...the play's the thing...

skull_theatre @ 2007-08-02T17:14:00

2007-08-03T00:20:10Z

Okay - uh, renaming ain't gonna work after all...for myraid of reasons. I sure wish some coding goddess would figure out how to have mutiple journals combine.

So, this journal will be going stale 10 seconds after this post. Heh. I have already begun friending the flist and my comms with my other journal -

zagzagael

so if you see that name pop up - it is moi.

Over and out. Godspeed. And fare thee well.

skull_theatre @ 2007-07-31T16:45:00

2007-07-31T23:51:40Z

As soon as my rename token gets delivered to my inbox - this journal is going to be combined with the other journal I keep here. Sigh. I had no idea how...time consuming...running two ljs would be. It's been an utterly fantabulous "experiment" and I'm glad I started this writing journal! Thrilled, actually.

According to the process, the new name zagzagael will be added to the flist and this will become ex-skull_theatre. Fingers crossed that that works. I will be using the dreaded filters and can only assume that everyone already here is here for the fic - BtVSAts and HP. If you're interested in tattoos, alternative music or my mountain life, please comment and I'll add you to the respective filter. I seriously doubt anyone on this flist is into abjds. ;) No worries.

I've got to dig in and get to working on the novel. Kidlings go back to school on the 14th of this month...wedding season is drying up...and I'm going to resign my huge and unweildly community volunteer jobs after the MusicFest this coming weekend. So...August may be tumultuous for me...and the journaling might be affected. It all remains to be seen.

Slainthe!

skull_theatre @ 2007-07-29T08:20:00

2007-07-29T15:32:20Z

Spent two glorious days in the Castro at the tail end of this week - caught Grinnerman at GAMH and it was mind-shattering. So wonderful to have followed this group of musicians over the course of twenty-five years...and be perfectly understanding of how they've come to this astonishing place of grown-man-garage-band music. Even if I am reduced to tears today for the inevitable press of time on all our shoulders...

Working today on "catch-up" - I've got 99 digital images to sort. Sigh. These clients who want portraits for internet dating are becoming more and more common...and although I wish them the very best of luck in such endeavors, there's a distinct sense of...well something or other...from my end of things. 'Nuff said.

I'm mentally arcing the Sirius Black fic. And that's quite nice.

And on my long drive home from the Bay Area...I became smitten with the idea of a collection of short stories - not a form I would have ever dreamed of for myself BF - before fanfiction. But it is a viable form and I have....found extreme enjoyment in playing with it in fandoms...the trick will be to see if I can make a short work with original charas. The bane of writing fanfiction, of course, is the huge reliance we have upon the fact that the charas are already so well known by the reader.

Happy Sunday!

skull_theatre @ 2007-07-25T08:18:00

2007-07-25T15:18:48Z

Now that I’ve had a few days distance from my Official Harry Potter hols – I think I’ve found a place for everything and everyone and all is good in this world and in the HPVerse.

I am of the camp that considers the Harry Potter novels to be Young Adult books and Rowling to be a writer of YA sensibilities. However, that is not to say that she hasn’t created one of the most amazingly entertaining series ever to be published. Although I still laud AS Byatt’s the-emperor-is-naked “Harry Potter for the Childish Adult” essay, certainly four years later – I think Rowling has grown exponentially as a writer. She’s an extraordinarily gifted plottist and imaginative creator. She is unquestionably the “real deal” and the woman is no slouch when it comes to work. I am impressed beyond words by her tenacity, her spinal strength and her vision. Brava!

For me, the lure of the HPVerse has always been the fandom. And on that score, I must give a huge SHOUT OUT to Rowling for having graciously allowed so many of us to play freely in her secondary world. I do not “see” the charas or the “world” of HP through Rowling’s eyes, but rather through a half-decade’s worth of digital reams and reams of fanfiction. Ultimately, she finished her series the way she wanted to, wrestled the Beloved Fandom character of Severus Snape back from us rabid fangrrls and gave him the story she wanted him to have. Who knows how intended it was from the beginning or if it was affected by fandom musings and characterizations – SS got a Starring Lead the last two books and that pleases me immenseley. As to the rest…I believe she surpassed everything she set out to do and as the mother of children who adore her books and her characters, I am thrilled that my children were some of the lucky generation that got to “grow up” with Harry. It’s been a wonderful adventure and I can’t think of a better Guide than Rowling has been.

Thank you, JKR.

Now...onwards and upwards to the numinous...

skull_theatre @ 2007-07-22T21:24:00

2007-07-23T04:29:29Z

Nine hours and it's done. Phew. Marathon reading but certainly a time when I'm pleased to be on the further end of fast reading. I don't think my life could have been on hold much longer than that - as it is I'm dreadfully discombobulated...and will have to work extra to catch back up tomorrow on things set aside today.

No spoilers here, besides which...I'm still...too immersed to think conversationally about it.

Went to a single-malt party yesterday and now am craving - as in addictive longing - a dram of Edradour or Double Barrel. Mmmm...I adore scotch.

Friday bought a wondrous BPAL order - Brisingamen (Go Vikings!!!) and Nephilim (Yes Angels!) - I'm thrilled with both of them. Amber = good! I think I've finally outgrown my patchouli phase...

Spent a bit of time this morning whipping out my ficlet for maleslashminis. I wish I had realized what weekend this weekend was...before I signed up. But I'm pleased with the way it came out, flexed a bit, I don't usually write humour.

But I am still...feeling very much the Oldman!Sirius love and have now plotted out a mid-sized OotP-era fic.

Hope everyone else is enjoying their Hallows jaunt.

Slainthe.

skull_theatre @ 2007-07-22T12:15:00

2007-07-22T19:17:31Z

Title: Out of the Alleyway
Author: skull_theatre
Rating: PG
Fandom: Angel (mid S5 Ats)
Pairing: Spike/Angel
Assignment: maleslashminis Round 14— Spike. Written for elementalv. Things they want in the fic: "One of them against a wall at some point, a 24-hour mini mart, and fluffy kittens"
Things they *don't* want in the fic: "Angst, declarations of undying (undead?) love"
Notes: I’m incapable of writing NC-17. Really. And I tend towards the angst-filled which was explicitly not wanted. Hope this serves. ;)

“It’s perfect, is what it is.” Spike grimaced as they shut the car doors, turned and began walking towards the glass-fronted 7-11, stepping over windblown debris in the parking lot, moving into the sickly yellow light cast from a single streetlight.

Angel was quiet, but the set of his wide shoulders and the shortened length of his stride gave away a physical alertness.

“I’ve always suspected that these joints are a portal to Hell. Please, a 24-hour mini mart?” Spike pulled a packet of cigarettes out of a pocket on the inside of his trench and tapped one out. “At three am, a mini-mart at three am.”

“I thought you quit,” Angel said without glancing over.

“Right.” He cupped his hands around the end of the smoke and lit it, “I did.”

“Put it out or you’ll have to wait outside,” Angel stopped and looked over at the other vampire.

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m not really down with this thing as it is. You’re meeting this, this, what have you, contact? Here?” he gestured to the mini-mart with the cigarette before taking another long drag, “A definite portal to somewhere not here. For what reason?” He held up his hand, squinting his eyes, looking up at the taller man, “I know the reason. It’s daft.”

Angel rolled his eyes, “So you’re going to stand out here and smoke while I meet the contact?” He began walking away, snapping, “Why did you come then?”

“I came because I think you’ve gone around the twist,” Spike pushed up closer than necessary into Angel’s arm and shoulder, flicking the cigarette onto the sidewalk and grounding it out in one fluid movement. He reached out with a flourish and held the door open. They entered the painfully fluorescent-lit store. “No wonder everyone in elay where’s shades at night.”

Angel looked around the empty store. The clerk registered no notice of them, leaning forward, thumbing through a glossy girlie magazine opened on the counter in front of him.

Spike rolled his eyes. “Knew it. Wasted a perfectly good smoke.”

“The contact will show,” Angel muttered.

The platinum head bobbed a sarcastic agreement as he moved into the confectioner’s aisle. “Sure he will.” He picked up a cello-wrapped packet of snowballs. “I love these things.”

Forty minutes passed, Spike had eaten seven packets of snowballs, ducked out twice for a smoke and now stood at the magazine rack, tilting his head one way then the other. “I’ve seen a lotta things, mate, but have you seen this?” He held the opened skin rag up by a corner to Angel who was pacing in the other aisle.

“Spike,” he hissed.

The cashier cleared his throat; both vampires looked over at him. He reached up over his head and plucked out a small box from the shelving there and tossed it onto the countertop, “Why don’t you just pay for these and go? I don’t give a fuck about what you do or who you do it with, but I’m getting tired of looking at you two.”

Angel moved with intent towards the counter and Spike stood gaping, the other vampire clearly thought the box of condoms was somehow connected to the contact. He shoved the magazine back in the rack and walked forward. He laughed quietly, “This I’ve got to see, up close and personal like.”

Angel greedily grabbed at the box and examined it as though it were an ancient scroll. The cashier raised one eyebrow suspiciously.

Spike walked up beside Angel and tossed a ten on the counter.

“You think this is it?” Angel asked him.

Spike shook his head and collected the change.

Angel looked at the cashier, “What now?”

And then Spike did laugh, out loud. Angel glared at him, before a perplexed look washed over his face.

“Out back, in the alley?” the cashier smirked.

Angel nearly sprinted for the door and Spike turned neatly on his heel and followed, shaking his head. He caught a glimpse of the black, leather-clad back turning the corner of the building. The glass door snicked shut behind him. He laughed again and followed. “Completely around the twist.”

He strolled into the alley and suppressed a shudder, the back of the mart was cloaked in a dim and miserable darkness, the stench of rotting garbage thick in the air, and Angel standing there, head swiveling looking for something. Spike approached him slowly. “Listen, there is no contact, there is no lead. You’re standing like a great poof out here in this filthy alleyway with a box of safe sex in your pocket no less – the punch line to the great 21st Century joke. Let’s go home.”

“What about the contact?”

Spike reached out furiously and grabbed the lapels of the other vampire and hauled him down towards his face. “There is no bleedin’ contact. We’ve been had. And honestly, you’re a twit for following the lead anyway; you cannot save every kitten being wagered with in this lousy city. You can’t save them all.”

“It’s not the kittens!” he shouted and pulled away, twisting out of Spike’s grasp.

Spike backed up a step and crossed his arms, “No? What’s this about then, mate? It’s not about you wanting to save the world? It’s always about you and saving the world, innit?”

Angel stood, rigid, and for the first time Spike saw through the façade, through the pose and the swagger, past the wide-opened look of pain on the handsome face. And something spun out of him towards the other vampire, empathy, compassion, and a definite feeling of love. A hundred and fifty years he’d known this creature, through dark and light, good and evil, soulless and ensouled. He took a step towards him, his arms uncrossing, his hands reaching out. Angel turned his head slightly and watched his approach.

“Angel,” Spike whispered hoarsely. A quick, nearly indiscernible quirk at the corner of Angel’s lips and Spike was on him, that fast. His hands inside the other’s coat, pushing upwards, laying flat palmed against the thick edges of the broad shoulders, with three long strides he had him against the cinderblock wall of the mini-mart, then his hands slid up to cup his face and he moved in against him, pressing hard, and lifting his mouth there.

Angel allowed this kiss. And Spike tightened his grip, pulling his head down, holding him with a fierce longing. He pressed himself harder against him, a full body grind into Angel, against the wall at his back, his hands letting go of Angel’s face and bracing against the grimy paint. “Angel,” he whispered through his teeth, into the other’s mouth. “Let’s get out of here.”

Angel nodded. But he reached out, gently, slowly, fingers on Spike’s face, thumbs at the corners of his mouth, and brought his lips back down hard there. “Not like this, though.”

“I know.” Spike pushed himself back and stood looking at him. “But we can't stay here.”

The two men patted at their coats, smoothed down shirts and walked shoulder to shoulder out of the alleyway. Spike lipped a cigarette out of the packet and lit it, “I know where there’s an all nighter going on right now. Let’s go save us some fluffy kittycats.”

skull_theatre @ 2007-07-19T08:16:00

2007-07-19T15:26:05Z

Yes, it's the *swoon* Oldman!Sirius icon again. I am lovesick beyond measure. And I think...I'm going to continue with my Sirius ficlet I began yesterday. Thanks to my *ahem* two readers on that bit. ;) Quite obviously, the problem, if one can call it such, is that I skipped the long boring erotic tension parts to get to the beginnings of the boy-on-girl part...and now I'd have to backtrack and set up some Sirius/Hermione encounters at the Black house...prior...I don't know. Why is fanfic so much damned work? You start out wanting to get a cat laid and the next thing you know, work is required and the dishes don't get washed up and the laundry grows and kidlings whine and the husband actually wants to know why there's no supper...

But...for Oldman!Sirius, I think I'll do it! *leers*

And I've got other fics that need attending -

maleslashminis due on Sunday
still_grrr don't want to miss this last prompt, which means that needs to be written today
My Davy Jones fic is getting grumbled about now - one or two last chapters and I can call that one a day
And of course, the original...

It's raining and that is wonderful. The forest smells like something out of a wooded dream. But it's curtailing my two-mile morning constitutional and I despise the treadmill.

And I am back on my Wolfhound kick - Sam the Weimeraner is looking worried.

1. What bill do you hate paying the most?
Lately? As in the last two years – my MasterCard. Tensiya.com accepts MasterCard. And I don’t carry a balance…so that bill…is tense at times.

2. Where was the last place you had a romantic dinner?
Err…the hub is decidedly not the romantic type. Nor a type to dine out…when we do go, we have kids and hit the Thai restaurant as it’s my fave and I can’t cook it at all. We did have dark chocolate and grapes the other night, alone, does that count?

3. Last time you puked from drinking?
Three years ago on Halloween. Ended up unconscious and with an IV drip. This is NOT a good story. Haven’t drank more than one Guinness every three months since…

4. When is the last time you got drunk and danced on a bar?
Twenty years ago – several times a week. A nifty “bar trick” my friends could induce me to performing. With very little coaxing.

5. Name of your first grade teacher?
Cripes – who cares?

6. What do you really want to be doing right now?
Writing a deep and heartfelt publishable novel. About angels.

7. What did you want to be when you were growing up?
A thorab horse breeder.

8. How many colleges did you attend?
One.

9. Why did you choose the shirt that you have on right now?
I’m wearing pyjamas.

10. GAS PRICES?
Better windmills to tilt against.

11. If you could move anywhere where would you move?
Back to England. Or perhaps Ireland. New Zealand is tempting.

12. First thought when the alarm went off this morning?
I do not use a clock in the bedroom – don’t need one and don’t believe in them.

13. Last thought before going to sleep last night?
Is it really, really, really going to rain?

14. What errand/chore do you despise?
Multiple bland errands that involve driving wipe me out.

15. If you didn't have to work, would you volunteer?
I don’t, actually, have to work. But I am a photographer by trade and adore shooting weddings and births and pregnant nudes. However, I am a professional volunteer. That’s what I do. And my current list of volunteer positions is lengthier than I care to think on, something is going to have to go this year.

16. Get up early or sleep in?
Earlier the better. I’m up by five am most mornings.

17. What is your favorite cartoon?
We don’t have television here.

18. Favorite thing to do at night with a girl/guy?
Hmmmm…..

20. When did you first start feeling old?
I actually feel younger now at the halfway point than at any other time in my life. Feeling mortal is another subject entirely.

21. Favorite 80's movie?
Wings of Desire.

22. What do you get every time you go into Sam's Club?
A renewed desire to go apply for my concealed weapons permit.

23. Beach or lake?
Either or both. I suppose, push to shove, I would go to the ocean. But a smallish mountain lake can be a divine experience.

24. Do you think marriage is an outdated ritual?
For the most part, yes.

25. Favorite guilty pleasure?
Poptarts.

26. What's your drink?
Coffee with cream.

27. Cowboys or Indians?
Vikings.

28. Cops or Robbers?
Firemen.

29. Who from high school would you like to run into?
With my car? The lot of them.

30. What radio station is your car radio tuned to right now?
Yipes! I do NOT listen to the radio – I make a lot of mixed discs…but right now I’m on a serious Mark Lanegan jones and have six of his discs in the player.

31. The Cosby Show or the Simpson's?
Wot’s that then?

32. Worst relationship mistake that you wish you could take back?
Hmmmm.

33. Do you like the person who sits directly across from you at work?
Directly across from me is a lovely poster of a young, beatnik Tom Waits. I would so hit him. Other folks I “work” with…not so much.

34. If you could get away with it, who would you kill?
Not something I seriously ever ponder.

35. What famous person(s) would you like to have dinner with?
Nick Cave.

36. What famous person would you like to sleep with?
The list is everchanging and more delicious to ponder than enact, I would think.

37. Do you have a teddy bear?
No.

38. Somewhere in California you've never been and would like to?
Medicine Lake.

39. Do you go to church?
The world is a cathedral.

40. At this point in your life would you rather start a new career or a new relationship?
A new career.

skull_theatre @ 2007-07-18T10:36:00

2007-07-18T17:38:46Z

A quick, hot little prose sketch for the Oldman!Sirius fangrrls -

SB/HG - OotP

It was such a simple…gesture. Something that would have gone unnoticed by anyone else. A small movement, really. Yet solid and full of grace and masculine strength. From the boy’s back, up over his shoulders and then cupping his head, long-fingered, square-blunt-fingered hand just there. And Hermione felt something inside her chest shift sideways and then that something falling down into her…yes, into her womb. She felt that. Felt it trill through her lungs as she stood in the doorway and watched Sirius hug Harry goodbye, watched the heavy embrace the older man pulled him into, up into his broad chest. She had blinked then strained her eyes open, she could imagine the flexing of his biceps beneath the velvet coat and in a hazy body memory of Viktor’s taut stomach against her own she imagined what the older man’s body would feel like pressed against hers.

And now she was back at Hogwarts, in her bunk, beneath the heavy, muted tones of her quilted duvet, rolling the fabric, bunching it on top of her, pulling it down to her and wishing there was some way she could find herself in the bed of Sirius Black. He had declared her the smartest witch of her generation, surely that counted for something. He considered her. And that had been over a year ago, what he would think of her now, she smiled in the dark, what would he think if he knew she had put her formidable intelligence on hold and was reaching down between her own legs with nothing more than thoughts of him dusted across her fingertips. She bit her lower lip. Hard. And arched forward and her eyelids shuddered closed and she focused intently on the way the ginger moustache hairs curled over his upper lip and how he would push them aside with the wide tip of his tongue and then…

She woke, early bluish morning light streaming through the mullioned windows and the immense feeling of longing rose with the sun and she ached.

He was seated, hunched, at the far end of the long galley table in the kitchen. His head cradled on crossed arms, asleep. She stood in the doorway, every sensible sense inside her head screaming at her for this trespass, but she was past any point of listening now to reason. Driven by desire, her, Hermione Granger, of all witches and wizards, to have impulsivity beckoning with a seductive promise. She wanted this, wanted to be enslaved to her body not her mind. She licked her lower lip and stepped down onto the pavers, he didn’t move and she crept up slowly, one hand already reaching for him. And then he was up, faster than she could see him move, wand out, one strong hand fierce and painful around her upper arm, the other jabbing the wand into her breast, against her heart, she was nearly off her feet as he came up to his full height, pulling her with him. The chair beneath him knocked over backwards, her feet skittering as she began to lose her balance and her hands reaching, reaching out, finding fistfuls of his waistcoat and grabbing there.

“Hermione?” he shouted, his grip tighter around her arm, pushing the wand deeper.

She nodded; throat clenched closed, and pushed her hands into his belly. Her hips arcing forward and he pulled her against him. She was staring up into his face, his features tight and drawn across his bones, his eyes violent in their sockets but she could see recognition growing there and she could do nothing but hold her breath and feel the sheer power of him as he held her fast.

Slowly, with time stretching out indefinably, he lowered her back to her feet, she instinctively moved away from him and his grip loosened then tightened again on her arm. “Oh, Merlin’s beard, girl,” then she was in his arms and she could feel him shaking. His fright and relief and her own lust and fear twining around them, spindles spinning freely, greedy for the silken strands. He had her tight, beneath her arms, around her body, hands wide against her shoulder blades. She pressed back and both her hands released his clothing and snaked around to his back, fingers indenting into his spine.

Then he had her by the shoulders and was gently pushing her away. “What? I don’t even know where to begin…what are you doing here? Why?” He shoved back a thick hank of waves, behind his ear, out of his face and looked down at her. He let go and bent over to right the chair, with a foot he pushed another out from beneath the table and indicated that she should sit.

She sat. And he sat, but pulled his chair towards her, their knees fast against each other. He reached out and took her hands in his own. “You… That was not good. Hermione. You have no idea.”

“Sirius,” she looked down at their joined hands, and then back up into his eyes, “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I don’t know…I’m so so sorry.” Her eyes brimmed and spilled over.

His eyes narrowed.

“Let me make you tea?” she whispered and brought his hand up to her face, wiping at her tears with the back of her own hand, fingers still entwined with his.

“Tea?” his brows furrowed. “No.” He gently shook her fingers loose and with his thumb wiped beneath both her eyes. "No tea. And you did not come here to put the kettle on.”

She shook her head, then with her free hand gingerly pressed at the underside of her breast, a sharp pain pinpointed itself where he had driven the tip of his wand. She winced.

“I hurt you.” He reached out but pulled his hand back quickly, watching her fingertips massage the spot.

She nodded and blushed. He reached again, with both hands, and gently pulled her hand down into her lap and with the other, he began to unbutton the white schoolgirl blouse, pushing it open, up and over her shoulder, across the one breast, the sleeve down her arm. His gaze was locked to hers as he hooked two fingers beneath her bra and brushed upwards, she half-closed her eyes as he found the bruise. She leaned into his touch and beneath her lowered eyelashes she saw him move forward, bending his head towards hers, his hand opening and palming her breast, she pushed harder. He inhaled sharply and her eyes closed completely, the tip of her tongue clicking against her top teeth, that feeling again lodging inside her lungs, then his forehead was against hers and his fingers beneath her chin, coaxing her face up and the feeling exploded and ricocheted in shards of pleasure off each rib, scattering down her spine with an immediate heated burn.

“Is this a dream?” he asked, his voice husky, his mouth so close to hers she could feel his moustache brush against her lips.

skull_theatre @ 2007-07-17T15:14:00

2007-07-17T22:15:44Z

Just got back from the ten am showing of “Order of the Phoenix.” I am a happy, happy woman.

First, please allow me to swoon over this beautiful, beautiful male creature –

AND his animagus form is a Wolfhound?!?!?! *dies*

I entered the HPVerse riding very much on the buttoned up frock coat tails of one Severus Snape. And I still do love the character and Rickman’s interpretation! And I was an avowed non-Sirius fan in book canon…however, from the moment that Oldman was cast as Black…I felt the rumblings of mutiny on the goodship Snape deep inside my chest…and sure enough, even with blackened teeth and crazed rolling eyeballs, my heart was lost to Oldman’s Black. I am not a bookcanon Black fangrrl but to see him with his Dracula mojo on in Order of the Phoenix was to sit squirming through this very long and delicious flick. He is just sheer male perfection in my eyes and in that role…he brings a far far far more human Black to life than Rowling does. So. Much. Hugging!!! (An aside here, anyone else think that there was not nearly enough physical contact in the Jossverse??? I mean, no one ever fookin’ hugs anyone!) Oldman is such a physical actor regardless…but I could SO sit through an entire movie about Sirius Black and his godfatherliness. Must begin to look for good Black fanfic…

The movie is brill. Utterly. And it’s the type of movie that leaves one astonished at how much heart can be brought to a project - which is essentially a children’s entertainment - when adults get pulled into the magic. The sets, the costuming, the screen adaptations, the casting and omfg the acting. Just amazing stuff. Fiennes is…nothing short of Regal. Um….Voldemort in a black on black suit…I needed a glass of cold water – splashed in my face. Wowza. Explosions and glass and fireworks and broomsticks. It’s just a magnificent feast for the viewer.

I love it. Completely. And I so hope that the cast remains. To see the series out – to stick with it from start to finish – would be a nod to serious oeuvre and, in my opinion, well worth the dedication of time and skill required.

Snape got to shine but unfortunately was ROBBED of the funniest line Rowling ever writ – the “permanent record” line in Umbrage’s office. Ah, well. Rickman made up for it with delivery.

Dumbledore – swoon – I like him aged and worn and yet…so dangerously powerful.

The kids are growing up nicely. Radcliffe is just…gah…beautiful. And Grint makes me swoon-y. But for me…the film is Oldman’s. I love him.

Now I’m all hyped for the Hallows. I’m not a fan of Rowling and do not consider the series to be Literature with a capital L, but it has grown far more fun a diversion the last three books…We didn’t pre-order as we live far to out in the wilds to get it delivered on the date…but I’m not sure how we can procure a copy in a timely fashion as we have a single-malt party on Saturday and the Viking would guffaw if I suggested I had to attend a midnight book selling…I so don’t want to be spoiled as I was with OotP.

Assorted D'Hoffryn fics

2007-07-16T19:07:15Z

Combining my Big D fics in one post. Just watched "Hell's Bells" again and I'm telling you...this demon just...makes me....gah!!! Why won't anyone write hawt D'Hoffryn ficcy goodness for me? *wails*

Title: Exquisite Heat
Word Count: 437
Rating: PG
Prompt: 021 - Heat at still_grrr
Characters: D'Hoffryn, Dark Willow

His every nerve was strung achingly tight just beneath the rough layer of his skin. A crisscross of sensation, reverberating through his bones, arcing between his muscles, gathering at the base of his skull and whipcracking down his spinal column to lodge in the flared points of his hips. He had to put a shaking hand out to steady himself, his palm slick against the tree trunk, talons scraping bits and pieces of bark. He leaned forward, watching her. Waves of her heat crashed against him and he wanted nothing more than to be pulled under her dark waters. He could feel the energy vibrating off her body, out of her mind, forming words and those words punishing the man hanging by her will in front of her.

She was exquisite.

It had been a century since he’d last been so physically called to a woman. He closed his eyes at the thought, remembering Anyanka in a montage of images, her thin shoulders, her slight hips, her beautiful face, the time she hexed that cheating husband in a dale in Norway…oh…two or three hundred years ago now…giving him the genitalia of a Great Dane. Poor sod didn’t realize he’d actually been cursed, at first glance. D’Hoffryn smirked, but the sound of a full-grown man crying pulled him out of his reverie.

Rosenberg. This witch, she was something else entirely. Yes, yes, she was consumed with grief at the moment and one small part of one of his hearts clenched with the thought. The lover dead, he understood…but none of that seemed to be affecting his physical reaction to her. He opened his eyes again and lowered his shoulder to the tree and leaned heavily against it, breathing hard up into his nostrils. She was going to wreak her vengeance on the killer; he approved of this and oh gods how it made him wild with desire. He wanted her, the moment she finished with this poor brute, he fully intended to suggest it to her. On the forest floor, down amongst the blood-soaked ferns, up against a tree, over a rock, down in the creek…His eyes had closed again and then he heard voices. Someone was calling for the witch, someone or three were fast approaching through the woods. He swiveled his head trying to locate the voices.

A ripping sound tore through the air. D’Hoffyrn swung his head back. Too late. Too late. He’d missed it. Flayed. He sucked air in through his teeth.

The body burst into flames and he himself disappeared in a cloud of smoke. There would be time later. He had time. Eternities of it.

Title: Final Goodbye
Rating: G
Word Count: 548
Prompt: 011 - Sunnydale Crater for still_grrr
Character: two demons

He picked his way through the rubble, moving up and out of the now significantly smaller Hellmouth, a gaping wound reminiscent of battered lips oh-ed open, rocky shattered teeth and broken gumlines. He winced as he moved through it and away from it, ducking under piled granite boulders as big as, well, boulders. He smirked. Ah, destruction and chaos and general mayhem. This had been one spectacular show but he quickly admonished himself with the thought of his mission and sobered by grief he moved forward, threading through rock and climbing steadily upward, the demolition now becoming human in construction, concrete chunks maced with razor-sharp rebar protrusions, splintered wood, twisted metal. And the smell of charred vampire. Hundreds of thousands of charred vampires. He was getting closer.

One of his hearts hung heavy as a stone behind his ribs and he brought up a hand to press against the place, just there, where he could feel it beating sluggishly, cold and dark and filled with a black anguish. She was dead, cut down, and death comes to us all, a little more to some, but he wasn’t about to let her body lay here, beneath the ruins of Sunnydale, of that damnable High School, and decompose the way human corpses were wont to do. She would be immolated as she deserved to be. Even before the Grand Finale of Finality he had already set out with full intent of bringing her back to perform the last rites and utter that incantation which would set her flesh aflame and then, only then he would allow himself to be blinded by tears and perhaps rejoice a tiny bit in such Creative Carnage. But right now, he had to find her.

If he could find her, if on the underside of this earthen crater, somehow, someway her body had fallen with the dirt and rubble and landscaping shrubberies, if it had, he would search until he did. And if it hadn’t, he would search until he could search no more and knowing himself as he did, best not to think how far in the future that time might be.

The eternal flames of damnation lit his way but the way was growing darker and he chanted under his breath and a yellowish illumination lit the littered path. He stopped for a moment and closed his eyes, breathing deeply, wondering if he could smell her in her dead state. He coughed.

Then, he bent and stood and rounded another pile of rubble and there she was. Torn and broken and severed nearly in half. D’Hoffryn pulled himself up short – he thought he had been prepared, but he hadn’t been, of course. Slowly he approached and then he went down on one knee beside her and reached for the arm that was splayed backwards and beneath her, he gently, gently pulled it free and took the limp hand in his own. “Anyanka. My dear girl.” But no tears, not yet.

He scooped her up in his arms, holding her torso together by pulling her closer to his chest, her head lolled onto his shoulder and he looked down at the ruined body of the girl. "I found you." Surprising even himself, he touched his lips to her forehead, tasted grit and sweat and blood, and whispered into her dead face, "Come then. Home."

And the demon, his arms heavy with his burden, disappeared in a burst of blue flame, the lingering smoke smelling of sorrow.

Title: A Pair of Glittering, Black Eyes Redux
Rating: R
Word Count: 250
Prompt: D’Hoffry/Willow for btvsats_love
Pairing(if any): D/W/T
Disclaimer: If only D’Hoffryn would find his way to me….not mine.

She moaned and he lifted his head up to look at her, glittering black eyes meeting glittering black eyes. “Oh my. You are beautiful,” he purred and lowered his mouth back down to that just-so spot beneath the sharp edge of her collarbone. His beard brushed against her breast and she arched up and moaned again. He laughed, low and throaty, lips on her skin and the sound reverberating around the curve of her ribs as he slipped his hands under, sliding his flat, hot palms beneath her body, fingers running along her spine and pulling her up into his broad chest. Then pressing her back down into the moist earth beneath, his weight a delicious heaviness.

“Your wish is my command, dear lady.” He raised himself up on two strong arms, his hands flat on the ground now, kneeling between her knees.

“My…my wish….” She grabbed for his horns, one in each fist, and coaxed his head down. Open-mouthed, he ran his tongue along the pathway she guided him, over nipple, each rise and divet of rib, skimming across the flat plain of her belly, lingering in the hollow of a hipbone and then, beard tickling first, he descended and she held him fast.

“Oh, D’Hoffryn!”

“Darling?” Tara rolled over and switched on the bedside table lamp, then sat up beside her, reaching for her hand. “Bad dream?”

Willow nodded. And bit her lower lip. “I…uh…think so…yes. Bad dream.” She reached fiercely for her lover and they turned as one in each other’s arms.

Title: Inebriated Wishing
Written For: xlivvielockex
posted at facets_of_faith
Prompt: Big D/Faith sentence
Rating: G
Author's Notes: BtVS S7

Faith was lying on her back on the thin mattress, feet propped high on the wall of the cell, ankles crossed, fingers laced comfortably behind her head. The other woman was sitting cross-legged at the far end of the bunk, suddenly far too serious and suspiciously quiet for the amount of hooch they’d imbibed in the past two hours, swallowed stealthily but steadily between guard strolls past the bars. Faith had been telling her new cellmate about Buffy, Sunnydale, the Scoobie Gang and even the Mayor in long drawn out drunken rambles for the better part of the last hour.

“You ever wish you could like twist the tit of the Dark Goddess of Fate and make her give you, say, twenty, thirty at tops, seconds of your life back. Half a minute. Count ‘em,” she held up fingers ticking them off, “thirty split seconds so you could see the blade, see that blade,” she trailed off whispering hoarsely, “before she buries it in your gut up to the hilt. Shiv in your belly but it’s your brain that’s bleeding cuz you can in no way believe what has just happened.” She looked through the dim light; the woman was staring at her, nodding the smallest nod of encouragement. “No way believe what just happened.”

“Do you wish that, Faith?” the woman leaned forward on her knees, still nodding.

“I guess sometimes, I do. Yeah, I gotta be honest, doll. I wish that…”

There was crackling and smoke and D’Hoffryn standing in the small open floor. “Ah, Miss Lehane.” He inclined his head towards Faith, his hands palmside up. He turned slightly towards the vengeance demon on the other end of the bunk, “Dorocha.”

Jailhouse hooch notwithstanding, Faith was off the bunk and on her feet, a dangerous feline crouch, in the breadth of a moment.

D’Hoffryn tilted his head further, “No need for heroics, slayer.” He stepped closer and Faith’s body visibly quivered, a blade’s edge. “Please, please. Sit down.”

She hesitated. “Now,” he intoned and she sat. The vengeance demon scowled. “Thank you. There has been, it appears, some sort of error in…the...ah...the purchase order department, acquisitions, if you will. These things happen, of course. My apologies and certainly a gift certificate can be arranged. For any future wish you may want fulfilled.”

“But…” the vengeance demon whined.

D’Hoffryn silenced her with a hand movement. “We’re leaving, Dorocha.”

“What about my quota?”

“Enjoy the rest of your sentence, Miss Lehane, which may be shorter than you think. And,” he paused, “inebriated wishing can be a dangerous pastime, best not to indulge.” He winked.

The two demons disappeared in a swirling of warped air.

Faith looked around the empty cell, reached under the bunk for the bag of booze. She took a long swig then stretched out comfortably on her back. “Damn.”

Drabbles posted at open_on_sunday

To take vengeance on behalf of another defined the very essence of what made him who he was, what he was. And yet he knew he was reviled. Judge, jury and executioner were far less of a romantic imagining than sun-kissed soldier of Heaven. He had seen the museum paintings and the ceilings of the churches, the tattoos and the woodcuts, he was decidedly not their version of the Avenging Angel. He and his Vengeance Demons shared not a wing or a gown between them. He wondered at human nature wanting to see his kind through the eyes of glory.

He stood, smirking, in front of the mercury glass in his bed chamber. He ran a long-taloned hand over one of his right horns, then tugged his beard neatly into place.

Retribution, infliction of punishment, retaliation, reciprocation, revenge, vindictiveness. Tit for tat, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Master of Vengeance demons, Lord of Arashmahaar. He was exactly where he needed to be, exactly who he was.

He reached up and with a flick of both wrists settled the heavy robe on his shoulders, squaring them and inhaled deeply, closing his black eyes.

Another glorious day.

skull_theatre @ 2007-07-14T06:52:00

2007-07-14T13:53:51Z

In which I switch allegiances entirely, but stay true to the Flying Dutchman.

First, please allow me a bit of a stunned sort of confusion – for those following my Davy Jones wip “A Hole In the Sea” – omfg, there is actually a hole in the sea in AWE!!!!! Granted, it’s a maelstorm hole rather than a rogue wave hole..but hey – I was surprised. And what glorious visuals it provided – that may explain in part why I’ve been getting rave reviews on the fic…and yes, yes, I feel guilty about it’s wip status…but it’s so AU now…I guess I’ll have to commit to that and just carry on.

Okay, onto the meat. I loved this film. LOVED it. I could feel my heart singing not less than fifteen minutes into it. It was that glorious. There is something to be said for the human endeavor to entertain – especially entertain to that level. A cast of dedicated actors, scene builders, costumers and production. It’s just an utterly amazing outing – all three of the pieces that make up the whole. Sheer, top notch, state-of-the art entertainment.

The low point, of course, was the “selling out” of the Davy Jones character – just proof positive that those of us who pull for the Bad Guys are definitely walking left of centre to the rest of the world. The fierce, strong, poignant character of DMC becomes…teary-eyed and dotty? I just didn’t buy it at all – yes, yes, there are snippets of scenes where Jones just ROARS strength and folklorey magick – omg, the “tea” scene?!?!? Yowza. But how many different opportunities was he given to just gut various soldiers and take back what was his? And each time it was overlooked or fumbled or bumbled. Ugh. Not plausible from the viewpoint of this Davy Jones fangirl…but unfortunately, necessary for the furthering of the plot. WHICH, I may add was brilliant. This is the part where I mutiny on Jones and join Turner’s crew. Did anyone see that coming? I mean, even with Dalma’s “touch of destiny” murmurings, did anyone really see that coming????? Will becomes The Sea?????

*stunned*

Sadly, for me, last week I spied an icon on the flist of the delectable Turner wearing the bandana with the text “I am The Sea.” Spoiled. But even with that…I was still just knocked sideways that the writers would allow such a twist. With an emphasis on the Captain of the Flying Dutchman actually being a psychopomp and with the sub-plot of rescuing Bootstrap Bill…it was made plausible…yet how many times have we seen Hollywood go right up to the edge and back away? Plenty. I mean, Bootstrap could have become Captain. We all thought it would be Jack, eh? Or perhaps, keeping Davy cursed…it should have been Becket. But to have Will Turner – the mousey boy of the first movie become the Biggest, Baddest Captain of the Sea – actually BECOME The Sea, grow humongous balls of steel and wrestle the sheer smexiness of the film away from Sparrow, well, that rocked my socks.

I am now a committed Captain Turner fangirl.

So many good things – Sparrow telling Swann that one kiss was quite enough. BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Dalma being Calypso – props to you deepseasiren for seeing that one, I just never saw it at all. Norrington finally making a selfless decision. The sheer presence of The Flying Dutchman. Davy Jones’s locker for visual orgasming. Shots where Jones gets to TOWER over everyone else. Richards as Teague. OMFG. And Barbossa just waltzing through the picture like he’s sex on two legs and everyone else seeing it, too! Jack the monkey. Serious costuming hotness.

And the bad – why why why break Jones’ balls? He was such a strong and intelligent character in DMC. And okay, so you’re going to make him a bit stupid and weak – then at least let Calypso come and take him at the end…let him die in her arms. She really did betray him, didn’t she? One day out of ten years and she couldn’t fookin’ show up???? So disappointed with his death.

Okay, that’s it for me. I’ll trawl through the comms and read other reviews.

Cannot wait for the DVD, although I may hit the theatre one last time before it leaves.

skull_theatre @ 2007-07-13T07:43:00

2007-07-13T14:44:07Z

Yes! Friday the 13th is proving to be a very good day for me! *avoids black cats, tosses salt over shoulder and knocks on wood*

I finished my summer_of_giles fic mid-day yesterday and that was a huge relief. Clocked in at just over 5,000 words and its here if you’re interested –

http://community.livejournal.com/summer_of_giles/69026.html?#cutid1

I’ve also been writing ficlets that are generating more and more ideas. Here’s Spike/Angelus – souled!Spike/Angel

Falling, rising. Rising and falling. His eyes squeezed tightly shut, again, again, he swore last time he’d keep them open but not this time. They snap shut and whirls of coloured lights flash on the insides of his lids and it’s okay to have them shut, to fall into the well of light. He groans. And reaches up blindly for the other. Hands searching, needing his mouth, his lips, he pulls Angelus’s head down towards his face.

Angelus never shuts his eyes and he watches the face of this other man, rears his own head back out of the needful, grasping hands and looks into the beautiful face. He’s waiting for that moment, there it is, Spike’s face falls slack, relaxes, and his eyes roll in their sockets, and Angelus waits one more moment, beneath the lids he sees the eyes roll back even further and he jerks forward, the long muscles of his thighs flexing tight and he can’t help it, he can never help himself, he moans low, “Oh, god, Spike. Oh my god.” And Spike grabs again for his head and he allows this and lowers his mouth and now lets his eyes drift shut. Spike panting beneath his lips, through his teeth, into his mouth.

~***~

“You know,” quietly, “that you were the only one, the only man, actually I think you don’t. ‘S why I’m telling you,” Spike falters.

Angel moans low in the back of his mouth and Spike’s shoulders stiffen visibly beneath the leather trench, not that Angel can see it, he’s got his head down into both hands, fingers flared through the short cropped hair. He’s sitting at his desk and Spike is standing at the wall of windows, staring out. Always standing there, Angel realizes, always enters and moves straight towards the glass, the sun glinting off and away and part of him clenches at the thought of Spike standing before the City of Angels bathed in noontime sunshine. It actually hurts. Spike misses the daytime.

“Why, Spike, are you telling me this now? Why are you telling me this right now?”

“You can’t tell me this is a coinkydinky twist on the tit of Fate that we’re both here, right now, both of us? With souls? Here in this godforsaken,” he turned towards the other vampire, “and I do mean that in the literal sense of it, city. Together? Here? You?” He indicated himself with both hands, “and me?”

“You and me don’t work in a sentence together. We don’t work together at all. Do I think it’s a wild coincidence?” Angel stood, “I don’t think about it.”

Spike pursed his lips, cocked a brow, tilted his head and nodded. Angel turned away from the look he saw past the bravado and in the blue eyes. “Get out.”

“Going, mate.”

“Please,” Angel murmured and sat back down. "Please...."

I really ended up falling in love with those two characters by the end of Angel. I mean, I was mad for them seperately before – but to see them interacting with one another throughout the last season…really had me considering their Hero’s Journey in a variety of ways. Slash being just one of those ways.

AND - *drumroll here* - I took the kidlings to see Pirates of The Caribbean – At World’s End last night. Wanted to catch it on the big screen before it left. I was just thrilled. Totally and compltely thrilled with it. I will pen another post about my thoughts and let the DavyJones fangirling loose in that one.

Now…to get down the hill early enough to take in the 10 am showing of Order of the Phoenix. One thing I’ve noted is that Gary is looking mighty delicious – at least to these aging eyes – but he’s got his Dracula mojo working it would appear. And I find that endlessly amusing – in the same way I find it amusing every time I sit through the Lord of the Rings trilogy. THAT look is what melts the pavement wherever Gary walks – why doesn’t he massage it into his day-to-day life? Same for the delish Bloom – that’s a cat who just looks good as a blonde? And James Marsters – yummy no matter what the coif – but the platinum look is good for him. Ah…I could go on…it should be a meme – what look/character embodies your favourite male actor??? Rickman and that nasty facial hair as the Sheriff…omfg.

Hmmmm….you know – I could make that a meme. I’ll try to be back this afternoon with it and the recap on AWE.

skull_theatre @ 2007-07-11T18:13:00

2007-07-12T01:14:10Z

Sharing the love - gods I LOVE THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

skull_theatre @ 2007-07-10T08:34:00

2007-07-10T15:36:25Z

Found an incredible, incredible artist online yesterday. I’m both more excited about the prospect of my “angel sleeve” but also terribly…concerned about how I’m going to find the right artist out here on the West Coast. In my mind’s eye, I can see exactly what I want, but to have that translated onto my skin is feeling like a huge undertaking of trust. I know that the parlor who did my Eliot tatt isn’t capable of this. I do think that being committed to black-and-white only work may make the search a tiny bit harder, colour really can be used in place of good shading to “flatten” an image and I want mine to be very dimensional and that requires…a tremendous amount of skill. And that is NOT to suggest most artist’s aren’t skilled, but rather to suggest that NewSkool requires a different “eye” than b/w shading/line work does.

And here are his angels that had me sitting stunned - exactly what I envision, exactly –

This is a HUGE inspiration - I know it's not real - but the images are just gorgeous -

I suppose I'll just have to commit to the large Durer calf piece locally and see how that works out. We've also got a large show scheduled in the area for the end of September...I may just have to wait...and check out attending artists there.

And I've got two more ideas for text!!!

skull_theatre @ 2007-07-09T14:00:00

2007-07-09T21:05:03Z

*dramatic groan*

Okay, okay - I wanted everyone to prompt me for Big D ficlets - and now I'm...uh...writing crack!drabbles. And I'm supposed to be working on my summer_of_giles fic. But *whistles & looks innocent* one of this week's pairing promts at btvsats_love is...uh...D'Hoffryn/Willow. ;)

http://community.livejournal.com/btvsats_love/325152.html

skull_theatre @ 2007-07-08T14:53:00

2007-07-08T22:23:18Z

*complexified*

I just, an hour ago, finished the last disc of my Angel box set.

Both BtVS and Ats are now completed in my house. I’m feeling that melancholy feeling of “finishing” a thing one has grown to love but…those feelings of sadness are completely intertwined with this very solid, very good feeling about “Not Fade Away.” I loved it totally. It was heartbreaking and yet…incredibly filled with Hope. I cannot say the same for “Chosen.” That episode just felt…bad. The entire last season of Buffy felt bad for reasons I’ve outlined in other posts, but thank the writing gods, that fate did not befall Angel. Yes, the fourth season was without question the most abominable and horrifying arcing and character betrayal I’ve ever seen in serialized writing, but season five made up for it in every imaginable way. No, it was no longer the sweet days of its humbler beginnings, but it didn’t have to be. It became even more than could have been expected of it. The writing was astonishing! The actors completely in their chops. The arcing just flawless and fully aware of remembering who these characters were and why they were who they were.

I believe that “Damage” is the finest bit of writing and acting in the Jossverse. It made Spike’s role in the Angel ‘verse worth the while. It made sense. It tied itself back into its Buffy heritage and it asked its actors to truly “become” their characters. It explains…so much about Evil in the Jossverse and why characters choose the way they do.

“The Girl In Question” was a gift to the fandom. I just sat stunned throughout it – yes, I was able to laugh my ass off as well – but the overall feeling was one of gratitude to the entire team – writers and actors – for saying “thank you” to the fans in such a gloriously Joss way. Clever beyond words, but the cleverness is full of heart and humour. Anyone who had been doubting the inclusion of Spike in Season Five surely must now understand the reasons behind such a fantastic plot device.

“Not Fade Away” is still slowly sinking in to my psyche. It was brilliant. I knew from spoilers that Our Wesley was doomed…but to see the character get to have a Good Death and be allowed to leave with such dignity and grace was a bittersweet thing, wasn’t it? I had come to adore Wes – of course, his transformation mid-S4 into scruffy smex helped but Denisof did so much with the role. He’s almost as emotive an actor facially as Marsters and he was allowed to use that strength in ways that charmed and reassured.

The last few moments of NFA just made every moment dedicated to both BtVS and Ats worth the effort, dedication and love. An open-ended ending, but for me it was filled with Hope and Joy and the sense of these characters having made the incredibly difficult choice to “do the right thing.”

It’s been an incredibly fun trip – certainly some low spots, some higher spots – but now that I’m at the end of it, I feel better for having taken it. It’s not just television. Not by a long shot.

The Big D prompt responses

2007-07-06T15:19:11Z

Too much fun! Thanks for the prompt pairings and words! I've begun hacking away at them. Here's the first batch - more later today.

One thing I learned - I'm not good at drabbles, these are for the most part, ficlets. Also...jossverse demands a kind of irreverance especially in regards to canon demons and that's a helluva lot of fun to write.

Faith was lying on her back on the thin mattress, feet propped high on the wall of the cell, ankles crossed, fingers laced comfortably behind her head. The other woman was sitting cross-legged at the far end of the bunk, suddenly far too serious and suspiciously quiet for the amount of hooch they’d imbibed in the past two hours, swallowed stealthily but steadily between guard strolls past the bars. Faith had been telling her new cellmate about Buffy, Sunnydale, the Scoobie Gang and even the Mayor in long drawn out drunken rambles for the better part of the last hour.

“You ever wish you could like twist the tit of the Dark Goddess of Fate and make her give you, say, twenty, thirty at tops, seconds of your life back. Half a minute. Count ‘em,” she held up fingers ticking them off, “thirty split seconds so you could see the blade, see that blade,” she trailed off whispering hoarsely, “before she buries it in your gut up to the hilt. Shiv in your belly but it’s your brain that’s bleeding cuz you can in no way believe what has just happened.” She looked through the dim light; the woman was staring at her, nodding the smallest nod of encouragement. “No way believe what just happened.”

“Do you wish that, Faith?” the woman leaned forward on her knees, still nodding.

“Yeah, I guess sometimes, I do. I gotta be honest, doll. I wish that…”

There was crackling and smoke and D’Hoffryn standing in the small open floor. “Ah, Miss Lehane.” He inclined his head towards Faith, his hands palmside up. He turned slightly towards the vengeance demon on the other end of the bunk, “Dorocha.”

Jailhouse hooch notwithstanding, Faith was off the bunk and on her feet, a dangerous feline crouch, in the breadth of a moment.

D’Hoffryn tilted his head further, “No need for heroics, slayer.” He stepped closer and Faith’s body visibly quivered, a blade’s edge. “Please, please. Sit down.”

She hesitated. “Now,” he intoned and she sat. The vengeance demon scowled. “Thank you. There has been, it appears, some sort of error in…the...ah...the purchase order department, acquisitions, if you will. These things happen, of course. My apologies and certainly a gift certificate can be arranged. For any future wish you may want fulfilled.”

“But…” the vengeance demon whined.

D’Hoffryn silenced her with a hand movement. “We’re leaving, Dorocha.”

“What about my quota?”

“Enjoy the rest of your sentence, Miss Lehane, which may be shorter than you think. And,” he paused, “inebriated wishing can be a dangerous pastime, best not to indulge.” He winked.

The two demons disappeared in a swirling of warped air.

Faith looked around the empty cell, reached under the bunk for the bag of booze. She took a long swig then stretched out comfortably on her back. “Damn.”

His every nerve was strung achingly tight just beneath the layer of his skin. A crisscross of sensation, reverberating through his bones, arcing between his muscles, gathering at the base of his skull and whipcracking down his spinal column to lodge in the flared points of his hips. He had to put a shaking hand out to steady himself, his palm slick against the tree trunk, talons scraping bits and pieces of bark. He leaned forward, watching her. He could feel the energy vibrating off her body, out of her mind, forming words and those words punishing the man hanging by her will in front of her.

She was exquisite.

It had been centuries since he’d last been so physically called to a woman. He closed his eyes at the thought, remembering Anyanka in a montage of images, her thin shoulders, her slight hips, her beautiful face, the time she hexed that cheating husband in a dale in Norway…oh…two or three hundred years ago now…giving him the genitalia of a Great Dane. Poor sod didn’t realize he’d actually been cursed at first glance. D’Hoffryn smirked, but the sound of a full-grown man crying pulled him out of his reverie.

Rosenberg. This witch, she was something else entirely. Yes, yes, she was consumed with grief at the moment and one small part of one of his hearts clenched with that. The lover dead, he understood…but none of that seemed to be affecting his physical reaction to her. He opened his eyes again and lowered his shoulder to the tree and leaned heavily against it, breathing hard up into his nostrils. She was going to punish the killer, he approved of this and oh gods how it made him wild with desire. He wanted her, the moment she finished with this poor brute, he fully intended to have her. On the forest floor, down amongst the blood-soaked ferns, up against a tree, over a rock, down in the creek…His eyes had closed again and then he heard voices. Someone was calling for the witch, someone or three were fast approaching through the woods. He swiveled his head trying to locate the voices.

A ripping sound tore through the air. D’Hoffyrn swung his head back. Too late. Too late. He’d missed it. Flayed. He sucked air in through his teeth.

The body burst into flames and he himself disappeared in a cloud of smoke. There would be time later. He had time. Eternities of it.

Sitting at the room-long bar, two figures at one end, side by side. General mayhem and chaos and a jukebox spinning the Pistols filling the rest of the dimly lit room. The vampire reached across the demon, hooked two fingers into a bowl of wasabi peanuts and pulled the snacks over in front of him.

“You enjoy this form of barroom refreshment I take it.”

“Sorry mate. Didn’t think you were interested.” Spike pushed the bowl back towards some invisible halfway mark on the bar between them.

The demon turned on the stool, his knees pressing up against Spike’s thigh. “Oh, I’m not interested. In the refreshments, that is.”

Spike looked down at the robed lap then looked up into solid black eyes. “That right?”

Prompt Me

2007-07-05T21:23:20Z

Something I've noticed and ENJOYED tremendously on the flist - something I hadn't seen in the other fandom I was in several years back - is the calling out for prompts. I dig this and always enjoy reading the drabbles. So much fun can be packed into a drabble with an off-the-wall prompt or pairing.

Even though I AM working on my G/W summer_of_giles fic and incubating original winged fiction...I thought it would be fun to try the flist prompts.

So...I'm wanting to read D'Hoffryn and there isn't as much out there as I would like - in the interest of buoyig up smexy demon fic - prompt me with D'Hoffyrn - pairings or such.

skull_theatre @ 2007-06-25T08:57:00

2007-06-25T15:57:51Z

Working on my summer_of_giles fic and realized this morning that my opening chapter needs…clarification. I’m penning a G/W post-Grave fic…and little bits and pieces of canon are strewn about like a fanfic writer’s jigsaw puzzle. I don’t mind trying to put it together into a picture that pleases me…but as with all fanfic…it needs to ring true or at least be plausible to the reader.

And isn’t that just part and parcel of putting one’s writerly shoulder to the wheel of a fic anyway – making the reader “see” pretty much the same thing you’re seeing? Once you’ve set the stage, positioned the lights and costumed the characters, the audience is free to partake in the play from their own box seat…but they still need a semblance of plot, character and set design in order to immerse themselves in your unique creation.

But back to the BtVSverse. As a reader of fanfic I have a HUGE allowance in which I will allow a writer creative expression in regards to canon and fanon – I want to be entertained and as long as the piece stays true and in voice to that particular writer’s interpretation, I’ll read along quite happily. But it’s always a bit nerve-wracking when fanon becomes gospel…And usually that happens with good reason, something so obviously connects to canon pieces together that it just becomes a “given” that the fanon is true to canon. But as the writer, one must take a step back and analyze the two canon bits and squint a mite and wonder…about the missing piece….its form is there, its shape discernible…but the image on it may not be the same image that everyone else sees.

How did Willow get to England immediately following Grave? How much recuperation did Giles require? Based on “canon” Willow did not attend any sort of funeral for Tara so she must have been whisked out of Sunnydale pretty damn quickly. There really was no reconciliation between her and the Scoobs before she left…

I’ve already arced out what I think happened and written the bulk of it into my fic – but feel free to hold forth. And if you’ve got a piece of fanon/canon that just is spot on and I hadn’t considered – I would certainly credit you if I massage it into my fic!

skull_theatre @ 2007-06-23T09:22:00

2007-06-23T16:31:16Z

Mmmmm....I love my Muse. Love him. He's fierce and he's a drunk but there's this side to him...that knocks me sideways every single time he appears. He is SO my animus that it frightens me sometimes.

He helped me to "solve" a plot arc problem I was having early early this morning as I lay in bed and watched him cavort in that long-meadowed grass meadow inside my skullbone. Not sure exactly how it works, and even holding forth this much may have him trotting away on his goat feet in a small pique. So, I'll stop, but I'm pleased. Inordinately so.

The Viking has left for town because, well, why yes, we do need another four-wheel drive vehicle - nineteen isn't enough. Quite obviously. *dramatic sigh*

But...I will use this purchase to my power *evil married woman cackle* seeing as how I'm coaxing this badly crippled old Dell down the weed-choked shoulder of the internet highway. I'm going to buy a new desktop - something shiny with a 22" HD widescreen monitor...and Vista...and mahjong...and even though my *cough* rather ridiculously expensive PhotoShop suite isn't going to play nice with that OS...I can still use the Dell for photographic clients...until I can put aside a cool 1K to upgrade the software.

And I've thought of the most insanely cool shoulder tattoo...but need to find the right image. Yes!

skull_theatre @ 2007-06-19T17:28:00

2007-06-20T00:42:28Z

...surfacing...

So busy.

And yes, just three weeks ago...I was worried there wouldn't be enough to keep kidlings - and thusly myself - busy once the summer break began. But I haven't seemed to have a moment to write or read...fanfiction, leastaways. I've had plenty of time to read as I'm doing a lot of sitting around and waiting. One of the perils of living forty-five minutes from town. (What DO people who "don't" read do while they're waiting?!) But not much of that time has been spent writing as the laptop is still...not seen as a tool by my persnickety goat-footed muse. I actually...believe...he is laughing his ass off at the idea of it. I'm going to have to get more aggressive about using it.

So, I've read "Frankenstein" and am now wildly anticipating Elizabeth Hand's soon-to-be released Frankenstein. Duncan's "Ink." *swoon* Also I'm not a Romance reader, but my pulp vice is vampires and werewolves - "Blood and Chocolate" could have been insanely cool...and yet still satisfied as a two hour sitting in the truck read. "Botany of Desire" was mind boggling literary non-fiction. I love that genre.

I know, I know - lists instead of reviews. Shame on me. But I'm typing on borrowed time as it is.

Saw "Pan's Labyrinth" and was beyond pleased. Yes, it could have been more but I was so happy with what it was. And "Gormenghast" with the delectable Rhys-Meyers. And "Planet Earth." I've stalled out on Ats because Season 4 was so laughably laughable that I can't quite suspend myself enough - yet - to finish out the series.

Working - inside the skull theatre - on my summer_of_giles fic. Should be quite fun. I love Giles tweaked just this side of canon.

Hope any flisters reading this are doing well, writing long and lyrical and reading for joy.

skull_theatre @ 2007-06-08T07:27:00

2007-06-08T15:07:11Z

Still busier than a corpse grinder in Hell. Catching up from my long weekend out of town – not quite sure at what point my family will actually become self-reliant and I can leave town for a small bit without…returning to dishes, laundry and moodswings. Heh. And I’ve got an evening wedding tomorrow night to shoot and that’s occupying huge tracts of grey matter at the moment – wedding photography is very much like a sporting event. It takes concentration and preparation…so, with that event and this past week being the last week of school for the kidlings, other things have been on hold this week. One of those “other things” was writing for the fun, fun, fun Jossverse challenge community still_grrr. I hope I can breathe my own air again next week and get back on the prompt horse.

Speaking of that writing community – my small Drusilla bit took Second Place last week!!! Very nice! Click on the banner if you haven’t yet read the ficlet -

I respond to the prompts in that community with the mindset of a thirty-minute fic challenge and should probably let the ficlets sit and marinate a bit before posting them – I can clearly see now that the Drusilla monologue needed…more work. Definitely needed to tie-in the idea of her blood sister with the Religious Order of nuns…sisters…and the convent to which she had fled as Angelus was tracking her…Ah well. It’s a discipline I need to work on more. That is ONE thing with fanfiction that is hard to work around – the overwhelming need to post a piece of writing before…it’s good and ready or in the case of a chaptered WIP, before it’s finished. I’ve been getting a lot of new reviews on my Davy Jones fic on fanfiction.net and I feel terribly guilty about it – my goal was to have it finished before AWE was released rendering it AU…and I didn’t get to it. Actually I got sucked up mind, body, soul and keyboard into the BtVS verse…

The perils of fanfiction. ;)

skull_theatre @ 2007-06-05T09:44:00

2007-06-05T16:45:06Z

Major performance in the skull theatre last night – or actually, this morning as I seem to follow the Surrealist tendency of having my most powerful dreamscapes unfold right before I wake…though, I often wonder if perhaps, in the otherreality that is dreaming, the dream itself has been playing for hours…and one wakes from it feeling as though it just got dreamt but really it’s been half a night of non-corporeal living…

Anyway, it was a Mystical and Magickal dream and I’m feeling the most wonderfully delicious residual affects of it still. I haven’t even begun to analyze it although two of my best friends were prominent players and perhaps I should smear a bit of it onto the slide and take a closer look. One of the “players” took the form of a dear friend who is about fifteen years older than I am and a dead ringer for Gandalf the White. He is a truly phenomenal person. He has a single tattoo right in the middle of his chest – of his wedding band surrounded by hazel sticks set in a triangular pattern. This piece represents how he feels about his broken marriage and he had it done the day he signed the divorce papers and he told me he had it done just in that spot because he doesn’t think he’ll ever not feel like he was kicked right in the solar plexus.

In the dream. He was embarking upon a Journey, in the dream. And we were at the airport, fully intending to leave, three of us, together – a place that had once been an idyll and now was soiled for a new place that was familiar. He became separated from us and we “knew” – the way one “knows” in dreams – that he was gone. Already gone. And in that same “knowing” was the knowledge that he would return years later. In the dream, in the relationships, we were involved in a polyamorous triangle and although the dream was set in an airport, the memories of the relationship played out concurrently with the airport bits as though on another part of the stage, with its own sets, own lighting, own costuming.

Hmmm…It is said that if you HAVE to tell a dream…then it bears a closer look.

skull_theatre @ 2007-06-04T19:20:00

2007-06-05T02:26:11Z

Spent a long weekend in San Francisco at a convention. Taught two workshops – strangely enough, one on photographic lighting and one on writing. It’s the uniqueness of that particular hobby…and it would be too hard to explain…here. But suffice it to say, although it wasn’t relaxing and although I came home to a ginormous mess of a house, it was a sweet weekend and I’m very glad I went.

Four to five hour drive – depending upon the traffic but I had the new The Veils album and I’m here to tell you that it is currently – and I’m predicting will stay – my top music pick for 2007. A wonderful combination between Nick Cave and 16 Horsepower…yet not. This ManBoy singer has just captured my imagination entirely and more than his voice – his lyrics just pull me into another place. And with a song titled “Pan” – well, I had to be In Love with this band and this writer.

“I knew you’d starve in Heaven…”

The other thing I listened to was the David Whyte spoken Journey – “Clear Mind, Wild Heart”

http://store.soundstrue.com/af00633d.html

Whyte is a Master. Of so many things. And although this set is expensive – I tell you, every penny will be paid from your Soul towards its own Journey and you will consider it well spent. I needed to listen to these discs again. I’m glad I listened this weekend.

skull_theatre @ 2007-05-27T10:22:00

2007-05-27T17:28:47Z

Okay, okay. I don't "read" kink...and yet...I'm admittedly completely hot for...demons. What is up with THAT dichotomoy??? Is demon lust...kinky? And to take it even further - my particular weakness is beards. Look at it - D'Hoffryn, Skip (yes, I think the ring counts as a beard of sorts), Matthew Barney's satyrs, Captian Davy Jones - and on the human end, Albus Dumbledore. Now, my husband sports a two-foot long ginger beard...so it's not like I'm looking for something "new." Heh.

But demon visage + weirdbeard = I'd hit that.

Uh-huh.

Here's my D'Hoffryn drabble for today's open_on_sunday prompt

"In His Nature"

He stood, smirking, in front of the mercury glass in his bed chamber. He ran a long-taloned hand over one of his right horns, then tugged his beard neatly into place.

Retribution, infliction of punishment, retaliation, reciprocation, revenge, vindictiveness. Tit for tat, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Master of Vengeance demons, Lord of Arashmahaar. He was exactly where he needed to be, exactly who he was.

He reached up and with a flick of both wrists settled the heavy robe on his shoulders, squaring them and inhaled deeply, closing his black eyes.

Another glorious day.