June Ficcage Part 1
Jun. 30th, 2009 11:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dethoratsBwahaha! ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
springkink is over and my flist can finally go back to normal size! In any event I wrote for 10 prompts this time around.
Here are the non-anime prompts first, with my included self-rating system of SUCKS, MEH, OKAY, or I LIKE IT.
Title: Self-Discovery
Rating: R
Warnings: See Prompt, mention of turtlecest
Prompt: TMNT - Raphael - anonymous sex/glory hole - "give in to your confusion"
Word count: 1044
A/N: This one gets a borderline MEH/OKAY rating from me. I had a lot of backstory in my head but I was way too fucking lazy to put it down and I think the story reflects that. Also, I have no idea why I keep volunteering for these as I don't really feel that much of a connection with Raph, but I suspect if I didn't, no one else would.
Discretion was vital to a ninja. Silence, secrecy, misdirection, remaining nothing more than a shadow against the night. He’d been trained to it all of his life and though Raphael wasn’t exactly quiet or discrete with his family, he knew how to exercise it as well as any of his brothers. His inquiries had been few, a casual word here to April, an offhand comment to Donnie there, and his usual Friday nights with Casey had been established for so long that it was easy to escape the lair. Trench coat and fedora on, he’d muttered his usual “Yeah, yeah. I know. I’ll be careful” to Leo on his way out and made sure to give Mikey a noogie as he’d passed the couch. Casey was his only stumbling block but his friend had only raised his goalie mask to study him and then grin, punching him in the arm as he headed for a fire escape.
“Hot date tonight?” The human’s voice was filled with good-natured teasing and Raphael gave him the three-fingered equivalent of the bird, amiably replying, “Yeah, with much better company than you, Jones,” before he disappeared over the side of the building. He didn’t notice Casey watching him head off deeper into the city nor the way the man’s eyes darkened behind the slits in his mask. Casey’s Louisville slugger didn’t survive the evening and the thugs he found had to pay a visit to the hospital before they could be taken into central booking.
Central Park at night had always made Raph’s skin crawl. Sure it was inside the city but the acres of trees never sat quite right with a turtle who was more at home on rooftops and in the sewers than with bushes and ponds. He pulled the collar of his coat higher as he walked briskly, hat low on his head so that his face was largely invisible. His obvious bulk served as a deterrent and the scant light glinted off of his sai like it would have off of a knife’s edge. No one approached him as he hurried down the concrete paths and he arrived at his destination to find it deserted.
The door to the men’s restroom creaked as he edged it open, loud against the muffled distant noises of New York’s streets. It was pitch black inside and he leaned against the inside of the door for a long moment, letting his vision adjust, picking up the scraps of light that came in through the narrow casements below the eaves. All three stall doors hung open and he padded forward slowly into the first one. His fingers slid along the dividing wall, finding the toilet paper holder and nothing more. In the middle stall he found it, a fist-sized hole edged with what felt like duct tape and hidden by another roll of toilet paper. His information had been correct.
For a split second he hesitated, torn between entering the final stall and heading back out into the night. It was crazy, what he was doing, and a waste of a good evening when there were criminal scumbags to bust. But he’d been thinking about it for far too long to back down now and Raphael was one ninja turtle who didn’t retreat, even strategically. Metal bounced off of concrete as he threw open the door to the last stall and stomped inside, the latch sliding home as he locked himself in.
The smooth concrete was cool against his skin as he settled on his knees, the position the same one he took for meditation. Raphael closed his eyes and waited, breathing slowly and deeply as he tried to quell his roiling thoughts. It was the best way to know, the easiest, and he was tired of feeling confused, of watching Mikey and Donnie getting friendly on the couch and envying them, of wishing Leo and Karai would figure things out already, of being left out and alone. He didn’t have anyone but part of the problem was that he wasn’t quite certain who he should want. But he would know after that night because he could hear footsteps and whispers and the door to the bathroom grated on its hinges as it was opened.
Raphael felt his pulse pick up and he worked hard to keep his breathing slow and even as a flashlight beam suddenly increased the amount of visible light in the bathroom. The door to the middle stall opened, latched, and Raph placed his palms against the divider. In the moment of truth there was no hesitation, only a sudden sharp hunger that coiled low in his belly as he leaned towards the hole and opened his mouth. Soft panting came from the second stall and Raphael pressed forward, mindful of his teeth and wondering if the awkward shape of his mouth, his lack of lips could be noticed. But his mutated anatomy didn’t seem to matter and soon enough liquid heat hit the back of his throat and he swallowed.
The center stall door opened, then closed again, and Raphael was ready. At some point more individuals crowded into the bathroom, lining up, and for the next forty minutes Raph kept his jaw relaxed and his tongue busy. The taste of bitter salt was thick and cloying and his body’s needs insistent enough that he finally let his cock drop, fisting it eagerly until he came with a low churr that rumbled through him, set off the man he held in his mouth. Another took his place and another and Raphael took care of them too, and then the door to the restroom groaned again and he was alone.
He unlatched his stall, stepped out, and adjusted his hat, tipping the brim low across his eye ridges. And then Raphael headed back out into the waning night, feeling at peace with himself, as satisfied as after a good night cracking skulls. He didn’t have all his answers but he had a start. And home was waiting, with a cold beer in the fridge, and tomorrow night and Casey would be sure to have a suitably violent or stupid movie for them to watch. For the moment, for Raphael, it was good to be a turtle.
Title: Bandages
Rating: G
Prompt: Circle of Magic, Lark/Rosethorn: shared magic -- we sew and sow together
Word count: 963
A/N: First time writing for this universe and this one actually gets an I LIKE IT! It's set in the middle of Briar’s Book, btw.
Discipline cottage was quiet without their charges and Little Bear, almost too quiet given the circumstances. Rosethorn and Briar were only recently returned from their quarantine in Summersea and the girls and their pet had followed him first to the kitchens where dedicate Gorse would no doubt stuff them silly and then to the baths for a good scrubbing followed by a long soak in the communal pools. Confinement had chafed at Briar, as had being separated from the girls that were as close to him as sisters, and it would be good for them all to share a few hours of bonding amidst the trying times. Too, it meant that Lark and Rosethorn finally had a moment alone, a chance to reconnect even if they didn’t have the luxury of relaxing. Tomorrow Rosethorn was expected to begin helping Dedicate Crane, which made her even more prickly than usual, and Lark had kept her at the cottage only with much coaxing and the promise of work also necessary to fight the Blue Pox.
Bandages had filled most of Lark’s days while Rosethorn had been trapped in the sick house for the poor. That and reassuring the girls even as she fought against her own misgivings and fears for her companion. And it was bandages that kept Rosethorn by her side for a little while longer, the pair of them sitting outside on a pair of padded footstools. Rosethorn’s garden ran right up to where Lark had her sewing room and it was at that juncture that they had situated themselves. Flax and hemp plants grew there, taking advantage of dual magical affinity and flourishing. Still, healthy as the plants were, they were out of season. That was part of the problem. With so many disasters having struck Emelan in the past year, the magical bandages that Lark and some of the other dedicates with thread magic had made had been used up and there wasn’t even a steady supply of new bandages to infuse with healing. That was where Rosethorn came in.
As much as she didn’t like to do it, she could coax her plants into thinking it was another season, convince them it was time for harvest. And together they could coax the plants through a speeded-up retting so that Lark could spin it into thread and then weave it into bandages. Lark had her beater set up beside her and a deep basin carved of stone and filled with water sitting over raked coals rested between them. She waited patiently as Rosethorn dug her feet into the soil with the roots of her plants, a warm green glow suffusing the petite woman as Lark looked at her with magical sight. The flax and hemp responded eagerly to her coaxing, shooting upward and first blooming and then developing seeds. When the stalks began to turn yellow, a process of only a few minutes, Rosethorn opened her eyes and reached out to begin gently tugging the plants free from the soil.
Seeds and roots and leaves fell away with just a touch from Rosethorn’s hand and she absently passed bunches over to Lark who wordlessly took them and bound them into bundles. The entire crop was harvested in less than an hour, partly thanks to Rosethorn’s magic and partly because Lark could only make so many bandages of that type before her magic was depleted.
“Rosie,” she said with a smile, pulling up the sleeve of her habit. Rosethorn huffed out a sigh and followed suit, placing her hand over Lark’s as the woman held out her hand, a bundle in her grasp. Their fingers wove together as they plunged the bundle of flax into the warm water. Lark could feel Rosethorn’s magic, green and so very strong, as it coiled vine-like around the golden spindle that was her own core of power. Together they worked, coaxing the plant into becoming thread; their magic merged as they suffused it through the water and sunk it deep into the submerged bundle. Over and over they repeated the process, their joined hands solidly connected as Lark’s free one removed finished bundles and replaced them with more to be worked.
Through their combined magic, at the back edges of her senses, Lark could feel Rosethorn’s tiredness, her stress and worry, and she teased at it, coaxing it away as best as she could beneath the stronger ribbons of their main task. She replaced it with strength and flexibility and all the love and admiration she had for the woman who shared her home, her life. Rosethorn didn’t say anything but she was slow to drop Lark’s hand when the last bundle was retted, which left the remainder of the work to Lark. Finally she let go, permitting herself in the privacy of their home to sag a bit on the stool as Lark began to beat the fibers free so that she could comb and then spin them into the thread that she would at last weave into bandages infused with healing magic.
Lark didn’t notice when Rosethorn stepped away, too caught up in the work that was rather complicated at the speed at which she proceeded, but she did appreciate the tea that returned with Rosethorn and the strong tanned hands that rested on her shoulders as she began to spin. The sun was setting when the last of the bandages were finished and the children were back, Daja and Tris preparing supper. It was a tired smile that Lark sent across the table to Rosethorn but a satisfied one as well and it was with heartfelt words that she bowed her head and led them all in thanksgiving, making sure to thank the gods for Briar and Rosethorn’s safe return to their home.
Title: Captured Morning
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Kissing, Implications, Sheets with a mind of their own
Prompt: Circle of Magic, Lark/Rosethorn: slow, lazy sex -- It's always good to be home
Word count: 465
A/N: Second Circle of Magic fic, this one gets an OKAY for perhaps too modern dialogue. It takes place after Melting Stones
“Lark.”
The amused exasperation in Rosethorn’s tone finally roused Lark from the light doze she’d been in since she’d first gotten up to adjust the shutters. Sunlight peeked over the top of the wooden frames, laid itself in a warm patch across her feet. She blinked, reluctant to move when she was so comfortable and had a rare chance to sleep in but Rosethorn nudged her, said her name a bit more forcefully, and Lark finally lifted her head up off the pillow.
“What is it, Rosie?”
“You can tell the sheets to let me go. I wasn’t planning on getting out of bed; I just wanted to make myself a little more comfortable.”
There was a note of wry humor in Rosethorn’s voice, punctuated by an arm futilely tugging next to Lark’s head. The earth dedicate tilted her head and snickered quietly. “I don’t know. I think they have the right idea.”
The soft white cotton sheets had wound themselves around Rosethorn’s hands and arms, keeping them gently in place up by either side of her head. The beginnings of an irritated frown marred the woman’s otherwise handsome face and Lark moved in to banish it, sending it away with feathery kisses that made Rosethorn sigh and relax back into the bed. “We have all morning,” she whispered, lips tracing a path up her lover’s jaw towards a tempting earlobe. “And Briar came to get Evvy over an hour ago. There’s no one here.”
“Mmm, but what about my garden, my reports?”
Rosethorn didn’t sound too concerned, despite her protest, and Lark indulged in a series of careful bites down Rosethorn’s neck before she raised her head, dark disheveled curls in a soft cloud about her face, to wrinkle her nose at the other woman.
“The reports can wait. And if I let you out to your garden now, I won’t get you free from it for another week. Briar took good care of it while you were in the Battle Islands and you can go and lose yourself in it once I’m finished with you. Which,” Lark added, fingers drifting over tanned skin towards the swell of Rosethorn’s breast, “won’t be for a candlemark at least.”
Rosethorn shivered beneath the gentle, teasing touch and at the promise in it, in Lark’s words. But the sheets and the warm light in Lark’s eyes held her fast and she sighed and let her eyes slip closed as Lark’s mouth closed over her sensitive flesh. Stubborn though she was, Rosethorn tended to give in to her lover and it had been a long time indeed since she’d been able to spend a morning in bed.
“Promise…aahh…promise two candlemarks and I won’t say another word.”
The chuckle Lark replied with promised she would deliver that and more.
Title: Backfire
Rating: PG
Warnings: Innuendo, Machine Tentacles
Prompt: Thundercats, Panthro/Tygra: bondage - That's an interesting device, Panthro; what's it for?
Word count: 1126
A/N: And my first Thundercats fic. XD This one gets a MEH. Based totally on an episode I recently watched on Comcast on Demand, which reminded me just how cheesy this show really is.
Panthro hadn’t bothered to come up out of his lab for lunch and Tygra knew that could only mean one thing – there was some interesting new project under feverish development and his friend would no doubt be thirsty and hungry when someone finally popped downstairs to check on him. It was a matter of moments for Tygra to grab a glass and throw together a sandwich and then he headed into the bowels of the lair in search of his elusive comrade. Sometimes he regretted putting the lab underground in his design but, given the sometimes dangerous nature of Panthro’s research, it had been necessary. Still, perhaps he could see about adding in some reflectors and skylights. Maybe the waxing and waning of sunlight would serve as a reminder of the progress of time to his friend even if his stomach did not. When he poked his head around the corner of the open lab door, Panthro was just where he expected, shoulders hunched over a work table and a soldering tool showering sparks over clever hands.
So intent was Panthro on his work that, after his first few steps, Tygra grinned and made sure to keep his motions slow and stealthy, creeping to within one or two feet of the table. The new device was smallish and gray and looked like a simple cube with a blinking light on the top. Tygra wondered what it was for, knowing that with Panthro behind it, it could be practically anything. And it would be simple enough – and entertaining – to find out from his deeply engrossed friend. Even as he made to set the food down and opened his mouth to loudly call Panthro’s name, the device the other was working on suddenly let out a piercing tone. Tygra clapped his hands to his ears, apologetically shaking his head at Panthro as the Thundercat shouted something unintelligible at him.
Then, even as the irritatingly loud noise continued, the top of the cube slid back and steely cables snaked out, catching Tygra first about his wrists. His hands were captured and lifted above his head, leaving his poor ears vulnerable as he struggled. Two more cables shot forward, one wrapping around his waist and another about his ankles. If it wasn’t for the tight hold on his wrists, Tygra would have found himself face first on the floor. As it was, his balance felt extremely precarious and the continuing din was giving him a headache. He shouted for Panthro just as the other finally managed to turn off the machine, or at least the part of it that made noise.
“-thro!” The shout faded as Tygra sheepishly turned his head towards the Thundercat in question. Speaking at a more appropriate volume, Tygra looked hopefully at the device currently in Panthro’s hands. “So can you make it let me go, too?”
Unfortunately for Tygra, Panthro slowly shook his head. “I can…eventually. But not right this second. This isn’t finished yet and I am not sure how you triggering it early has changed the calibrations.” The gray Thundercat fixed Tygra with a stern gaze. “And how many times have I told you not to try to startle me when I’m working? This time isn’t so bad but one day you’ll really be in trouble.”
Tygra did his best to look apologetic, hanging his head and sagging in his bonds. “I know. But you missed lunch! And anyway, what’s this thing for?”
Panthro looked at the sandwich that had unfortunately ended up on the floor and then at the blessedly unspilled glass on his work table. He took a long sip, then, suddenly realizing how thirsty he’d become. He set the glass back down and eyed the cube, tracing the path of one of the sturdy cables from where it emerged up to the point where it wrapped around Tygra’s wrist. “You remember,” he said, deep voice faintly tinged with regret, “the other month when Driller broke in here and kidnapped me?”
“Oh yeah.” Tygra nodded. They hadn’t been able to find Panthro for hours and when they finally had, he – or rather the clone Mumm-Ra had made – was creating havoc in the countryside. Some of their neighbors still weren’t too friendly towards the gray Thundercat even after the truth had been revealed; a fact that continued to depress the engineer.
“I don’t want anything like that to happen again.” Panthro patted the cube and then grinned sharply at the captive Tygra. “This device acts as a motion detector. It can be cued to individuals so that they don’t set it off but anyone unknown will activate the alarm and will then be restrained until the device is turned off or commanded to set them free. I was thinking we should have one in every bedroom.”
“That sounds great!” Tygra watched as Panthro rummaged through some drawers, coming up with a handheld scanner that he plugged into the cube. “It would be really effective at preventing Mumm-ra or the Mutants from messing around in the Lair.”
“That was my thinking,” Panthro said, studying the scanner as it beeped at him. “And I hope you didn’t have any plans for the afternoon. Because according to this, it will take several hours to recalibrate the device so that I can order it to release you.”
Tygra groaned, squirming in the firm grip of the cables at the thought of being stuck and still for so long. “What am I supposed to do for that long? Just hang around?”
“Ha! That would be a fitting punishment. Maybe you’d finally learn not to try and sneak up on me in here.”
“But Panthro!” Tygra’s protest was almost a whine, a petulant tone that would have been more fitting coming from the Thunderkittens than from the tiger. “You know if I’m stuck here I’ll be bored and then I’ll have to bother you just to keep from going stir-crazy.”
The grey Thundercat reached into another drawer and pulled out a pair of earplugs, pointedly showing them to Tygra. “I can block it out.”
“Aww, come on.” Tygra’s voice dropped and deepened, tone holding an underlying purr as the striped Thundercat desperately changed tactics. “I’m sure you can think of something to keep me occupied.”
Panthro set the earplugs down and folded his arms over his chest. He made a slow study of the captive Tygra, eyes dragging over the taut, bound length of him. And then he smiled, the tips of his canines showing, as he stepped out from behind the work table and headed over to shut the laboratory door. “I suppose,” he said, breath hot against the back of Tygra’s ear as he returned to the captured Thundercat, “I have a few ideas in mind.”
springkink is over and my flist can finally go back to normal size! In any event I wrote for 10 prompts this time around.Here are the non-anime prompts first, with my included self-rating system of SUCKS, MEH, OKAY, or I LIKE IT.
Title: Self-Discovery
Rating: R
Warnings: See Prompt, mention of turtlecest
Prompt: TMNT - Raphael - anonymous sex/glory hole - "give in to your confusion"
Word count: 1044
A/N: This one gets a borderline MEH/OKAY rating from me. I had a lot of backstory in my head but I was way too fucking lazy to put it down and I think the story reflects that. Also, I have no idea why I keep volunteering for these as I don't really feel that much of a connection with Raph, but I suspect if I didn't, no one else would.
Discretion was vital to a ninja. Silence, secrecy, misdirection, remaining nothing more than a shadow against the night. He’d been trained to it all of his life and though Raphael wasn’t exactly quiet or discrete with his family, he knew how to exercise it as well as any of his brothers. His inquiries had been few, a casual word here to April, an offhand comment to Donnie there, and his usual Friday nights with Casey had been established for so long that it was easy to escape the lair. Trench coat and fedora on, he’d muttered his usual “Yeah, yeah. I know. I’ll be careful” to Leo on his way out and made sure to give Mikey a noogie as he’d passed the couch. Casey was his only stumbling block but his friend had only raised his goalie mask to study him and then grin, punching him in the arm as he headed for a fire escape.
“Hot date tonight?” The human’s voice was filled with good-natured teasing and Raphael gave him the three-fingered equivalent of the bird, amiably replying, “Yeah, with much better company than you, Jones,” before he disappeared over the side of the building. He didn’t notice Casey watching him head off deeper into the city nor the way the man’s eyes darkened behind the slits in his mask. Casey’s Louisville slugger didn’t survive the evening and the thugs he found had to pay a visit to the hospital before they could be taken into central booking.
Central Park at night had always made Raph’s skin crawl. Sure it was inside the city but the acres of trees never sat quite right with a turtle who was more at home on rooftops and in the sewers than with bushes and ponds. He pulled the collar of his coat higher as he walked briskly, hat low on his head so that his face was largely invisible. His obvious bulk served as a deterrent and the scant light glinted off of his sai like it would have off of a knife’s edge. No one approached him as he hurried down the concrete paths and he arrived at his destination to find it deserted.
The door to the men’s restroom creaked as he edged it open, loud against the muffled distant noises of New York’s streets. It was pitch black inside and he leaned against the inside of the door for a long moment, letting his vision adjust, picking up the scraps of light that came in through the narrow casements below the eaves. All three stall doors hung open and he padded forward slowly into the first one. His fingers slid along the dividing wall, finding the toilet paper holder and nothing more. In the middle stall he found it, a fist-sized hole edged with what felt like duct tape and hidden by another roll of toilet paper. His information had been correct.
For a split second he hesitated, torn between entering the final stall and heading back out into the night. It was crazy, what he was doing, and a waste of a good evening when there were criminal scumbags to bust. But he’d been thinking about it for far too long to back down now and Raphael was one ninja turtle who didn’t retreat, even strategically. Metal bounced off of concrete as he threw open the door to the last stall and stomped inside, the latch sliding home as he locked himself in.
The smooth concrete was cool against his skin as he settled on his knees, the position the same one he took for meditation. Raphael closed his eyes and waited, breathing slowly and deeply as he tried to quell his roiling thoughts. It was the best way to know, the easiest, and he was tired of feeling confused, of watching Mikey and Donnie getting friendly on the couch and envying them, of wishing Leo and Karai would figure things out already, of being left out and alone. He didn’t have anyone but part of the problem was that he wasn’t quite certain who he should want. But he would know after that night because he could hear footsteps and whispers and the door to the bathroom grated on its hinges as it was opened.
Raphael felt his pulse pick up and he worked hard to keep his breathing slow and even as a flashlight beam suddenly increased the amount of visible light in the bathroom. The door to the middle stall opened, latched, and Raph placed his palms against the divider. In the moment of truth there was no hesitation, only a sudden sharp hunger that coiled low in his belly as he leaned towards the hole and opened his mouth. Soft panting came from the second stall and Raphael pressed forward, mindful of his teeth and wondering if the awkward shape of his mouth, his lack of lips could be noticed. But his mutated anatomy didn’t seem to matter and soon enough liquid heat hit the back of his throat and he swallowed.
The center stall door opened, then closed again, and Raphael was ready. At some point more individuals crowded into the bathroom, lining up, and for the next forty minutes Raph kept his jaw relaxed and his tongue busy. The taste of bitter salt was thick and cloying and his body’s needs insistent enough that he finally let his cock drop, fisting it eagerly until he came with a low churr that rumbled through him, set off the man he held in his mouth. Another took his place and another and Raphael took care of them too, and then the door to the restroom groaned again and he was alone.
He unlatched his stall, stepped out, and adjusted his hat, tipping the brim low across his eye ridges. And then Raphael headed back out into the waning night, feeling at peace with himself, as satisfied as after a good night cracking skulls. He didn’t have all his answers but he had a start. And home was waiting, with a cold beer in the fridge, and tomorrow night and Casey would be sure to have a suitably violent or stupid movie for them to watch. For the moment, for Raphael, it was good to be a turtle.
Title: Bandages
Rating: G
Prompt: Circle of Magic, Lark/Rosethorn: shared magic -- we sew and sow together
Word count: 963
A/N: First time writing for this universe and this one actually gets an I LIKE IT! It's set in the middle of Briar’s Book, btw.
Discipline cottage was quiet without their charges and Little Bear, almost too quiet given the circumstances. Rosethorn and Briar were only recently returned from their quarantine in Summersea and the girls and their pet had followed him first to the kitchens where dedicate Gorse would no doubt stuff them silly and then to the baths for a good scrubbing followed by a long soak in the communal pools. Confinement had chafed at Briar, as had being separated from the girls that were as close to him as sisters, and it would be good for them all to share a few hours of bonding amidst the trying times. Too, it meant that Lark and Rosethorn finally had a moment alone, a chance to reconnect even if they didn’t have the luxury of relaxing. Tomorrow Rosethorn was expected to begin helping Dedicate Crane, which made her even more prickly than usual, and Lark had kept her at the cottage only with much coaxing and the promise of work also necessary to fight the Blue Pox.
Bandages had filled most of Lark’s days while Rosethorn had been trapped in the sick house for the poor. That and reassuring the girls even as she fought against her own misgivings and fears for her companion. And it was bandages that kept Rosethorn by her side for a little while longer, the pair of them sitting outside on a pair of padded footstools. Rosethorn’s garden ran right up to where Lark had her sewing room and it was at that juncture that they had situated themselves. Flax and hemp plants grew there, taking advantage of dual magical affinity and flourishing. Still, healthy as the plants were, they were out of season. That was part of the problem. With so many disasters having struck Emelan in the past year, the magical bandages that Lark and some of the other dedicates with thread magic had made had been used up and there wasn’t even a steady supply of new bandages to infuse with healing. That was where Rosethorn came in.
As much as she didn’t like to do it, she could coax her plants into thinking it was another season, convince them it was time for harvest. And together they could coax the plants through a speeded-up retting so that Lark could spin it into thread and then weave it into bandages. Lark had her beater set up beside her and a deep basin carved of stone and filled with water sitting over raked coals rested between them. She waited patiently as Rosethorn dug her feet into the soil with the roots of her plants, a warm green glow suffusing the petite woman as Lark looked at her with magical sight. The flax and hemp responded eagerly to her coaxing, shooting upward and first blooming and then developing seeds. When the stalks began to turn yellow, a process of only a few minutes, Rosethorn opened her eyes and reached out to begin gently tugging the plants free from the soil.
Seeds and roots and leaves fell away with just a touch from Rosethorn’s hand and she absently passed bunches over to Lark who wordlessly took them and bound them into bundles. The entire crop was harvested in less than an hour, partly thanks to Rosethorn’s magic and partly because Lark could only make so many bandages of that type before her magic was depleted.
“Rosie,” she said with a smile, pulling up the sleeve of her habit. Rosethorn huffed out a sigh and followed suit, placing her hand over Lark’s as the woman held out her hand, a bundle in her grasp. Their fingers wove together as they plunged the bundle of flax into the warm water. Lark could feel Rosethorn’s magic, green and so very strong, as it coiled vine-like around the golden spindle that was her own core of power. Together they worked, coaxing the plant into becoming thread; their magic merged as they suffused it through the water and sunk it deep into the submerged bundle. Over and over they repeated the process, their joined hands solidly connected as Lark’s free one removed finished bundles and replaced them with more to be worked.
Through their combined magic, at the back edges of her senses, Lark could feel Rosethorn’s tiredness, her stress and worry, and she teased at it, coaxing it away as best as she could beneath the stronger ribbons of their main task. She replaced it with strength and flexibility and all the love and admiration she had for the woman who shared her home, her life. Rosethorn didn’t say anything but she was slow to drop Lark’s hand when the last bundle was retted, which left the remainder of the work to Lark. Finally she let go, permitting herself in the privacy of their home to sag a bit on the stool as Lark began to beat the fibers free so that she could comb and then spin them into the thread that she would at last weave into bandages infused with healing magic.
Lark didn’t notice when Rosethorn stepped away, too caught up in the work that was rather complicated at the speed at which she proceeded, but she did appreciate the tea that returned with Rosethorn and the strong tanned hands that rested on her shoulders as she began to spin. The sun was setting when the last of the bandages were finished and the children were back, Daja and Tris preparing supper. It was a tired smile that Lark sent across the table to Rosethorn but a satisfied one as well and it was with heartfelt words that she bowed her head and led them all in thanksgiving, making sure to thank the gods for Briar and Rosethorn’s safe return to their home.
Title: Captured Morning
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Kissing, Implications, Sheets with a mind of their own
Prompt: Circle of Magic, Lark/Rosethorn: slow, lazy sex -- It's always good to be home
Word count: 465
A/N: Second Circle of Magic fic, this one gets an OKAY for perhaps too modern dialogue. It takes place after Melting Stones
“Lark.”
The amused exasperation in Rosethorn’s tone finally roused Lark from the light doze she’d been in since she’d first gotten up to adjust the shutters. Sunlight peeked over the top of the wooden frames, laid itself in a warm patch across her feet. She blinked, reluctant to move when she was so comfortable and had a rare chance to sleep in but Rosethorn nudged her, said her name a bit more forcefully, and Lark finally lifted her head up off the pillow.
“What is it, Rosie?”
“You can tell the sheets to let me go. I wasn’t planning on getting out of bed; I just wanted to make myself a little more comfortable.”
There was a note of wry humor in Rosethorn’s voice, punctuated by an arm futilely tugging next to Lark’s head. The earth dedicate tilted her head and snickered quietly. “I don’t know. I think they have the right idea.”
The soft white cotton sheets had wound themselves around Rosethorn’s hands and arms, keeping them gently in place up by either side of her head. The beginnings of an irritated frown marred the woman’s otherwise handsome face and Lark moved in to banish it, sending it away with feathery kisses that made Rosethorn sigh and relax back into the bed. “We have all morning,” she whispered, lips tracing a path up her lover’s jaw towards a tempting earlobe. “And Briar came to get Evvy over an hour ago. There’s no one here.”
“Mmm, but what about my garden, my reports?”
Rosethorn didn’t sound too concerned, despite her protest, and Lark indulged in a series of careful bites down Rosethorn’s neck before she raised her head, dark disheveled curls in a soft cloud about her face, to wrinkle her nose at the other woman.
“The reports can wait. And if I let you out to your garden now, I won’t get you free from it for another week. Briar took good care of it while you were in the Battle Islands and you can go and lose yourself in it once I’m finished with you. Which,” Lark added, fingers drifting over tanned skin towards the swell of Rosethorn’s breast, “won’t be for a candlemark at least.”
Rosethorn shivered beneath the gentle, teasing touch and at the promise in it, in Lark’s words. But the sheets and the warm light in Lark’s eyes held her fast and she sighed and let her eyes slip closed as Lark’s mouth closed over her sensitive flesh. Stubborn though she was, Rosethorn tended to give in to her lover and it had been a long time indeed since she’d been able to spend a morning in bed.
“Promise…aahh…promise two candlemarks and I won’t say another word.”
The chuckle Lark replied with promised she would deliver that and more.
Title: Backfire
Rating: PG
Warnings: Innuendo, Machine Tentacles
Prompt: Thundercats, Panthro/Tygra: bondage - That's an interesting device, Panthro; what's it for?
Word count: 1126
A/N: And my first Thundercats fic. XD This one gets a MEH. Based totally on an episode I recently watched on Comcast on Demand, which reminded me just how cheesy this show really is.
Panthro hadn’t bothered to come up out of his lab for lunch and Tygra knew that could only mean one thing – there was some interesting new project under feverish development and his friend would no doubt be thirsty and hungry when someone finally popped downstairs to check on him. It was a matter of moments for Tygra to grab a glass and throw together a sandwich and then he headed into the bowels of the lair in search of his elusive comrade. Sometimes he regretted putting the lab underground in his design but, given the sometimes dangerous nature of Panthro’s research, it had been necessary. Still, perhaps he could see about adding in some reflectors and skylights. Maybe the waxing and waning of sunlight would serve as a reminder of the progress of time to his friend even if his stomach did not. When he poked his head around the corner of the open lab door, Panthro was just where he expected, shoulders hunched over a work table and a soldering tool showering sparks over clever hands.
So intent was Panthro on his work that, after his first few steps, Tygra grinned and made sure to keep his motions slow and stealthy, creeping to within one or two feet of the table. The new device was smallish and gray and looked like a simple cube with a blinking light on the top. Tygra wondered what it was for, knowing that with Panthro behind it, it could be practically anything. And it would be simple enough – and entertaining – to find out from his deeply engrossed friend. Even as he made to set the food down and opened his mouth to loudly call Panthro’s name, the device the other was working on suddenly let out a piercing tone. Tygra clapped his hands to his ears, apologetically shaking his head at Panthro as the Thundercat shouted something unintelligible at him.
Then, even as the irritatingly loud noise continued, the top of the cube slid back and steely cables snaked out, catching Tygra first about his wrists. His hands were captured and lifted above his head, leaving his poor ears vulnerable as he struggled. Two more cables shot forward, one wrapping around his waist and another about his ankles. If it wasn’t for the tight hold on his wrists, Tygra would have found himself face first on the floor. As it was, his balance felt extremely precarious and the continuing din was giving him a headache. He shouted for Panthro just as the other finally managed to turn off the machine, or at least the part of it that made noise.
“-thro!” The shout faded as Tygra sheepishly turned his head towards the Thundercat in question. Speaking at a more appropriate volume, Tygra looked hopefully at the device currently in Panthro’s hands. “So can you make it let me go, too?”
Unfortunately for Tygra, Panthro slowly shook his head. “I can…eventually. But not right this second. This isn’t finished yet and I am not sure how you triggering it early has changed the calibrations.” The gray Thundercat fixed Tygra with a stern gaze. “And how many times have I told you not to try to startle me when I’m working? This time isn’t so bad but one day you’ll really be in trouble.”
Tygra did his best to look apologetic, hanging his head and sagging in his bonds. “I know. But you missed lunch! And anyway, what’s this thing for?”
Panthro looked at the sandwich that had unfortunately ended up on the floor and then at the blessedly unspilled glass on his work table. He took a long sip, then, suddenly realizing how thirsty he’d become. He set the glass back down and eyed the cube, tracing the path of one of the sturdy cables from where it emerged up to the point where it wrapped around Tygra’s wrist. “You remember,” he said, deep voice faintly tinged with regret, “the other month when Driller broke in here and kidnapped me?”
“Oh yeah.” Tygra nodded. They hadn’t been able to find Panthro for hours and when they finally had, he – or rather the clone Mumm-Ra had made – was creating havoc in the countryside. Some of their neighbors still weren’t too friendly towards the gray Thundercat even after the truth had been revealed; a fact that continued to depress the engineer.
“I don’t want anything like that to happen again.” Panthro patted the cube and then grinned sharply at the captive Tygra. “This device acts as a motion detector. It can be cued to individuals so that they don’t set it off but anyone unknown will activate the alarm and will then be restrained until the device is turned off or commanded to set them free. I was thinking we should have one in every bedroom.”
“That sounds great!” Tygra watched as Panthro rummaged through some drawers, coming up with a handheld scanner that he plugged into the cube. “It would be really effective at preventing Mumm-ra or the Mutants from messing around in the Lair.”
“That was my thinking,” Panthro said, studying the scanner as it beeped at him. “And I hope you didn’t have any plans for the afternoon. Because according to this, it will take several hours to recalibrate the device so that I can order it to release you.”
Tygra groaned, squirming in the firm grip of the cables at the thought of being stuck and still for so long. “What am I supposed to do for that long? Just hang around?”
“Ha! That would be a fitting punishment. Maybe you’d finally learn not to try and sneak up on me in here.”
“But Panthro!” Tygra’s protest was almost a whine, a petulant tone that would have been more fitting coming from the Thunderkittens than from the tiger. “You know if I’m stuck here I’ll be bored and then I’ll have to bother you just to keep from going stir-crazy.”
The grey Thundercat reached into another drawer and pulled out a pair of earplugs, pointedly showing them to Tygra. “I can block it out.”
“Aww, come on.” Tygra’s voice dropped and deepened, tone holding an underlying purr as the striped Thundercat desperately changed tactics. “I’m sure you can think of something to keep me occupied.”
Panthro set the earplugs down and folded his arms over his chest. He made a slow study of the captive Tygra, eyes dragging over the taut, bound length of him. And then he smiled, the tips of his canines showing, as he stepped out from behind the work table and headed over to shut the laboratory door. “I suppose,” he said, breath hot against the back of Tygra’s ear as he returned to the captured Thundercat, “I have a few ideas in mind.”
