don’t forget your place, Lord Skywalker. Were I to command it, you would be on your knees beside him doing the same.”
“If that would please you, my Empress.” Now Luke’s voice was cold and warning.
She tugged Han until he stood and pulled him down for a kiss. “You pleased me very well, darling.” He could almost hear the jealousy crackling off of Luke.
While earlier the jealousy had been strictly of him for touching Leia, somewhere it had changed and Luke was jealous of them both. More than once he’d caught Han alone, and stroked him suggestively, before cursing Han as a Force-blind animal unworthy of himself or Leia and shoving him away.
Leia drew the kiss out, taunting her consort and Right Hand.
“It is a grave day indeed, when I learn of the arrival of my grandchild through a holonews trailer.” Vader towered over the Empress, but she remained defiant. “Why did you not inform me of this?”
“I didn’t know who to tell first. “ Leia was pure ice, with no indecision in her tone.
“It is my son’s, is it not?”
“It could be yours.”
“No, quite impossible. The meddroids inform me that Luke is the only offspring I will sire. My own master saw to that.” Bitterness in the metallic voice as a large hand rested on her belly. “Too early. Too early to tell.” He withdrew and caught her chin between gloved fingers. “Little Empress, if that child within you is not my son’s, it will not be born. If your toy pirate has planted it, he has signed his own death warrent.”
She jerked her chin from his hand. “I would remind you exactly who is the Empress, Lord Vader, and who is merely a superannuated servant.”
More upon request
