sophistry | (no subject)

(no subject)

Oh, alright. Because the world is better with mixed-fruit Kopparberg, and I will have time between tags tonight, a meme stolen (and very gently modified) from... THE PAST.

Name two (A/N: or more! I'm just saying!) characters you know I can write, and I will write you their first kiss(es).

Milliways-as-a-fandom is thumbs up, crossovers in general are the air that I breathe, and I'm willing to take a whack at pretty much any canon you've heard me babble about. Or, put it this way: if I don't think I know the fandom well enough, I'll tell you. Otherwise, why not just assume that I do. :D?

OKAY GO.

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Alexander and Hephaestion

*thoughtful* Any or all of the following (or permutate it up with various combinations):

Kaylee and Raguel

Ed Chao and Lucifer

Crowley and Tamaki

Hiro and Aziraphael

:D?

>.>

I am desperately curious about d_k-verse Crowley & Raguel, if only to see how the hell that got started. :D?

Or, well, any ethereal pairing ~~or moresome~~.

And or Mal Reynolds/Ben Wade. *_*

I could go on, but I might strain something in my flaily enthusiasm.

Gonna see Crowley and Aziraphale, and raise you Hiro and Flying Man.

What painting is your icon from? I may need a print of that.

War and any (all?) of the following people (entities):

Sylar

Aziraphael

Crowley

Kensei/Adam

I have been not-giving people prompts for these, because I don't have time to do them myself and I feel guilty, but . . .

Sweeney Todd and Six? :D?

He calls her (with a satisfied twist of his lips at his own wit) The Scarlet Woman. He'd taken her for a vision at first, passing below his window day after day after dead grey day. Sweeney Todd is after all mad, which he likes to think he accepts as calmly and reasonably as the next man, and nobody else seems to notice her. And when once, she had turned to look up at him, lips as red, red, red as her dress, his fingers had so tightened around the handle of his razor that it had slipped, and cut his other hand.

Rubies.

Sweeney's favourite colour.

Now, however, she is standing in his shop above the shit-filled streets of London, and Sweeney is not so sure. Her gloves are the same colour as his chair, upholstered to never show the stains.

"What," he asks, "may I interest madam in?"

"Funny you should ask," she replies, and pushes him down against the cushions. "Are you alive?"

"Be still," the shorter boy orders, voice high and clear with authority, "or I shall tell everyone you squealed like a pig stuck with an arrow, and you shan't be allowed to come hunting with us again."

The threat is apparently dire, and his companion (darker and gawkier, but starting to fill out) stills on the rough, rocky ground, holding his ankle. It requires not a little force for Alexander to pry it free from the other youth's hands, and bring the foot up for inspection.

There is not so very much blood, quite disproportionate to how much it hurts, and Hephaistion's face begins to flood with colour as his friend rolls his eyes, conveying quite expressively how fortunate it is in his (Alexander's) expert opinion that he (Alexander) is so frequently close at hand, since otherwise he (Hephaistion) would never make it three steps beyond the palace without tripping on a pebble and then crying over it like one of the queen's maids when he (Alexander) pulls their hair.

Hephaistion opens his mouth, racking his brains for something suitably bold with which to counter this silent condescension - but is startled into a shout when Alexander suddenly and swiftly digs his fingers into the wound, and removes the offending object with a yank.

"See? It's hardly an - oh." The culprit, the thorn in Alexander's red-stained fingers, is nearly as long as a spear-head. And the prince looks at it, looks at Hephaistion, and looks suddenly contrite (which is worse, almost, than his irritation).

"I'm fine," the taller boy blurts pre-emptively, chin jutting mulishly. But it's too late; awkwardly and obviously in imitation of not-so-very-long-ago nurses, Alexander bends and swiftly kisses the gouge in Hephaistion's heel. Hephaistion almost kicks him away in surprise, but then the prince's strange and mismatched eyes are looking back over the tops of his toes, and pinning Hephaistion right where he is, far better than any arrows.

"Better?" he asks, through lips that are pink to left and right, and in the centre, are the same bloody red as the royal fingers.

Hephaistion, for the second time in as many minutes, merely finds he has an unfortunate talent for abruptly losing everything he means to say.

"Good!" Alexander bounces to his feet, confidently assuming Hephaistion's silence for assent. "I want to see if Phoenix has caught us any rabbits for dinner, and I hope you'll put up at least a decent race back to camp."

Edited 2007-12-19 22:14 (UTC)

"Ed," Crowley snaps again, low and urgent.

"What?" comes the eventual, slightly irritated reply, as Ed Chao disengages himself briefly. "What is the matter, Uncle Andy?"

"Yeah." It's almost a purr (think panther, not kitten), as the girl in red twists around in Ed's lap and bats brimstone eyelashes at Crowley, smiling. She trails an absent fingernail down Ed's grinning cheek. "What's the matter, Uncle Andy?"

You should know that this is followed up mentally five minutes later with:

"YOU LET ME MAKE OUT WITH SATAN. ...GOD, I'M AWESOME."

THIS IS NOT THE KIND OF SHOTGUN-BRANDISHING THAT CROWLEY SIGNED UP FOR. :O

:D!!!!!

It is so true.

Ooh, nice. I like!!!

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