Towards Twilight

Meme: Fic Commentary

Fri, 06 Feb 2009 03:40:31 GMT

Well... I'm jealous of those of you who get to attend the NYCC because it's supposed to be just bursting with Green Lantern goodness this year. I'm a con-sketch junkie, and I want a Pat Gleason Guy Gardner and an Ivan Reis Sinestro so bad that I can taste them. (If anyone's wondering, they taste like paper, ink, and my disappointed tears.) I'm hoping I'll get to hit up another con with both of them attending later in the year. If there's any sweet, free GL convention swag to be had up there, someone hook me up?

Obviously my muses have been fairly dead for the past month. I'm less than ten prompts from finishing my Guy Gardner claim, but Guy apparently isn't speaking to me right now. I have a lot of half-formed ideas for Guy, Hal/Kyle, and Booster, as well as some more dystopian Elseworld, Cootieverse, and Justice Kitties stuff, but nothing's quite coming together. And yes, more Sinestro, but I'm trying to go easy on that lest I drive my entire readership away, or blind them completely.

So until my muses allow me to write again, have a meme blatantly stolen from poisonivory: comment with one of my fics (all conveniently found on this very blog) and I'll attempt a movie-style commentary.

Or alternatively, because I know a lot of my fics are really long, you could just ask me something specific about them that you've always wanted to know. Hows, whys, "WTF were you thinking", that sort of thing. Hell, ask me anything you want. I think there's another meme floating around about things/parts of fics that never quite made it into the final product? That's fair game, too. Sure, why not.

I'm hoping revisiting some old stuff will get my juices flowing for new stuff.

Ficlet: Prophecies (Abin Sur/Sinestro)

Wed, 04 Feb 2009 07:24:09 GMT

Title: Prophecies
Author: Duskdog
Characters/Pairing: Abin Sur/Sinestro
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 493
Summary: What Abin Sur says: "War! Destruction! Doom!" What Sinestro hears: "Blah, blah, blah."
Disclaimer: DC owns 'em.
Author's Notes/Warnings: When Abin heard the prophecy about the final fate of the Corps, I find it hard to believe that Sinestro's evil role as the greatest traitor of all time wasn't mentioned. So why was it Sinestro he warned, and Sinestro's name on his lips as he died? Well, I'm sure there are plenty of reasons, but this is fanfic, and in fanfic, the answer is always "Because of the gay." Duh. :)

Sinestro gets up first. He's not one for dallying about in bed after the fact anyway, but today he's impatient. Irritable. He's been away from 1417 for too long, and the normally steadfast and dependable Abin Sur is babbling like an anxious child in need of comfort.

"You used to be so sensible," Sinestro grumbles, half lament and half chastisement.

Abin doesn't look hurt. Just earnest. "And that's exactly why you should listen to me. You know I'm not an alarmist. You know I wouldn't be worried without good reason."

"What I know is that you're actually taking the word of a criminal seriously, and that I, unlike you, don't have time to hang onto the every word of a madman."

"I'm telling you because you're the only one I trust to make it right."

Sinestro sighs and rolls his eyes, sitting on the edge of the bed and busying himself with his boots. "Yes, yes, I know. No one in the Corps can do anything without me to hold their hand while they do it, or to fix it after they screw it up. But I had thought that you would be the one person out of all of them who could take care of himself without needing to be babysat!"

"All I'm asking is that you listen. What harm can it do just to hear me out?"

"Claptrap like that is nothing but poison for the mind, and you're showing symptoms I'd rather not suffer myself. How long has it been since you've taken leave? Ten years? Fifteen? Maybe it's time you did. Keeping away from your home planet for too long is bad for the soul."

Abin narrows his eyes. "You think I'm not in my right mind? That's what you think?"

"I think you need to put your pants on and go home, Abin. I'm done with you for today."

Stubborn, final, and all too curt -- that's Sinestro, and Abin knows him well enough to know that he's not just talking about the prophecies. It wouldn't matter, anyway. There's something about Sinestro's natural manner that can make anybody feel like a whore no matter the circumstances.

It's part hurt and part anger that makes Abin say what he hadn't ever intended to say.

"He told me about you, too," he says quietly. "About things you'll do someday. Terrible things."

Sinestro goes very still and quiet, and for a long moment, all Abin can do is stare at the narrow back still turned to him and wonder if, just by saying the words, he's spread the poison, after all.

"If what you say is true," Sinestro says finally without turning around, "then why am I still the 'only one you trust to make it right'?"

Abin doesn't even have to search himself to find the answer.

"Maybe I do believe the prophecies," he says, reaching out a hand to grasp Sinestro's shoulder. "But maybe I believe in you more."

Ficlet: Pyrrhic Victory (Iolande/Soranik, Kyle/Soranik)

Tue, 03 Feb 2009 06:10:00 GMT

Title: Pyrrhic Victory
Author: Duskdog
Characters/Pairing: Iolande/Soranik, Kyle/Soranik
Rating: G
Word Count: 396
Summary: Iolande wanted Kyle out of Soranik's life. She got her wish.
Disclaimer: DC owns 'em.
Author's Notes/Warnings: Spoilers for Green Lantern Corps #32.

Jealousy is unbecoming of a princess, and so Iolande doesn't say anything, but pretending it's not there doesn't make the feeling go away.

Soranik Natu is single-minded, married to her work, and Iolande spends half her time trapped by politics on Betrassus. They don't see each other as much as Iolande would like, and when they do, they're usually too busy to socialize -- and yet there's the growing closeness of fighting for their lives side-by-side. It's a delicate balance. Iolande has the luxury of that odd, professional closeness without ever having to admit to herself or to Soranik that she wants something more. And in the back of her mind, there's always the certainty that, when she's ready to take that step, Soranik will still be there waiting to be caught because she's far too preoccupied with doctoring Green Lanterns and fixing Korugar to have time for any silly romantic notions.

Then along comes Rayner, and suddenly Soranik is less interested in administering medication and more interested in administering... well, Iolande tries hard not to think about it. One minute everything is fine, and the next, she's watching them flirt in a way that they seem to think is coy but which is really just, in her opinion, ridiculous. The looks they keep giving each other when they think no one is watching are obvious even to the rookies who don't know either of them. Once, she even feels Rayner's foot brush hers under the table, a gesture she's certain was intended for the woman sitting next to her. It's sickening, completely out of the blue, and it's just not fair.

She's tied up with royal business on Betrassus again when the call comes down: Attention, Lanterns. The Book of Oa has been rewritten. Physical relationships and love between members of the Green Lantern Corps is forbidden from this moment forth.

Her initial reaction is outrage. How dare they dictate something so personal -- particularly when the person she's interested in just happens to be another Green Lantern?

But then she thinks of Soranik and Kyle and the look they had given each other over dinner the last time she'd seen them, and she's almost ashamed to admit that a part of her is thrilled by the new law.

After all, if she can't have Soranik, then at least she knows that he can't, either.

Fic: Meticulous (Hal/Sinestro)

Mon, 02 Feb 2009 06:13:04 GMT

Title: Meticulous
Author: Duskdog
Characters/Pairing: Hal/Sinestro, implied Abin Sur/Sinestro
Rating: R
Word Count: 1699
Summary: Sinestro pays attention to Every. Little. Detail.
Disclaimer: DC owns 'em.
Author's Notes/Warnings: Warning you now for: completely made-up facts about Korugarian physiology (come on, it's not like Geoff Johns is going to tell me this stuff!), weird implications about Sinestro's sexual habits, and, well... naked Sinestro. Even so, it's not intended to be porn so much as a Sinestro character study. In my mind, he's OCPD, among other things. Luckily this is not nearly as non-con as it initially appears. (And I had to seriously fight the urge to have Kyle walk in on this just for the lolz.)

Sinestro tells himself that he's taking his time in order to enhance the fear, to feed that looming sense of dread until it blossoms into fevered impatience -- do it, just do it already, get it over with! -- but the truth is, he's just this meticulous about everything, and he couldn't change now even if he wanted to.

He's never seen a naked human torso before except in brief glimpses through ragged windows torn in green and black spandex in battle, and he isn't one to waste the opportunity laid out before him. The paleness of the skin amazes him. It isn't pink, not precisely, but not yellow or orange or white or brown, either. More like a little bit of all those -- orangey-yellowish-pink overlaid on white, with a hint of golden tan that deepens as his eyes roam upwards to the face.

He finds, upon close examination, that it's the delicate webwork of blood vessels beneath the surface that gives the skin its pale pinkish tint. His initial reaction is to find the discovery grotesque. Skin so fair that the very blood beneath it affects its basic coloring? Disgusting. There are even places, he discovers, grasping one hand and turning it over to expose the wrist, where the veins are clearly visible to the naked eye, blue and pulsing and all too vulnerable.

And yet, the thought of hot blood rushing so close to the surface is fascinating, too. Beautiful. He holds the hand tightly in his and reaches out with his other hand, stroking across those blue veins with one finger. He can feel the little ripples of flesh there where the skin is soft, softer than the rest of the flesh on this body. It's strange. Smooth, but not silky-smooth like Korugarian skin, and he can't quite place what it is that gives it that quality. Soft, tiny brown hairs pepper the length of the arm, a different shade and texture than that on the head, and he brushes his hand just over the surface from wrist to elbow, ruffling them. Hal's whole body shivers as tiny bumps rise up all over his skin, and Sinestro watches, entranced. Korugarians do not get goosebumps. Nor do they have skin blemishes like the small dark-tinted patch of skin at the base of Hal's throat, so tiny that most people wouldn't notice. Sinestro is not "most people".

Birthmark, Sinestro's ring supplies helpfully in the back of his mind, for his ears only, because that's what he has commanded it to do for all these years: to provide information, to keep a running commentary in his head in response to all his unspoken questions no matter what he might be doing at the time, because he can't stand not knowing. Congenital melanocytic nevus. A benign overabundance of pigment.

"Even your skin cells are disorderly, Jordan," he observes wonderingly, stroking a thumb over the birthmark. "How has your kind managed to survive this long when your own bodies insist on rebelling?"

Hal answers the only way he can -- with a sharp inhalation through his nose, the barest toss of his head, the flexing of muscles against yellow bonds that don't give an inch for all his efforts.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot I revoked your speaking privileges. It's a shame that you can't be trusted not to say something that would only make this worse for you. The gag is for your own protection, you see. But if you can behave yourself like a proper gentleman for a while, I might consider removing it."

Hal's response is reflected only in his eyes, which promise an eventual retaliation that won't be gentlemanly in the least. While Sinestro has always approved of Jordan's use of the mask (far too much is given away by the eyes alone, he believes -- a skilled opponent can read your next move in combat from them, and anyone with half a brain can deduce what you're really thinking by looking in your eyes), he's also glad that draining his power ring meant getting rid of the mask, too. He's never had the chance to properly study Hal's eyes. He sees a lot of emotions reflected in them, but fear is not one of them. While a lesser man might look away to avoid his direct gaze, Hal doesn't, and Sinestro approves.

He pushes himself up and straddles Jordan's hips, running both hands down the smooth, muscled chest before him. His ring names the muscles one by one as his palms brush them: pectoralis major, rectus abdominus, external oblique. Their names aren't really important to him right now, but if he knows then he doesn't have to preoccupy himself with the fact that he doesn't. The anatomy isn't precisely the same as Sinestro's own, but it's close -- very close -- and he doubts that Jordan has ever bothered to wonder, as he does, at the abundance of humanoid races in the cosmos, all startlingly similar despite the distances between their respective home planets. Ungaran musculature, for example, was only another variation on the same theme, and he tries not to remember the exact placement of them beneath his fingers, or the way red skin contrasted with the more purplish tones of his own.

Like a sculptor shaping clay, he uses one finger to trace the creases that separate the muscles of the Earthman's abdomen. They flex in response to his touch. He brushes them with his fingertips, light as a feather, stroking down to the smooth, sensitive area where abdomen becomes groin, and Jordan's belly quivers. He lowers himself and slides downward in one smooth motion so that he can draw his tongue straight up from groin to navel, and Jordan squirms and groans. Sinestro is focused on the taste of human skin. Korugarian taste buds put too much emphasis on saltiness, and the result is not entirely pleasant. More enticing is the way Jordan's whole body dances like a puppet on a string with each wet touch, so he ignores the taste and retraces all those creases with his tongue, anyway, reveling in the feeling of absolute control.

The sex, he could do without. Physical intimacy alone has rarely done anything for Sinestro -- it's messy and wasteful of time and energy, and makes him feel like he needs to bathe again (and again). But the control, when he can get it, when he can find it, is sweet. Without control, the universe spins around him in chaos and he can't see to stop it and can't feel to get a grip and he drowns in it -- everything must be in its proper place or he loses himself. Hal Jordan is one of those things that refuses to stay put. And here he is, under control at last. All this attention -- not quite foreplay because foreplay implies something else -- is torture for Hal, yes, but perhaps more importantly, it's aphrodisiac for Sinestro, because it isn't until he's absolutely certain that Jordan is firmly in hand that his own body begins to respond. Once it does, he wills his costume away without ceremony, letting the touch of his flesh speak for itself.

Let Jordan mull over that in tortured silence for a while.

It feels nice, this... touching. He pushes himself up to a sitting position again, rocking slowly to enhance the sensation. Ah, yes. It's been a long time since he was last moved to passion. Seven years, eight months, and fifteen days, in fact. He keeps track not because the lack of sex matters to him, but because time is one of those things that's easy to pin down and count. He doesn't even need the ring to do it for him, and that's important. It's how he keeps things orderly in his head when he can't rely on the ring to force the world around him to behave to his liking. He arranges, he re-arranges, and he counts.

He rubs himself against Hal slowly. Beneath him, Jordan takes a deep, shaky breath in time with each movement. One, two, three.

Sinestro leans back down and pulls himself up Hal's body, deliberately sliding flesh against flesh, until he can look him right in the eye again, his face inches above Hal's. There isn't nearly as much perspiration on Jordan's face as he can feel on his own, and he tells himself that it's only because he's the one putting forth all the effort.

"Isn't this what Earthmen fear most?" he taunts. "Victimization? Emasculation? An attack on your sense of manhood, on the seat of your ego, your very sense of self? Such a fragile concept of masculinity your people have; such a terribly limited view on the dynamics of sexual power. I almost pity you."

He runs a hand through Jordan's hair, strokes it back from his face, and the thickness of it only reminds him of one more thing Hal has that he doesn't; not anymore.

"Tell me, Jordan: knowing that you're powerless here, that there's nothing you can do to stop this, knowing that your friends are far, far away, knowing that I'm going to have my way with you..." He pauses dramatically, reaching up with one hand to trace the yellow gag with his finger, willing it to disappear at his touch. "Do you fear me now?"

Hal takes a gasping breath of fresh air, lets it out abruptly, and licks his dry lips before speaking. "It's taken you fifteen years to decide to try this, and now you've done nothing but spend half an hour admiring me inch by inch? Sinestro, right now the only thing I'm afraid of is that you're going to die of old age before you finally get around to actually doing it!"

"Don't be such a sassy boy, Harold, you egotistical little peacock. It makes me want to hurt you."

"I thought that was the whole point? Unless..." He cocks his head, his lips quirking smugly. "Unless that's not the point at all."

"Sassy!" Sinestro scolds again, and with only a thought, the yellow gag appears over Hal's mouth again as quickly as it had disappeared.

Behind it, Hal smiles.

Rant: A Moment of Red Lantern Rage...

Wed, 14 Jan 2009 05:02:58 GMT

Dear Person Who Outbid Me Within Five Seconds of the Auction Ending on the Custom Heroclix Crucified Sinestro:

My rage for you burns like the heat of a thousand bloody suns. It was Sinestro. On the Red Lantern Symbol Cross. Crucified. It was beautiful. And you took it away from me. At the very last second.

I know you sat there staring at that auction, waiting for that very last second to put your bid in -- and I can't fault you for that, because that's how auctions are done. But knowing that doesn't erase the pain I felt when my one-click bidding finger was just a tiny fraction of a second too slow. It's going on eleven at night here, and I literally just yelled "SON OF A BITCH!", waking my sleeping wiener dogs and disturbing my cats, and probably also the neighbors and possibly people in adjacent counties and townships.

Atrocitus is a fool, soon to be deposed. When I take over, my Red Lantern Corps will hunt you down, and my rage will burn you from the inside out. And then, perhaps, I will allow the Hate-Wieners to feast on your remains and digest you -- while you still live.

Sincerely,
Red Lantern Duskdog (I used to be a Blue Lantern, you know. You converted me. Thanks. Thanks a lot.)

Whew. Okay, I feel better now. Sometimes a little rant is all it takes, isn't it? Seriously, I hope the person who won this is a really big fan, because I am ~~kind of crushing on~~ really appreciating Sinestro right now. The customizer has some other really nice figures up, and I really hope he/she does another one like this one. I'd pay... lots. On the bright side, I won a Blue Lantern!

Fic: Like Home (Eddie, Jaime)

Tue, 06 Jan 2009 06:29:06 GMT

Title: Like Home
Author: Duskdog
Characters/Pairing: Eddie, Jaime
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,381
Summary: Red Devil sleeps over at Blue Beetle's house.
Disclaimer: DC owns 'em.
Author's Notes/Warnings: Time for me to speak sacrilege: I... like the current Titans better than the old Titans and Young Justice. I love Jaime. I love Eddie. I love M'gann. I love Rose as Ravager. I even like Amy and hope she sticks around. I didn't like Cassie through YJ and her earlier Titans appearances, and I wanted to punch her in her stupid whiny face after Kon's death, but she's finally growing on me now. I'm neutral on Tim (even though I like him better than I like the other Robins, he has seriously grated on my nerves ever since Kon died and unlike Cassie has yet to stop annoying me). I still miss Bart, and I'm sad that Kon never got to finish developing into the stellar character that he was still in the process of growing into, but... well, I'm really enjoying Teen Titans now for the first time in ages. Team Red and Blue is a big part of that. They're turning into the new Blue and Gold! (Seriously, have you read the newest Teen Titans? I'm trying very hard not to take certain comments in that issue as subtext.)

Eddie spent his first hour at the Reyes household sitting on Jaime's bed, waiting for him to finish his homework.

"Sorry," Jaime apologized sheepishly, sitting sideways in his chair with his writing arm propped on the desk, pencil poised above the paper. "I got sidetracked stopping a mugger on the way home so I got a late start on this, and Mom says I have to finish before we can 'play'." He winced at his mother's choice of words. She had been mostly kidding about the "play" part, but she most certainly was not kidding about the homework.

When Mrs. Reyes called them for dinner, Jaime led him to the bathroom, first. "She'll ask if you washed your hands," he explained, lathering up his own hands with soap. "And she can totally tell if you lie. My mom knows everything."

At dinner, Eddie answered a thousand questions from Jaime's little sister Milagro, who seemed fascinated by his tail and horns and kept having to be told by her parents to stop being so rude (but kept asking the questions, anyway).

"Do you really know the devil?" she asked him between forkfuls of rice.

"I know Blue Devil," he explained. "It's not the same thing as, you know... the real devil."

"Who Devil?"

He sighed. "Yeah, I get that a lot."

"Are you really going to Hell?"

Mrs. Reyes nearly choked on her drink. "Milagro!"

"Well, that's what the kids at school said!"

Eddie was glad that his complexion and natural body heat made it impossible for anyone to tell when he was flush with discomfort and embarrassment. Of course no one but Zachary Zatara knew about the deal he had made (he should tell Jaime... eventually), but it wasn't the first time he had gotten a question like that based on his appearance alone -- one that hit a little too close to home.

"Uh, it's okay," he insisted. "No, I'm not going to Hell. I'm actually a pretty good boy," he joked, flashing white fangs in a smile that was probably scarier than he intended it to be -- or would have been, if his face didn't still have that lingering look of skinny teenage goofiness. "But if I keep hanging out with your brother, I might be in trouble."

That made her giggle, and quite suddenly, he was Milagro's new best friend.

After dinner, Jaime got up to help clear the dishes but Mrs. Reyes excused them so they could go hang out together -- only it didn't quite work out, because Milagro followed them.

"Does it hurt when I do this?" she asked, pulling Eddie's tail.

"Well yeah. How would you like it if I pulled your tail?"

"I don't have a tail!"

"Well then, what's the curly thing attached to your butt?"

While they tried to play Mouse Trap, which was quite possibly the best board game ever in Eddie's opinion, Milagro climbed all over him, trying to ride on his back and use his horns to steer him around. When Jaime made her leave, she came back five minutes later with the Hannah Montana board game and insisted they play that instead. When he made her leave again, she came back with three drinks, trying hard to be helpful and fit in, and spilled them all over the game board.

"Mooom!" Jaime yelled in exasperation.

"Milagro!" Mrs. Reyes called upstairs, not even requiring any explanation in order to know exactly what was going on. Eddie was impressed. "Leave your brother and his friend alone!"

Milagro sulked and stomped off, pausing only long enough in the doorway to inform Jaime of his change in status. "You're not my second-favorite superhero anymore. Red Devil is my second-favorite, and you're only my third-favorite!"

"Who's her first-favorite?" Eddie asked after she was gone.

Jaime sulked in a way that looked remarkably similar to the way his sister had just sulked, but Eddie thought it wise not to point that out. "You don't want to know."

The Mouse Trap game, now dried and free of cola, ended the same way all Mouse Trap games end up: they abandoned the game itself and just built the trap and set it off over and over again, catching plastic mice and, later, a whole bunch of Jaime's action figures. They discussed the possibility of someday getting their very own action figures, and what action features they'd want to have if they did. Jaime wanted a voice chip with smart-mouth scarab-speak, only Eddie said it wouldn't be funny because no one else would be able to understand smart-mouth scarab-speak. Eddie wanted to be like a cigarette lighter, where you could maybe flick his tail and fire would come out of his mouth, only they both agreed that this was an unlikely action feature for a children's toy.

"Rose would use it," Eddie said wistfully.

Which, of course, led to teasing about Rose, which led to teasing about Traci, which led to a pillow fight, which led to Mr. Reyes knocking on the door and checking in on them just to make sure that a supervillain hadn't dropped in to kill them or something (one could never be too careful about these things), which led to him telling them a story about his own youthful romance with Mrs. Reyes and giving them all sorts of helpful advice about girls that neither of them would really pay much attention to until they were about ten years older and had learned it for themselves the hard way.

When Mr. Reyes finally left, they settled down to play video games (not too close to the television, because Jaime's mom was determined that he wouldn't ever need glasses if she could possibly help it). Jaime trounced Eddie at Murder Lords 3, and then Eddie returned the favor on Zombie Chomp, which led to a discussion on whether humans were white meat or dark meat, and what they probably tasted most like.

At ten o'clock, Jaime got up and turned the television and game system off.

"You don't have a bedtime, do you?" Eddie asked, blinking with surprise.

"No, but no video games after ten. Mom says they over-stimulate you and keep you awake." Jaime shrugged, trying to effect a 'eh, moms, what can you do' sort of demeanor, but Eddie got the distinct feeling that normally Jaime was fine with the house rules.

"Oh, that's cool. They're probably rotting our brain or something, anyway. Speaking of which, got any comics?"

Jaime did, and they stretched out on the bed to read the new General Glory comic -- now a mature title with grit and blood and rape and the "realities" of war -- but neither of them had ever read the old General Glory comics, so they wouldn't know the difference, anyway.

Jaime put his third comic aside and rolled over onto his back, glancing over at Eddie with a peculiar expression on his face. "Sorry this turned out so lame, Eddie."

"Lame? What are you talking about?"

"You know... my family and all. I guess my house is pretty boring after practically growing up on a movie set and hanging around with a stuntman like you did."

Eddie sat up. "Man, are you kidding? I love your family and your house and your rules and stuff. My parents didn't care what I did. I mean, I could have poked my own eye out with a drill, and they'd have just fought with each other about whose fault it was while I was bleeding in the floor. Your place feels like home. It's... cool. "

"Seriously?"

"Yeah! You think maybe your parents would adopt me?"

Jaime grinned. "Oh yeah, they were going to do that whether you liked it or not. It's just nice to know that you don't mind."

"Mind? I'm moving in tomorrow. Maybe they'll let me have your room. You can sleep in the doghouse or something. You know, wherever third-favorite superheroes sleep."

"Ha ha, very funny."

Eddie stretched out on his back, folding his hands behind his head, closing his eyes. "I bet your mom makes pancakes in the mornings and won't let you run out the door without sitting down to eat, doesn't she?"

"Yeah. How'd you guess?"

His only answer was a happy sigh.

Challenge Fic: About the Journey (Guy/Kyle)

Wed, 31 Dec 2008 07:46:18 GMT

Title: About the Journey
Author: Duskdog
Claim: Guy Gardner
Characters/Pairing: Guy/Kyle
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 979
Prompt: Bite (T13; P01)
Summary: Guy and Kyle's honeymoon involves a lot of fur. And teeth. And claws. What, you expected it to be normal?
Disclaimer: DC owns 'em.
Author's Notes/Warnings: Yeah, I'm still convinced they'd get married. And then stuff like this would happen. The Wacky Adventures of Married Guy and Kyle: A Comic Book for the 21st Century. I'd buy it.

Kyle had had a lot of occasions during his life to imagine the various ways that he might die. Fighting alongside the Justice League and patrolling the stars as a member of the Green Lantern Corps had opened his eyes to a lot of gruesome possibilities, and it seemed that he learned a new one every day.

Tonight, crouched against a wall in the kudzu-covered stone ruins of an old church with the full moon shining down through the gaping hole in the rotten ceiling, watching his partner's body grow and contort and sprout spiky red fur in places where none should have been, he had to wonder why "death by werewolf" had never occurred to him before.

Guy's uniform split in a dozen different places as he grew up and out and the same time, muscles bulging. The hair on the top of his head lengthened, became more coarse, and spread, sprouting first down his spine and then out from there. Fingers grew long, nails lengthened and sharpened into claws. His jaw morphed outward, combining with his nose to form a muzzle.

And when it was done, he looked away from the moon and fastened his piercing gaze on Kyle, lip curling into a snarl, saliva glistening.

Kyle tried to back away, but his back was already against the wall both figuratively and literally. His ring was dead. He tried to will something from it -- anything -- but got nothing, not even a glimmer, and there was nothing close enough to use as a makeshift weapon. Maybe if he was fast enough he could pry one of these loose stones from the crumbling wall...

Guy moved before Kyle could even complete the thought, closing the few short feet between them in only an instant, one clawed hand shooting out to press against Kyle's chest and pin him to the wall. There was a flash of white teeth as that muzzle dove in for the kill...

...and instead of the feel of his throat being ripped out, Kyle felt a single sharp nip, right on top of Guy's favorite hickey-spot.

He dared to open one eye. He could hear the beast's heavy breathing right next to his ear, smell the earthy, furry scent of his coat, feel the warm wetness as a tongue gently lapped up the drop of blood left behind by his fangs. "...Guy?"

The monster that was Guy pulled away and sat back on his haunches in front of Kyle. Though the face had changed, the eyes were the same old eyes that Kyle knew, sparkling with mischief.

"Yum," Guy answered in a growly sort of voice. His new mouth and throat weren't formed perfectly for human speech anymore so it sounded a little odd, but the tone was all Guy, and the peculiar way his lips curled back from his fangs was reminiscent of a classic Guy Gardner grin.

Kyle finally remembered to release the breath he hadn't even realized he had been holding. "You asshole. I thought you were going to eat me!"

"Nope. Not feelin' any particular need to kill and maim and cannibalize, here." He sniffed Kyle as if considering it anyway. "But, uh, I do kinda have this crazy urge to hump you."

"So basically the only thing that's changed is that I'm going to have to start shaving your back for you?"

"Pretty much," Guy agreed cheerfully. He held his furry hands out and turned them over, looking down at himself in wonderment. "Huh. There's a cure for this, right?"

Kyle frowned and stood. "Uh... a silver bullet?"

"I mean a cure that won't, y'know, kill me."

"I guess? I hope? I think so?"

"I hope so, too. 'Cause if I'd've known there wasn't, I wouldn't've bit you just now."

"Wouldn't have..." Kyle put a hand to his neck where the bite-mark still throbbed a little, and felt a tiny drop of warm wet blood there. The color drained from his face as realization set in. "Did you just... infect me?"

"Looks that way."

"On purpose?"

"Yup."

"Why?!"

Guy shrugged his furry shoulders. "Well, we're after a secret werewolf cult. Don'tcha think it'd be easier to take down a secret werewolf cult if we're secret werewolves, too?"

"...I want a divorce."

"You just said the vows two days ago -- how could you forget 'em now? 'For better or for worse,' blah blah blah? Any of that ringin' a bell?"

"There's nothing in the vows about 'in stupid situations and even stupider situations'."

Guy grinned again, and Kyle wasn't quite sure how he was able to tell the difference between a smile and a snarl, because really they both looked about the same on a werewolf face, but somehow he knew. "C'mon, pup. With our rings non-responsive, Hal and John are sure to come lookin' for us soon, and I wanna be hidin' up in that thicket when they do. Fifty bucks and a massage says that I can make Hal say 'Great Guardians!' before they get us 'wild beasts' subdued."

He frowned. "I'm a little more interested in getting cured than I am in playing bogeyman with Hal!"

"Kyle." Guy threw an arm around his shoulders, nearly knocking him over when he failed to consider his own enhanced strength. "When I promised you a honeymoon you'd never forget, I wasn't just talkin' about the sex. It's not about the destination, baby -- it's about the journey."

Kyle sighed a little, not quite smiling. "And the journey involves being werewolves for a while."

"Marriage is an adventure, Kyle."

A smile finally crept onto his face, and he looked up at the moon, feeling a strange tugging sensation inside as his eyes fastened on it.

"Fifty bucks and a massage says I can infect Hal before you do," Kyle said almost dreamily as he felt his body begin to change.

Babbling: Redheads in Comics

Sat, 27 Dec 2008 19:05:49 GMT

I don't read a lot of Marvel comics anymore now that the Avengers are nothing like they used to be (both the team in general and the characters themselves specifically). I'm been keeping track of Thor, which is quite a nice book with wonderful art. And while I only vaguely kept track of the Secret Invasion thing, I did buy every single issue of Secret Invasion: Inhumans because I happen to have a weird love affair with that wacky royal family of theirs.

But this is not a post about Inhumans. No. This is a post about something far more important, something the Inhumans reminded me of.

Hair color. Redheads in particular. There seem to be a lot more redheads, proportionately, in comics than there probably are in real life. I can't complain about that, because I love redheads. But you know what I noticed about comics?

If the redhead is a man, his hair color is almost always that pumpkin-orange shade of "red".

But if the redhead is a woman, her hair color is almost always that bright, flaming red-crayon shade of red. (Also, I note that there are more female redheads than male overall. I suppose that in a woman, red hair is considered sexy, but in a man, it's usually associated with quirkiness or goofiness, or sometimes just the stereotypical bad temper.)

Male redheads: Guy, Ralph, Roy, Jimmy Olsen, um... I'm sure there are more. Banshee, IIRC? Pumpkin orange.

Female redheads: Babs, Mary-Jane, Jean Grey-Summers, Medusa, Batwoman... yeah, I know there are more. Bright red.

I'm sure it changes a little depending on the colorist (I'm pretty sure that Guy's hair has been bright red a time or two), but in general, the rule seems to hold. The only exception I can think of off the top of my head is Crystal of the Inhumans, who has generally been depicted as a bonafide pumpkin-head, but who has recently occasionally been colored blonde instead. I always thought her hair color was neat, because she and her sister are both redheads, just different shades of red!

And that has been my babble for the day.

Belated edit: young Iris West! She's got the same pumpkiny shade of red as Wally... but let's be honest, we know it's only because she had to have the same hair color as her daddy. If she wasn't connected to him and had been created as a full-grown separate character, it probably would have been bright red, too.

Challenge Fic: Home for Christmas (Guy/Tora, John, Hal, Gardnerspawn)

Wed, 24 Dec 2008 07:24:11 GMT

Title: Home for Christmas
Author: Duskdog
Characters/Pairing: Guy/Tora, John, Hal, the Guardians, the Gardnerspawn
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2,559
Prompt: Special Prompt #2 -Holiday Miracle
Summary: Guy's kids are ready to celebrate Christmas. Only Guy is stuck two-thousand, five-hundred and seventy-three space sectors away.
Disclaimer: DC owns 'em. The Gardnerspawn are mine. (Owning them is like owning ferrets.)
Author's Notes/Warnings: Christmas fluff is good for the soul. For the DCU Free For All Winter Holiday Challenge.

There was nothing like Christmas to remind Guy of how big the universe was, and how tiny and insignificant Earth was in comparison.

Back on Earth it was Christmas Eve, and a large portion of the planet was celebrating, or preparing to celebrate. He didn't usually keep track of Earth time out here because it didn't matter, but he kept checking in with the ring every fifteen or twenty minutes to see what the time was back in his neighborhood, anyway. Six o'clock. Everyone would be getting home with their last-minute shopping by now, maybe having dinner or finally settling down some for the evening. Maybe they had relatives over and were talking with parents and siblings that they hadn't seen in months, or maybe they were trying to make sure the kids were asleep before they snuck out back to bring in the toys that "Santa" would bring for tomorrow morning. Even people who didn't celebrate Christmas were surely aware of it, and maybe when they turned on the radio and "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" came on, they hummed along anyway.

Out here in space, it was just another day, and no one really knew or cared that some of the silly half-evolved population of a tiny backwater planet orbiting Sol were celebrating something special.

If he was home, he'd be trying to help Tora corral the boys into bed. Gunnar would be telling the other boys to get to bed right now or else, without actually making a move towards bed himself. Garth would be making a secret plan to catch Santa, only he would forget the secret part and tell everyone as he planned it out. Griffin would be bouncing off the walls, adding more frost to the tree each time the frost he made three minutes before melts away ("So's it looks snowy, Daddy!"), because despite their best efforts, someone somewhere during the course of the day would have offered him a candycane or a chocolate or something else that his parents didn't want him to have. Rocky would hide in his crib beneath his blankie for a while, but eventually he would climb out and come looking for Mommy, because someone had told him that a stranger was going to come down their chimney in the middle of the night, and Rocky was afraid of strangers, chimneys, and giant red parkas. And once all the boys were finally snug in their beds and the house was quiet, Guy would sit in the chair by the fire and rock Peppermint Baby to sleep while Tora put the finishing touches on the last of the ribbons and bows.

Instead, he was out here billions of miles away, patrolling a sector normally watched by a pair of Green Lanterns who were currently both badly injured and in recovery on Oa.

"Aw, come on!" Guy had protested to the Guardians when his petition to Salaak had failed and he had finally been granted an audience with the smurfs. "There's gotta be somebody else who can do it! You got at least half a dozen Lanterns I can name right off the top of my head who're sittin' in the bar doin' nothing right now!"

"This is your responsibility, Honor Lantern Gardner," said Annoying Smurf (if they weren't going to take names for themselves, Guy didn't think they should be allowed to complain if he assigned them names himself). "Whatever injured the Lanterns of Sector 241 is still out there, and the sector remains unguarded from this threat and any others. You must protect the sector in the absence of its assigned Green Lanterns, and endeavor to discover what transpired there."

"But it's my baby's first Christmas!"

"Your what?" asked Pain-in-the-Ass Smurf.

"His offspring," clarified Listening-Comprehension-Difficulties Smurf.

"I am aware of what a baby is," Pain-in-the-Ass Smurf retorted sharply. "I was referring to the 'Christmas'."

"It's a holiday," Guy explained. "Real important. Family, you know."

"Holiday by its very definition is a recurring phenomenon, is it not?" said Smartass Smurf.

"Well, yeah, every year, but..."

"Then there will be others," Annoying Smurf said, as if that were that.

"But it's Grady's first..."

"You have many offspring, do you not, Lantern Gardner?" asked Overstating-the-Obvious Smurf. "Yes? Then this is hardly an event."

"But my kids...!"

"You baby goats can wait," said Annoying Smurf, this time clearly no longer interested in arguing. "You are dismissed."

As the chamber's doors had closed behind him, Guy had seriously considered saying 'screw it' and quitting the Corps right then and there. But he was older now, and he tried not to make rash emotional decisions like that anymore. He'd found that he ended up regretting fewer decisions if he waited until he could talk things over with Tora first. Just thinking about it made him realize that quitting would do him more harm than good in the long run.

But he was still out here in space, and his kids were still way back on Earth waiting for Santa without him, and he didn't have to be happy about it.

He'd been flying around in open space for several hours, scanning for anything unusual, keeping his channel open to pick up the communication frequencies of local planets in the hope of catching wind of something interesting going down, but so far, all was quiet. It figured. If he was looking to relax, the universe would be in imminent danger of imploding, but when he felt like busting heads, there was never any trouble to be found.

He was so busy feeling bitter and sorry for himself that the chirp of an incoming communication on his ring actually almost startled him.

John Stewart's image appeared in emerald just above his ring. "Hey Guy, having any luck out there?"

"Nope," Guy grumbled. He wasn't really in the mood for fooling around, and John's tone betrayed way more jocularity than he thought he could handle right now. "It's like the whole sector's on super good behavior just for me."

"You're not busy, then? No giant space worms or flesh-eating aliens?"

"Busy doin' nothing, if that counts. Space worms are all scared a' me, and the flesh-eating aliens already found out how sour I taste. Whaddya want?"

"You sound sour. Behave yourself, or these little gentlemen might decide they don't want to talk to you."

Guy pulled up short and hovered, giving his full attention to the ring as John's image was replaced by another image of four young faces, each wearing a pair of plush reindeer antlers, and each with a small dab of paint on the end of his nose.

"Hi, Daddy!" said Gunnar, waving a hand that was clearly wearing a mitten made to look like a reindeer hoof. "I'm Blitzen!"

"I'm Dasher!" said Garth quickly even as Griffin was drawing breath to announce "I'm Dancer!"

At the end of the row, Rocky cowered silently until Griffin elbowed him hard.

"I'M ROCKY!" the littlest boy blurted in a panic.

Gunnar sighed, Garth rolled his eyes, and Griffin smacked himself in the forehead. "Mooooommy! He messed it up again! I toldja he would!" Griff elbowed his little brother again. "You're s'posed to be Prancer, stoopid."

"What's up, reindeers?" Guy asked, hoping to head off an argument before it began.

"Just came to say Merry Christmas!" Gunnar said proudly.

"Merry Christmas Eve," Garth corrected. "You can't say Merry Christmas 'til it's really Christmas!"

"Can so!"

"Can not so!"

"Reindeers!" Guy interjected sternly. "Santa's still watchin'! It's not too late for him to cancel your presents, y'know."

All four boys went silent so abruptly that for a moment, Guy wondered if their little hearts had stopped. He couldn't tell by the green image before him, but it was easy to imagine them all going pale all at once, and he couldn't remember ever saying anything that had made them all behave so nicely so quickly. Ah, the things a child will do for Christmas present.

"You don't think he saw, do you, Daddy?" Gunnar asked quickly. "He's not mad, is he?"

Guy scratched his chin, pretending to consider. Long ago, he'd convinced the boys that Green Lanterns had a straight line right to Santa, and Guy, of course, was very good friends with the big guy himself. It made it easier to bribe them into behaving as Christmas drew near, and it was useful for finding out exactly what they wanted because they gave him their lists to deliver to the North Pole instead of just sending them the old fashioned way. "Weeeell... he's pretty busy, so he might not've noticed."

"We've been good all year, haven't we, Daddy?" prodded Garth with an almost desperate look in his eyes.

"You been okay, I guess. Gotta confess, reindeers -- you coulda been better."

"I got all A's except for reading!" Gunnar said. "An' I stopped a litterbug in the hallway at school when I was on Safety Patrol!"

Guy nodded. "Not bad, not bad. But you also keep tellin' your little brothers to shut up, and you know Mama don't allow that."

"I made a possum in art class that got fird place," said Garth. "And when Mommy told me to do somefin, I did it. You fink Santa saw me be good?"

"I'm sure he did, Dasher. But I bet he also saw you cut all your hair off and make Mama cry."

Griffin bounced up and down. "I was gonna put Rocky in the pipe in the ditch an' tell him not to come out 'cause the grass in the yard was poison, but I didn't!"

"Yes, you did!" Gunnar accused. "Mama thought he'd got kidnapped and called Aunt Bea and Unca Ted and Unca Booster and the Justice League and the Nash'nal Guard and everything!"

"Only once! But I was gonna do it again, and I didn't 'cause of Santa!"

"And 'cause Aunt Bea fried your bottom good," Garth muttered.

Griffin looked back at Guy. "An' even the baby's've been good, Daddy! Peppermint Baby's poop hasn't leaked outta his diaper in two whole days, and Rocky only ate outta the trash once!"

"Cookies," explained Rocky shyly.

"Coffee filter," Gunnar corrected, glaring sternly at the toddler. "No no!"

Guy grinned. "I'm sure you been good enough to get somethin' from Santa, reindeers. Might be better than switches, anyway."

Four tiny reindeer looked back at him hopefully, and he wondered if Tora had sewn little tails onto their costumes because he could imagine them wagging. But of course she did. Tora never got tired of making adorable animal costumes, and adding adorable animal tails and ears, and dressing her children up like adorable animals. Bea had suggested that they just go ahead and trade the kids in for a litter of puppies instead... and Tora had liked the idea so much that she'd made them all puppy costumes.

"But Santa's gotta fink we're the best!" Garth said.

"The very best," Gunnar added. "Do you think he does, Daddy? Can't you talk to him and tell him all the good stuff we did?"

"An' the bad stuff we didn't do even though it woulda been lotsa fun?" Griffin pleaded.

"Please tell him, Daddy! Tell him about when we helped you make a cake for Mommy!"

"An' when we took all those food cans to school for the poor-people fing!"

"An' when we didn't try to send Rocky back to dinosaur times when we was in Unca Booster's time lab, even though we coulda 'cause he left the keys in the time machine!"

Guy held up a hand. "Whoa, reindeers. It's okay. I'm sure you're gonna get a whole heap of presents. You don't need any more -- you gotta let other people have some, too. There's lots of good boys and girls who've gotta get theirs."

Four little mouths opened slightly, eyes wide and sad and completely crushed.

"But Daddy," wailed Gunnar, jaw trembling. "We don't want no presents! We had Unca John call Santa and tell him that he could keep all our presents, if he'd just bring you home for Christmas instead!"

"But I don't fink we was good enuff for such a big wish," Garth said softly, a tear escaping from one eye and running down his cheek.

A lump formed abruptly in Guy's throat, and for a moment, he didn't think he could speak even if he had known what to say. His eyes burned, but he hoped that his image filtered through the rings, all green, made it so they couldn't see how shiny they were. "I'm... I'm sure you guys were good enough for a wish like that. Way, way good enough. But... y'know... it's kinda the last minute. Santa's got his sleigh all loaded. I don't know if he's got time to come all the way out to space and get me and find me a replacement and get me home and everything. You understand, right? If Daddy don't make it home for Christmas, it's not 'cause you were bad. It's just 'cause sometimes stuff happens to make life sad."

"But Santa's magic, Daddy!" Gunnar reminded him desperately. "He might still come, if we wish real hard! He might!"

"We'll all wish!" said Garth hopefully, wiping his own tears with the back of his brown reindeer sleeve. "Us an' Mommy an' Unca John an' everybody! Aunt Bea's comin over an' she'll wish if I ask her to, an' I'll call Unca Ted and Unca Booster, an' Unca Hal and Unca Kyle, an' Unca Scott and Aunt Barda, an'..."

"I'll make Peppermint Baby wish so hard that he poops!" Griffin declared with a little too much enthusiasm.

Guy swallowed back tears. "Reindeers... sometimes even Santa can't make wishes come true." It was a lesson he'd learned as a child, himself, and one he had hoped his boys wouldn't have to learn until they were much older. "Not even when he really, really wants to."

"Hey," said a voice from behind him. "Don't count Santa out just yet."

He turned to look, and there hovered Hal, grinning fit to burst, green-ringed santa hat cocked rakishly on his head. For a moment, Guy's mind refused to process this, stuck instead in a refrain of all the smartass comments he could make about Hal and jingle bells, or Hal and candycanes, but when he opened his mouth to speak, the only sound that came out was "...?"

Hal put a finger to his lips, gesturing to the image of the boys still floating above Guy's ring. They could still see Guy, of course, but they couldn't see Hal.

"Ho ho ho," he whispered. "You're relieved. Go home."

"But..."

"We've got it covered. John put in a special call to Santa, and well, here I am. I volunteered, and the Guardians approved for me to take over for you temporarily." Hal waved a hand in dismissal, his grin suddenly teasing. "As if there's ever been a job you could do that I couldn't do better, anyway."

That lump in Guy's throat reappeared for an entirely different reason, but before he could say anything, Griffin's small voice piped up: "Daddy? What's wrong?"

He looked back at the image of the four reindeer above his ring. "Oh, nothin', buddy. Just the sound of sleigh bells gettin' closer and closer. Looks like Santa can fly pretty fast through space, after all."

Fic: Fly Away (Elseworld Bea/Oberon, Scott Free)

Fri, 19 Dec 2008 06:12:10 GMT

Title: Fly Away
Author: Duskdog
Characters/Pairing: Bea/Oberon, Scott
Rating: R (Mature themes, but nothing explicit)
Word Count: 2,736
Continuity: Elseworld prequel -- roughly six months before Diamond In the Rough
Summary: Oberon is just a step away from freedom. But it’s the hardest step to take.
Disclaimer: DC owns ‘em.
Author’s Notes/Warnings: Bea/Oberon is probably the least-written canon pairing in the DCU. (In fact, I’ve never seen it. Ever.) I’m actually a little bit sorry that my first attempt at tackling them is in an Elseworld where the relationship is so twisted and violent.

Oberon lay awake in Bea's warm embrace, trying hard not to stare at the door.

Tonight, Scott's signal had said, and that was all it needed to say because he knew exactly what his friend was talking about. Tonight was the night that Scott Free was going to do the impossible. Tonight was the night that he was going to break out of the very heart of Lord Maxwell's Citadel, extracting a slave right out of the bed of Lord Maxwell's own knight.

Oberon's heart hammered in his chest so hard that he feared that Beatriz would surely feel it and wake. Freedom. For the first time in his life, freedom was so close that he could taste it.

And yet so many things could go wrong. What if someone had learned to decipher Scott's signals to him and there were guards waiting to ambush him as soon as he appeared? It had been hard for them to keep in contact with Oberon sequestered up here on the floor that Maxwell's Knights called their home and Scott many floors below doing... whatever it was he was assigned to do. Maybe someone had noticed the way they lingered in the halls together just an instant too long on those rare occasions when they happened to come into contact? Or what if Scott was caught? There was a lot of ground to cover between there and here, and there was a chance that he'd be seen or heard with every single step he took. Oberon had no idea how Scott planned on getting to him, let alone how he planned on getting out, but he feared for his friend and he feared for himself.

They had met in the back of a transport truck where slaves were crammed in so tight that they barely had room to sit down -- Oberon, the lifetime slave, and Scott, too well-built and clean-cut to be anything but new to the life. He said that he'd always been a slave, but Oberon knew a lie when he heard one. Still, there was something about the young man that Oberon liked and trusted, so he didn't inquire further or let on that he knew better, subtly doing his best to teach Scott the rules so that he wouldn't accidentally get himself killed by acting too bold. He hoped that someday Scott would trust him enough to tell him the truth about who he really was, where he really came from, and why he felt the need to lie, but for now, he was just content to have his friendship.

"I could leave this place any time I wanted," Scott had told him the first time they met again after being brought to the Citadel -- Scott in a mass of other slaves purchased by Lord Maxwell, and Oberon at the side of Beatriz, bought for an entirely different purpose. "But I have work to do first. And when I go, I won't leave without you, Oberon. I promise."

Oberon had never had a friend before, and he desperately wanted to believe that Scott would keep his word. The realist in him kept reminding him that his friend had no reason to come get him. It upped the risk involved in any escape attempt by a thousandfold. It was obvious that Scott had some other, greater purpose for being here -- maybe even some greater purpose for being -- and what was Oberon but a dirty little man of no use to anyone?

Only Beatriz had ever looked at him as anything more than that, and a part of him wasn't so sure that it wanted to leave her.

It was slavery, yes. He hadn't thought it possible that anything could degrade him more than he had been degraded his entire life, but Bea had her ways. She would have been a hard woman to live with under the best of circumstances (honestly, he kept expecting Guy Gardner to swat her into a wall), but living with her while completely at her mercy at all times was almost more than anyone could take.

She had unpredictable mood swings. Or at least, unpredictable to him. Never leaving the Citadel, never knowing what her business was in the outside world unless she chose to tell him, he often had no idea what sort of mood to expect her to be in when she came home. Like a good obedient slave, he hurried to her side when she arrived, staying close but not quite underfoot (he had learned the hard way early on that she didn't like it when he hovered too close any more than she liked for him to ignore her presence).

If things were going well for her, she might greet him warmly, maybe even with a kiss, and ask him to run ahead and draw a bath for her. While she relaxed, she might talk to him, tell him things about her life and work, speak to him the way a woman spoke to a friend or lover -- an equal. She might invite him into the bath with her, and it was times like these that he didn't mind serving her in whatever way she wanted. Before Bea, he had never known a warm, gentle touch. He didn't remember his parents. There was only work and more work, driving himself as hard as possible. Others assumed his small stature made him weak, and his entire life had been a struggle to keep from being taken advantage of by everyone he had ever known. There was always this doubting little voice that tried to tell him that Bea only thought of him as her pet freak, but when she was holding him, stroking his scalp, telling him how good he was for pleasing her and how very special and how she would never let any harm come to him, he almost -- almost -- believed that she loved him.

Sometimes he almost believed that he loved her, too.

Then there were the other times. There were days when nothing he could do would please her. If he stayed too far away, she said he was spurning her; if he came too close, then he was clinging. If he touched her, it was invariably in the wrong manner and he needed to be retrained; if he didn't touch her, then he wasn't being receptive enough to her needs. If he tried to take care of something for her, he was obviously trying to apologize for doing something bad -- what was it, Oberon, what have you done? And all he could do was hang his head and make something up, because once she was convinced of something, his denials were all lies to her ears. Better to be punished for some small transgression that he had never committed and could pretend to be genuinely sorry for than to be punished for the major sin of lying to her face.

Bea was cruel when she was angry. And when she was inflicting the scars that would stay with him forever, he hated her with more passion than he had ever hated anything in a life filled with opportunities to hate.

Still... it was a better alternative than the life he had lived before. (Wasn't it? He often asked himself that in the dead of night.) He always had food. He always had clothes, real clothes, and they almost made up for the collar. No one else touched him, because Bea was too jealous to share him, and he was perfectly happy with this arrangement. He never had to worry about fighting for anything he wanted -- all he had to do was ask, and if he had been a very good boy, she didn't mind spoiling him a little. When he was ill, he had the best of care, and though Doc Kord made him very nervous, he knew that Bea would never allow him to be hurt. She protected him fiercely, and had once killed a soldier for daring to strike him.

And... he'd be lying if he said he didn't relish their lovemaking. Not the sex -- and certainly not the kinky, degrading things she did to him sometimes -- but the times when she gave herself to him, when she seemed real, genuine, passionate, and maybe even a little vulnerable. Yet, the nights when she treated him like a lover didn't quite make up for the nights when she treated him like a dog.

Scott said that there was a better place out there somewhere, a place where people were actually free and treated one another with the respect due to all beings -- even dwarfy ones. And while there was a possibility that Scott might just be insane, Oberon chose to believe him. He had to believe him, or he had nothing left to believe in at all.

A shadow fell across them and Oberon jumped. His eyes slid up to Bea, but she slept soundly, helped no doubt by the powder that he had slipped into her drink much earlier in the evening. Scott had snuck it to him months ago with instructions not to use it until he got the final signal, and had sworn to him that it wasn't lethal. If it was something that would hurt her, Oberon would never have used it.

Carefully, he turned over beneath her arm and sat up just enough to look out the window.

Scott hovered there just outside the window, waiting. At first Oberon thought he was flying under his own power, but no -- when he looked closer, he could see that he was standing on two small disks, and the hovering didn't look at all effortless. It looked more like a balancing act with no net.

Slowly, Oberon lifted Bea's arm and slid himself out of her embrace. It was guilt as much as caution that made him reach for a pillow and slip it under her arm in his place, but she didn't even stir -- whatever Scott had given him was potent stuff. The thought made him look closely to make sure that she was breathing, and she was, deep and even and relaxed.

He slipped into the clothes he'd kept ready for a quick escape and finally came over to open the window.

"Told you I'd come," Scott whispered cheerfully, as if making ridiculously gutsy escapes was something he did all the time.

Oberon peered out over the ledge and down, down, down, but the ground was so far below that he couldn't see it in the darkness. He didn't know how many floors the Citadel was comprised of because he wasn't allowed to roam more than a few of them, but he knew that there were more than a hundred, and that they were near the top. "You're loony. You're flying away from Lord Maxwell's own fortress, from the heart of his empire, on a pair of plates, and you expect me to step out of a God-only-knows-what-story window and go with you?"

"This is the only way I could get to you. I might have gotten her and Gardner out like lights, but I can't find anybody who can get to Kord, and I don't think the man even knows when it's day or night. He was still prowling around awake, last I checked. And Lord Maxwell's robot never sleeps. Some soldiers I could deal with, but Lord Maxwell or the Knights might be biting off more than I could chew. Besides... the goal is for this to look like a well-organized escape, and nothing more. I don't want them to know much about what they're really dealing with here, so we need to get out without being seen."

"Wait... how did you get to Gardner?"

Scott smiled. "Same way I got to your mistress there. Through someone close. I've got a girl on the inside."

"Are we taking her, too?!"

"I tried, but she's not interested in leaving. Not yet, anyway. I'll never understand how anyone could turn down the chance at freedom. Freedom is the whole reason I came to this pl... place."

Oberon tried not to think about that too much. He'd ask Scott where he really came from later, preferably when the man wasn't the only thing between him and falling to his death. "Where are we going?"

"Someplace safe. A place Maxwell doesn't know about."

"Is it far?"

"Could anywhere be too far away from here?" Scott countered, raising his eyebrows.

Oberon glanced back at Bea again. He couldn't help himself. The truth was, he knew her better than he knew Scott now even though he had known Scott longer. True, Scott had never hurt him and Bea had... but everything he knew about Scott was based on lies. Even now the man wasn't telling him the truth about who he was and why he was here. Bea, for all her faults, was honest, or at least never told a lie that she wasn't also telling herself. And if he stepped out that window, he had no idea where he would be going. Maybe it would be just like Scott said, and he'd be free -- did he even really know what free meant? Or maybe, like the last time he thought he was rescued when Bea picked him out of the slave yard, he would just be a different kind of slave in a different kind of place.

He knew where he stood in Bea's bed. There was warmth and safety back there, and maybe, just maybe, a little bit of love, too. Was slavery such a high price to pay for that? All those years as a labor slave had given him nothing but a bad back and an even worse disposition. Here, at least, he was occasionally -- often, even -- rewarded for his efforts.

And then he wondered what had happened to the tough-as-boot-leather dwarf who would crack a man's skull for trying to steal his bread, who had resisted and resisted and took the worst Bea could dish out for months before even showing a hint of good behavior, who had sworn that he would never submit. The man he used to be seemed like a distant dream, so distant that he hadn't even thought about him in ages. There was a time when, given the freedom to walk around unchained like this while she slept, he would have grabbed the nearest heavy object and bashed her brains out with it. Now, he was actually fighting the urge to go crawl back into bed with her and hide away.

A pussycat. She had turned him into a pussycat.

For the first time in a long time, he felt a surge of that old familiar rage and defiance. "Nothing'll be far enough for me. Are we going to fly the whole way on those... things?"

"No. I have another way of travel that's much faster -- but we have to get far enough away from the Citadel to use it without attracting attention. It's... loud."

He looked back at Bea one last time. She was sleeping peacefully, clutching the pillow, and for just an instant, he didn't think he could fight that urge to run back to her and crawl back into bed and forget this jumping out of windows and flying away nonsense. If he left her now, he could never come back. If he left her, she would kill him if she ever saw him again, even if he was crawling back on his hands and knees to beg forgiveness.

Maybe... maybe it was time that Oberon was done with crawling on his hands and knees for anyone.

Scott floated outside the window, balancing on those things as if he had done it for years, and held out his hand. Oberon took it, and Scott pulled him out into his arms, holding him tight and giving him a moment to feel secure and realize that he wasn't going to fall.

"Okay?" Scott asked after a moment.

"Okay," Oberon agreed, glancing back through the window once more, but he knew now that he had made the right decision. The cool night air all around him made him feel like he could fly away anywhere.

And then he realized that he could.

He turned his head away from the Citadel, closing his eyes tightly. "Go."

Babbling: My Wish List

Mon, 15 Dec 2008 23:55:41 GMT

The Rules:

-Make a post (public, friendslocked, filtered...whatever you're comfortable with) to your LJ. The post should contain your list of 10 holiday wishes. The wishes can be anything at all, from simple and fandom-related ("I'd love a Snape/Hermione icon that's just for me") to medium ("I wish for _____ on DVD") to really big ("All I want for Christmas is a new car/computer/house/TV.") The important thing is, make sure these wishes are things you really, truly want.
-If you wish for real life things (not fics or icons), make sure you include some sort of contact info in your post, whether it's your address or just your email address where Santa (or one of his elves) could get in touch with you.
-Also, make sure you post some version of these guidelines in your LJ, or link to this post (it'll be public) so that the holiday joy will spread.
-Surf around your friendslist (or friendsfriends, or just random journals) to see who has posted their list. And now here's the important part:
-If you see a wish you can grant, and it's in your heart to do so, make someone's wish come true. Sometimes someone's trash is another's treasure, and if you have a leather jacket you don't want or a gift certificate you won't use--or even know where you could get someone's dream purebred Basset Hound for free - do it.

You needn't spend money on these wishes unless you want to. The point isn't to put people out, it's to provide everyone a chance to be someone else's holiday elf--to spread the joy. Gifts can be made anonymously or not--it's your call. There are no rules with this project, no guarantees, and no strings attached. Just... wish, and it might come true. Give, and you might receive. And you'll have the joy of knowing you made someone's holiday special.

1. Bea and Tora. Yeah. But since I can't have the real things, I'll settle for fic or art. It can be femslash or just gen -- I think they're a hot couple, sure, but I would be perfectly happy reading about them being just BFFs forever and ever. I'd even be happy with fic focusing on just one or the other, even pairing them with other people -- Guy/Tora of course or Bea/Oberon or... you know, I really desperately want to see more Tora and Booster friendship type stuff for reasons that I can't explain. I just want more Tora and Bea stuff in fandom in general. There's tons of Boostle, a fair amount of Guy (though honestly most of this is stuff I wrote myself), but oh so little Bea and Tora. They are endangered species! See?

Endangered Tora:

Endangered Bea:

The guy who is about to get EATEN by Jaguarzhino!Bea:

(This ad sponsored by the scientific research that says that using cute pictures of baby animals can sell ANY service or product, including Bea and Tora fic requests.)

2. JLI in general. You know I love Guy, Bea, and Tora, but I also love Booster and Beetle, Max, Scott, Barda, Ralph, Wally, Peej, L-Ron... yeah, you get it. And Superbuddies! I'd love some fic/art of any of the above, either seperately or as a group.

3. Stuff to keep me warm! I am a terribly cold-natured person -- so much so that I'm miserable all year round. Seriously, I try to explain this to people and they think I'm exaggerating, but I'm not. I spend almost the entire year honestly miserable because in the winter, it's freezing cold outside (and I never seem to be able to generate enough heat inside in order to sleep comfortably), and in the summer, every place I go has the air conditioning turned up so cold that I can barely stand to stay indoors. Restaurants are bad about this. Perhaps worst of all, I have a job that means I spend most of my day with at least half my body sopping wet. So! Things I love: gloves, sweaters, caps, warm socks, blankets, blankets, and more blankets.

4. Original art of any kind. Original comic pages, convention sketches, color guides, and fan art all occupy places of equal honor on my walls or computer, depending on their format. It doesn't even have to be "beautiful". I dig quirky, funny stuff.

5. Green Lantern swag. The weirder the better. I don't care if it's something ridiculous, like a Green Lantern toothbrush holder that you painted yourself -- I will cherish it forever and ever.

6. I'm missing one Guy-centric issue. It's from the comic based on the Justice League cartoon, and it's fairly recent but I can't recall what issue number it is. It's one where Guy takes on Darkseid? If you have a spare copy or at least know the issue # so I can order it from somewhere, I'd love you.

7. Dachshund stuff. I love weiners and might soon be adopting two more to add to my household. That is all.

8. A magic spell that will make all the dog owners in the world more responsible. I became a groomer because I love animals, but now I understand why it's so hard to be in an animal-centric profession such as this: you never stop wanting to strangle the owners. I've seen dogs so obese that they can barely walk, dogs so infested with fleas that the water literally runs red when I bathe them, dogs with nails grown out and curled under and into their feet so that their feet are infected and toes are permanently splayed, dogs so badly matted that they can't even open their mouths all the way because the top and bottom jaws are matted together, dogs so poorly socialized that they attack everything in sight, and OWNERS who don't seem to understand why all these things should count as cruelty. Then I see the countless ads on Craigslist for people wanting this or that designer breed, and I just wish I could make them all understand that YES, these dogs require brushing and that "I don't have time" isn't an excuse for your dog any more than it would be for a child; YES dogs require patient training before they'll be housebroken or have good manners and that if they don't get this training, it's YOUR fault and not the dog's; YES, when you get an animal you're commiting to it for the remainder of its life, and getting a divorce, having a baby, or having to move is not an excuse to get rid of a dog except in extreme circumstances.

Whew, sorry, this is a tough time of year for groomers.

9. I want to make it to the comic con in either Chicago or San Diego this year. If I wasn't a bit of a fatty, I'd totally dress up like Tora and recruit me a JLI posse. Hey, wait, I could be fatty genderswap Ted...

10. An old-style Volkswagen Beetle. I'm still saving my cash, but this is the first step on my route to the ultimate geekmobile: The Blue Beetle. Imagine it -- a fully restored Beetle, painted in Ted's costume design. Dark blue on top with the scarab outline on the hood and trunk, light blue on bottom. Matching interior with all custom parts. I've always had a love affair with VW Beetles and always wanted to do something beautiful to one, and I've always thought Ted's blue on blue was about the coolest color scheme ever, and thus the plan was hatched. I've been told the custom paint job alone might actually cost me more than the car itself, so it's going to be a slow process, but it's my dream to make it happen.

Fic: The Blood of Gods and Kings (Elseworld!JLI)

Mon, 15 Dec 2008 07:45:28 GMT

Title: The Blood of Gods and Kings
Author: Duskdog
Characters/Pairing: Tora, Bea, Ted, Guy, L-Ron, Queen Olaf (flashback only)
Rating: R
Word Count: 5,473
Continuity: Elseworld. Flashbacks take place sixteen, twelve, eight, and four years ago respectively. The "present-day" sections of the story take place directly after Diamond in the Rough.
Summary: Tora's story. Tora sleeps, Bea makes a deal with Mad Doc Kord, Guy notices… things.
Disclaimer: DC owns ‘em.
Author’s Notes/Warnings: Nothing explicit, but there are definitely some mature themes here (slavery, rape, war, etc.).
Special notes on Norse mythology/Tora's spirituality, because this will come up again: Given the culture she grew up in, it's likely that Tora was named in honor of Thor, Norse god of thunder. He's generally regarded as a loud, brash redhead (hmm...), but he was also viewed as a protector and is a very important god to Tora's people. It's worth noting that when slaves die, they go to Thor's hall, Bilskirnir. Vali, who gets one tiny mention here, is a Norse god of vengeance.

When Tora thought very hard, or sometimes when she dreamed, she could remember her ancestral homeland. But mostly all she could recall was the last time she saw it.

The whiteness that had surrounded her for all her six short years of life was stained red. The blood of her father and uncle and all the men she'd ever known seeped into the snow -- blood that had so recently churned and sung in response to the siren call of battle. Her people had been isolated for many generations now, but the old ways had been cherished and passed down, and when the enemy finally came, they met it with all the ferocity expected of Odin's chosen people. They did not know the difference between "outsiders" and "aliens" because so few of them had ever seen a human from the outside world, but it didn't matter. They rose up to a man -- the old and infirm, the boys with nary a whisker on their young cheeks -- and fought to defend their home and families. The storm that was brought to bear by all the men of the mythical Ice People using their powers at once was felt as far away as Rome, where snow fell three days later for the first time in twenty years.

They died in battle -- a Viking's fondest wish -- but too soon, far too soon.

"Do not be sad for them," her mother's voice soothed as the women and girls were herded into a transport ship. None of them had ever seen a real machine before, and the rumble of the engines made her cling to Mama's skirts tightly. "Even now, the valkyries are carrying their spirits to Valhalla, where they will live and fight and feast until the Ragnarok comes, when they will have the honor of fighting for the gods. It is all a warrior ever wants, and they do not mourn where they are now."

"Is this the Ragnarok, Mama?" Tora asked tearfully. They had taken away the boy-cousins who were too young to fight. They had taken away her baby brother Ewald, and Mama had once told her that she should always take care of him. How would she ever find him again?

"Perhaps," Mama admitted. "Don't cry so, Tora. Our people do not cry."

She looked up into Mama's face. Mama's husband had been slain before her eyes, her infant son torn from her arms, but she wasn't crying. The other women, too, only looked grim and angry, and those few who wept did so only quietly as they held their young daughters to them.

"I'm scared, Mama," she whispered, trying hard to swallow back her tears.

"Draw strength from your name," said Mama, running fingers through Tora's soft hair. "We named you for Thor so that you would always be strong and brave."

Tora closed her eyes and tried to imagine herself as Thor, enormous and fierce, towering over his enemies, wild red hair shining in the sun, but it was hard when she felt so very, very small and weak.

And then the transport door closed, leaving them all huddled in total darkness, and the thundergod seemed very far away.

~~~

"I love it when you bring me presents!" Doc Kord exclaimed, holding out his arms as if inviting Beatriz into an embrace.

She held a hand up. "Don't even think about it, you freak."

Guy placed the sickly little slave down gently on the examination table. The girl's head moved from side to side, and her eyes opened just a little. For a moment, they were distant and confused, and then they focused on his face in the same instant that his eyes just happened to meet hers.

"...Thor?" she whispered.

Bea shoved Kord out of the way, hurrying to the girl's side. "Is she awake? What did she say?"

Guy frowned down at the slave, but her eyes had closed again, her body going limp. He turned away and shrugged. "Just gibberish, sounds like. Poor kid's pretty far gone."

Kord sat down on a stool and flexed his legs against a console, pushing off of it to roll himself across the floor to the tableside. It would have been faster to walk, but not as much fun. "Hey! I'm the only judge of who's sick enough to be allowed to die around here. Shoo, both of you! One more step back. One more. There you go. Now.. let's take a look here."

Guy and Bea stood back and watched as Kord checked her over, Guy looking faintly bored and Bea more than a little jealous that someone else was running their hands all over her new toy. It was necessary, of course, but she didn't have to like it.

"I see they've got her on that new 'air' diet that so many of the slaves are getting these days. The good news is, just by looking I can tell you that she has the correct amount of bones in the correct places! Well... mostly."

"Get on with it," Bea urged impatiently.

He took a stethoscope and gave the girl's chest a listen, then sat bolt upright. "Good God! Tuberculosis! We've all been exposed and we're all going to die!"

"Really?!"

Kord grinned. "No, not really. Tuberculosis doesn’t work that way, anyway. But I really had you going there for a second, didn't I?"

A hand shot out and grasped him by the throat, drawing him in so close that Bea's considerable natural body heat, uncontrolled in her anger, made him break out in a sweat. "Can. You. Save. Her."

"Probably just a lung infection," he croaked, feeling her fingers dig into his windpipe. "See it in slaves all the time. Now, if you'd just let me replace her lungs with something of my own design..."

"No. Mechanical. Parts."

"She's weak and dehydrated and probably has parasites. I can't promise she'll be able to fight off any illness or keep enough food down to make a recovery. And there are still a ton of tests to run... she might have something nasty and incurable... or I might die before I can do anything because really, Beatriz, you're killing me..."

Guy grasped Bea's arm firmly. "Let him work."

Her eyes narrowed. But after a moment, she released him. Kord fell back against the table, gasping for breath.

"Fix her," she instructed him. "But if you remove any parts, or add any parts, I'll remove a few choice parts from you."

~~~

Tora huddled in a corner of the barracks, rocking back and forth -- anything to keep her mind off of the gnawing emptiness in her belly. Four years of factory work building the aliens' great machines had done none of them any favors, and she sometimes wondered if the white snowy place of her childhood was just a dream, after all. Everything here was dark and grimy, and sometimes she couldn't even identify her own kinfolk because the dirt and smoke had stained their pale skin and hair grey. At first there had been many of them, but gradually some had died trying to escape, or caught ill and never recovered, or met a horrible fate in the crushing cogs of the factory. Some had been sold and never heard from again. Those who remained stayed together, their own separate group within the great mass of slaves who treated them with contempt. Everyone was terrified of those who were different, even as they all worked side by side. The adults still had trouble speaking the language of the outside world, and relied upon Tora and the other young girls to communicate for them. The girls learned fast, but many of them had forgotten the faces of their fathers and brothers.

Mama spied her in the corner and came to sit next to her on the floor, offering her a small hunk of stale bread. "There isn't enough food to go around, Tora. You must fight the other children harder for your share."

"But they're all hungry, Mama. I don't want to hurt anyone."

"Silly tenderhearted little thing. There's no place in the world for such charity. Remember, Tora, you have the blood of gods and kings in your veins. If you want to help the weak, then you must be strong for them. If you die, you've helped no one at all."

"If I die," said Tora miserably, "someone else can have my food."

Her mother had never struck her before, not once in all her life, and it wasn't until an instant after her cheek stung that she realized that there was a first time for everything.

"Tora, daughter of Olaf," said Mama, gripping Tora's jaw in one hand and looking down into her wide, startled eyes. "Granddaughter of Haakon, great-granddaughter of Hjalmar, great-great granddaughter of Roar. Do you remember your ancestors, Tora? The line you learned at your father's knee? Would you shame them by giving up so easily? Would you shame the gods themselves, knowing that if you die, a thousand-year unbroken line of kings would end? Our people were birthed by gods, raised in the harshest corner of Midgard, and we've defeated all who came to conquer us and tamed the very elements around us. For all these years, our men have forbidden us to practice our ice magics, but don't you see? The threads of our wyrd unravel in mysterious ways. Our would-be masters here think our women cannot use the power, so that is why they allow us to live. But it's in our blood, and we can and someday we will -- or if not us, then our sons, or our grandsons, and if it's them, then someone must remain to teach them the old ways. It needn't be a comfortable life, or a happy one, but so long as we live there is always hope. And you, last of the line of kings, would give your life away so that someone might have one more meager mouthful of bread? You shame me, Tora Olafsdotter. You shame your father!"

Tora fell against her mother, clinging to her and sobbing. "Oh but Mama, how will I ever be strong enough when I'm so small?"

Mama held her tightly, rocking her. "The blood of gods and kings, my darling," said Mama. "And the strength of your name. Say your bloodline, Tora. Say it every night, in your head if you have to, but say it so that you never forget it. Say it with me now: Tora, daughter of Olaf, son of Haakon, son of Hjalmar, son of Roar, son of Eilif, son of..."

~~~

"How is she?" Beatriz demanded.

Kord looked up from the open back of the patient on his operating table. The boy, young skinny and Hispanic-looking, was semi-conscious but obviously too sedated to do anything more than roll his head from side to side and moan with pain as the mad doctor poked around his spine. "Ah, Beatriz! Just the ill-tempered, horrible person I was hoping to see today!"

Bea ignored him, stopping by her new pet's bedside to look her over. "...Her color is better," she decided finally, sounding hopeful.

"Oh yes," he agreed. "She's actually recovering a lot faster than I expected. Her physiology is incredibly robust for someone with so many factors working against her. It'll take some time to get some meat on her bones, but you'll probably be able to take her home in a few more days. Are you sure you don't want any improvements? I'd love to do a buzzsaw arm, but I could do something more to your taste. A simple tongue piercing, maybe?"

"Kord..."

"Fine, fine. Just asking!" He regarded her, tapping his chin thoughtfully. Maybe he wasn't as crazy as everyone thought, or maybe madness and genius just went hand in hand. "Does Lord Maxwell know that you've brought a meta into his sanctum without prior clearance?"

"...I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Please, Beatriz. Even if I hadn't just examined this little thing top to bottom, inside and out, I'm still a genius. Her coloring isn't exactly normal. Her internal body temperature is low enough that she should be freezing to death, but she isn't. And then there's the fact that she somehow did this when I tried to open her up," he added, holding up a scalpel encased in ice. "This was my favorite scalpel!"

"You left a scar on her?"

"No, I didn't get that far. My very favorite scalpel," he lamented again, cradling it.

Bea's jaw set. Lord Maxwell had a special interest in the few remaining metas. Either they were recruited to his cause, or they were destroyed, plain and simple. They were too dangerous to be allowed to roam around unchecked. "So she's meta. Big deal. I found her. She's mine, fair and square. He can't take her away from me."

"Oh Bea, you silly thing. Of course he can. It isn't so much that he objects to having her here, you know. But do you honestly think that he's going to allow you to have a meta as your own slave, under your power? You're a big enough threat to him already, and he's not going to allow you to make yourself any more dangerous to him than you already are."

"Lord Maxwell knows that I'm completely committed to his cause."

"Bwa ha ha!"

She took a step forward, fist clenched. "Are you calling me a liar?"

"Yes, I'm calling you that. I'm calling you exactly that!" He backed up to the edge of the main computer console and hopped up to sit on the empty space next to the keyboard. "I do see a way out of your predicament, if you're interested. I might have a tough time telling you if you knock all my teeth out, though."

She considered for a moment. Kord was right. Lord Maxwell might not kill the girl -- no, he would make her a part of his force most likely, maybe even a Knight like Bea and Guy if she was strong enough -- but then Bea would be right back where she started, with no pet of her very own, only it would be worse because she would have to look at the girl every day knowing that she should be on her knees.

"Fine," she decided, crossing her arms over her chest. "Let's hear it."

He beamed, always happy to be given the opportunity to share a theory with someone who really had no choice but to hear it. "See, I think I know what she is. And I think I know where she's from."

"Oh?" Bea had to admit to a certain amount of curiosity.

"It's in the files our alien masters left behind." Without being asked, he tapped a few buttons on the keyboard and brought up a map, zooming it in on the far north of Scandinavia. The text around the map was in alien glyphs that Bea couldn't understand, but Kord evidently could. "As you know, most of Earth fell to the invaders in the initial invasion back in the 1940's. But conquering the more remote societies evidently took much longer than we realized. Maybe it just wasn't a priority. But sixteen years ago, they conquered a small hidden kingdom here in the north of Norway. A hidden kingdom full of white-haired, blue-eyed, pale-skinned people with power over snow and ice."

"Ice?" Bea's smile was almost fond. "It's like she was just made for me, isn't it?"

"They were a war-like culture, not deemed fit for relearning or reassignment and far too dangerous to be allowed to live. The men and most of the boys were slaughtered. The infant boys, still young enough to be taught a new way, were taken away to be brought up as soldiers. The females were taken as slave labor. According to all the notes I've found, the power -- or "magic" as they called it, ha -- is supposed to be dormant in the females, but they're obviously carriers of it and can pass it on to their sons, in whom it would be active. I suspect they planned on using them for a controlled breeding program of some sort, but I don't have any notes here about what was actually done."

"But I saw frost. And she froze your scalpel. That doesn't sound terribly 'dormant' to me."

"Maybe, maybe not. Maybe her powers are active, or maybe this was all just a low-level reaction to stress in a sick body. But my point is... Lord Maxwell doesn't know that, does he?"

"Lord Maxwell knows what's in the file. And what you tell him."

Kord's eyes positively shone. "Exactly."

"So you're saying..."

"I'm saying that, if Lord Maxwell even asks -- which he might not -- I give him the information from the file. And if you and I don't mention the fact that we've seen signs of an active power..."

"Then he won't know."

"He'll have no idea," Kord agreed, tapping his fingers merrily on the console beside him. "He might decide to see what sort of little ice-babies she could put out -- it's what I would do, you know, for the sake of science -- or he might not care one way or another. But either way, so long as he thinks she doesn't have any powers herself, I can't see that he'd object to you keeping her for yourself. In fact, he might even encourage it. Under your care, he can have her handy in case he decides to do something more with her later, but he won't have to worry about someone else making use of her oh-so-interesting.... genes."

Bea thought that over. She didn't like the idea of someone breeding her pet -- or any woman, for that matter. It hit a little too close to home. But then, as Kord had pointed out, Lord Maxwell might not even care to go that route. And even if he did, it probably wouldn't be immediately. She could keep the girl for herself, and then worry about the "maybes" later.

But there was one point that still bothered her. "And what's to keep you from letting the truth slip?"

He smiled a hundred-watt smile. "Maybe I just like you, Beatriz."

"Try again."

"Maybe it just amuses me to have you in my debt, then? I'll just call in a favor when I really need one, and then we can call it even and forget this whole conversation. How's that?"

And there was the crux of the matter. If she agreed to this little charade, Kord would have information that could get her in all sorts of trouble. If she was lucky, it might just get her pet taken away. If she was unlucky, it might get her killed or worse. The smart thing to do would be to just ignore Kord and go ahead and tell Lord Maxwell the truth, hoping that she could convince him that she could be trusted with her very own pet meta. She might not get to keep the girl, but she'd at least escape with her own skin intact.

The question was, did she want this girl badly enough to risk letting Kord have dangerous leverage over her?

She looked at the girl -- pale, sleeping fitfully. Her lips moved slightly in her sleep, as if she were reciting a mantra of some sort, and Bea was less interested in what she was saying than in the soft, small mouth that was saying it. It was a lovely mouth. It was easy to imagine a small tongue darting out of it, licking delicately, oh so pretty. It was easy to imagine that forehead pressed reverently against her boot again. Those eyes looking up at her, those lips forming that one word -- please -- this time begging for something entirely different.

"Deal," she said, without looking at him.

Mad Doc Kord smiled.

~~~

Mama wasn't feeling well these days, and Tora didn't want to upset her, so she tried to straighten up her appearance before returning to the barracks. She had tried so hard not to cry, but that was a knack she had never learned, not even after eight years of captivity, not even when she recited the names of all her ancestors in her head over and over as soon as she felt that lump form in her throat and her eyes begin to burn. Mama would be worried that she was so late coming back, but she took that extra time anyway just so that her eyes would no longer be red and puffy, and so maybe, hopefully, the blood would stop.

But she couldn't hide her slight limp, and she couldn't meet Mama's eyes no matter how hard she tried.

Mama sat up in bed. For every slave that died here, it seemed they brought in two more, and there weren't enough beds for everyone. They had learned how to make themselves fit together in a bed made for only one, and Tora at least didn't mind so much. When she was smaller, she only ever felt safe when Mama was close. Increasingly, she was beginning to feel that Mama wasn't safe unless she was close. "You're so late getting back. I was getting worried."

"Someone stopped me on the way," Tora answered softly, unwrapping a section of bread loaf and a small hunk of cheese. "Here. I brought this. You need to eat it all."

She could feel Mama's eyes on her and she wanted to hide herself away with her shame, but there was nowhere to hide and that was not how a daughter of kings behaved.

"Who stopped you, Tora?"

Tora remembered a time when she was very small and everyone else was so big, and all she wished was to be big, too. But getting big had brought other things with it, changes to her body that made other people look at her in ways they hadn't before, and now all she wanted was to be a little child again, safe from these things that she didn't want to know, didn't want to feel. "A... a man, Mama."

Mama didn't speak for a long moment, and Tora busied herself carefully refolding the ragged handkerchief that she had brought the bread and cheese in.

"I did like you said, Mama. I closed my eyes tight and thought about another place. I said the line of kings in my head."

She didn't even realize that her hands were trembling until Mama's hand gripped her arm tightly, steadying her.

"The blood of gods and kings," Mama reminded her urgently, and it sounded like she was reminding herself, too. "They can't take that away from you. No one can."

"The blood of gods and kings runs red just like everyone else's," said Tora. "All over the floor if you cut us. Just like everyone else's."

"Don't confuse bitterness with strength. Remember your name, Tora. Don't forget. Don't ever forget."

She clutched the handkerchief in her hands, hands too weak to claw her way out of here, too weak to fight off the man in the corridor. There would be other corridors, and there would be other men, and she couldn't see how her continued suffering could possibly bring honor to the blood of gods and kings. "I wish you'd named me after Vali, instead."

~~~

"This just gets you off hard, don't it?"

Bea looked up from her pet's bedside to see Guy standing in the doorway to her bedroom, leaning against the doorframe and smirking at her. Kord had allowed her to take the girl into her own care with a reminder that she would probably sleep a lot at first and should be allowed to, if Bea wanted her to get well. "Oh come on. It's just a sponge-bath. I'm tired of feeling like I need to give myself a bath after just looking at her. She was filthy, and I wasn't going to put that filth in my bed. Ugh."

He came over to the other side of the bed, gazing down at the slave appreciatively, mostly just because he knew it would get Bea's hackles up. "Nice tits," he observed with all the conviction of someone who thought himself an authority on the subject. "Small but cute."

"You have two-dozen pairs of tits down the hall that you can go look at right now. Stop ogling the one pair that belongs to me."

"...One pair?"

"One," she insisted. "My own don't count."

"Heh." He leered at her, and she glared back. "Seriously, though. As hot as it is to watch you soap up another girl, that ain't what I meant."

"Say what you mean or get lost."

"What I mean, is... must really make you hot to have your very own pet meta that you can control even if nobody else could, huh? I mean, what good would an ice power ever do against you, right? Must feel like humpin' a nuclear warhead. Make that atom bomb your bitch, honey."

Bea froze. "...Meta?"

"I'm not as dumb as I look, babe. You think I can't put two and two together?" He grinned, folding his hands behind his head and stretching. "Don't worry, I ain't gonna say nothin'. It's worth it just to watch you make a damn fool of yourself over a pretty face. Look at you, riskin' trouble with Max and givin' sponge baths -- and the kid hasn't even said two words to you yet! Looks to me like you're the atom bomb's bitch, Bea."

Green flames erupted around her, and the sponge in her hand fell into ashes on the floor by the bed. "I'm nobody's bitch!" she snarled.

Guy's eyebrows raised in amusement, and he glanced, very deliberately, at the girl, who was trying to roll over and curl up, instinctively pulling away from the heat of the flames even in her sleep.

Bea's flame went out abruptly and she put a soothing hand to the girl's forehead. "Go away," she ordered Guy. "You're upsetting her!"

"I'm upsettin' her? You're the one who almost just set her on fire! You gotta tone it down, Bea. You get obsessed way too easy. No wonder none of 'em ever turn out right -- you expect too much too soon. Look at her. She don't even know she's in the world."

"I don't remember asking your opinion."

"Just don't wanna see you break another one, is all. I can't take the six months of poutin' you do when you lose one."

She pointed at the door. "Out. Now."

"Awright. But if she gives you any trouble, call me and I'll come... y'know, help."

"OUT."

Guy grinned and hurried out before she decided to toss a fireball after him or something. Closing the door to her quarters behind him and turning to leave, he nearly tripped over Lord Maxwell's little robot out in the hallway. "Watch it, tin can!"

"A thousand pardons, your bigfootedness," it said, stepping out of his way, bowing just a little.

He didn't really trust the little rustbucket -- always hovering around Max and making smartass little comments -- but he didn't really consider it a threat, either. It was alien technology, sure, but it was only three feet tall and didn't appear to house any laser arrays or have super-strong limbs or anything else. As far as Guy was concerned, it was annoying but harmless, like a mouse, or maybe a bug.

Maybe that's why he didn't think to question what it was doing on the domestic level outside Bea's private quarters.

~~~

For the second time in her life, Tora huddled in a dark transport ship, feeling the world rumble all around her as she was taken somewhere new and strange and far away. Only this time, Mama wasn't there.

At some point (it took time for accurate news to filter in) the aliens had been driven out, but nothing really changed for the slaves -- their alien masters were simply exchanged for human ones, and life went on as usual until the day that Lex Luthor brought his men to the factories to sort through the slaves. They stood them all out in the yard, moving through the masses, looking them over quickly and then shoving them to either one side or the other, where other men with electrified prods worked overtime to keep them in their assigned groups. The younger, relatively healthy slaves were herded into a transport bound for the mines. The older or sicker ones were left behind at the factory to deal with the slightly less demanding work that they had been doing for years now.

When they shoved Tora one way and Mama the other, she felt true panic for the first time in years. Most of her kin were all long gone, dead or taken elsewhere, and those who remained were only shadows of the people she barely remembered sometimes from the days before the invaders came. Only Mama's stalwart presence made it all worthwhile, and now they were going to be separated for the first time and maybe the last time, and Tora was going to pieces, fighting, biting, clawing to get back to Mama, until someone shocked her in the lower back with a prod and she couldn't even stand, let alone fight.

She lost sight of Mama's face in the crowd as more and more people were pushed into one group or the other, and the last thing she saw or heard from her mother was her voice rising above the din, calling in their native language: "The blood of gods and kings, Tora!"

In the dark belly of the ship that carried her farther and farther away from the only family she had left, the blood of gods and kings held about as much meaning as everything else in her life: exactly none.

She wondered how Mama would get along without her. Sometimes Mama's health was bad, but their people were strong, sturdy people, and she always seemed to bounce back. Only it took longer and longer every time she got sick. Tora fought for food for them both, but now Mama would have to fight on her own. She wondered if her ancestors cared about Mama at all, or if they had no pity for those not of the direct line of kings. She wondered if they cared about her, and even if they did, if it mattered at all. She didn't want the spirits of dead kings to be all she had. She wanted her live kin -- she wanted her mama -- and she hoped that the gods and her ancestors were not shamed too much when she cried openly for Mama as the ship rumbled on.

~~~

Beatriz did not remember her own mother, nor did she ever really think about her. On those rare occasions when her father had spoken about this woman who was strangely absent in Bea's life, it had only been to tell her not to bother worrying about her because she wasn't relevant to them now. Her father had kept a great many slaves on their immense Brazilian plantation, and it wasn't until Bea was much older that it occurred to her to wonder if her mysterious mother had been one of them.

But then their enemies had arrived and Bea was a slave herself, and none of that mommy and daddy nonsense mattered anymore. Her mother had given her nothing, and her father had taught her all about the ruthlessness required to survive in a world such as they lived in, and such ruthlessness left no room for sentimentality.

Still... watching her poor little pet toss her head, calling for her mother, made Bea's heart melt just a tiny bit. Obviously the girl needed someone to take care of her and protect her from the mean world outside, and Bea was just the woman to do it. Maybe that had been her problem all along. Maybe all those others just didn't need her badly enough. She had so much love to give, so very much, and she just knew that this time, she had someone who would appreciate it.

She touched the young woman's face, and this time when those eyes opened, they were sleepy but mostly coherent. The girl was in unfamiliar surroundings, looking up at an unfamiliar face, but she didn't thrash about or shrink back in fear, and she didn't open her mouth to ask the questions that her eyes were asking.

Bea liked a nice calm demeanor in her slaves.

"Don't be afraid, menina," she soothed, brushing her hair back from her face. "I'm going to take care of you, now."

Fic: Diamond in the Rough (Bea, Guy, Tora)

Fri, 12 Dec 2008 02:33:37 GMT

Title: Diamond in the Rough
Author: Duskdog
Characters/Pairing: Bea, Guy, Tora
Rating: R
Word Count: 3,934
Continuity: Unnamed Elseworlds. Takes place at roughly the same time as Mad Doc Kord.
Summary: Lord Maxwell’s Knights put down a slave rebellion and find something special hidden in the slave yard.
Disclaimer: DC owns ‘em.
Author’s Notes/Warnings: It is possible that Bea is crazier than Mad Doc Kord. Guy, whipped? Possibly. Also, a few of the minor characters mentioned in passing here will show up again eventually and have greater roles to play. I pledge to craft a universe with more Oberon in it. For Great Justice.

The battle was pathetically short.

Three, perhaps four-hundred hard labor slaves, weak from malnourishment and armed with whatever they could find (some with nothing more than their own teeth and nails) had risen up against their masters in the largest mining operation still in existence on Earth. Lex Luthor, the man who owned said operation and many others similar to it, had put in a call to Lord Maxwell requesting assistance. Maxwell, with neither the time nor the patience nor the resources to bother shipping out a unit of troops, had dispatched his own Knights with instructions to take care of the problem fast and get themselves back as soon as possible.

Beatriz only set half of them on fire initially because she knew that she'd never hear the end of Guy's pouting if she didn't leave him some to take care of after all the trouble of coming all the way out here.

Within five minutes, order had been restored. She hovered several feet off the ground, watching as the last of her "opponents" writhed in green-flamed agony in the mud below, wondering if any of those remaining slaves who were uninvolved in the conflict -- those smart enough to huddle against the walls of the slave yard, cowering in fear rather than fighting an impossible battle -- thought that anything had been accomplished this day.

Half a dozen ran by her on the right, screaming in terror, and she didn't even have to raise a hand because she knew that Guy would take care of it. Sure enough, in the next instant a giant yellow boot came down on them from above, and the sound of their screams was replaced abruptly by the crunch of bone and that peculiar popping sound that she had come to associate with such things. Hang around with Guy long enough and you saw a lot of people get crushed.

"Stop chasing them around," she chastised as he flew up and hovered beside her. "You'll start a stampede."

He grinned crookedly, sweat standing out on his forehead. It wasn't that he really needed to expend that much effort, but he had a habit of getting himself all worked up on purpose. The yellow aura of his ring protected him from the massive amount of heat she was giving off, so she knew it wasn't that. "Gotta make this worth the trouble somehow."

"This isn't fun no matter how you look at it."

Guy sobered, looking down at the pulped remains of the six would-be revolutionaries. "Nah," he agreed. "It ain't."

They landed in the center of the yard, ignoring the way that the remaining slaves (and many of their guards) scattered. It was the reaction they got almost everywhere they went, and both of them liked it that way. The more feared you were, the less likely people were to give you trouble. Bea liked to think that most of them were afraid of her personally, not just her status as a Knight of Lord Maxwell.

Only when Bea turned off her flame did someone with some actual authority come stomping into the yard from just outside the gate. Typical. The world was full of bullies and cowards who were brave only when pushing around the weak, but their courage always deserted them when faced with someone who might prove more of a challenge. Mister Luthor himself was notoriously elusive, and she had only met him two or three times, so she hadn't actually expected to see him, anyway.

Guy, always bored with the diplomacy end of things, wandered off to scavenge among the live slaves for someone who might be of interest to him, leaving her to deal with Luthor's man alone.

"Carson Jacks, Head of Operations," the man introduced, not quite extending his hand. People were always terribly reluctant to touch her for some reason. "Mister Luthor sends his thanks."

"Of course he does," Bea replied coldly.

The fake smile on the man's face faltered just a bit. "We, ah, sure appreciate your help. We're high security, but when you've got so many in one place, it's hard to keep 'em all in line. They killed a full half of my men before you got here."

"Lucky for you that Lord Maxwell thought it was worth wasting our time and energy on. Killing norms isn't something we do for fun, you know."

"Call it practice?" Jacks suggested nervously.

"If they can't fight back, it doesn't even qualify as practice for us. Either up your security, or improve conditions so they don't feel like they have to revolt." She looked around, unable to hide her disgust at the conditions these people were living in. The slave yard was nothing but mud, their clothes nothing but rags, and the barracks were far too thin to keep out the cold -- and that wasn't even considering the fact that they spent most of their days in the mines or workshops or working elsewhere. It wasn't that she felt much pity for them (pity was for the weak), but she could at least admit that if she had been in their position, she'd have been killing guards, too. She just would have been much more successful at it than they were.

Jacks cleared his throat. "I'll, uh, pass your suggestions on to Mister Luthor."

Suddenly, a shriek from off to the left drew their attention, and they turned to see Guy herding a small handful of young women into a glowing yellow cage made from ring energy. One of them managed to break free and run blindly, but she was weak from abuse and starvation, and Guy was much faster than he looked -- he crossed the distance to her and grabbed her by the wrist without even bothering to use his ring, hauling her in close.

"C'mon, honey, you don't wanna stay here," he soothed, running a finger down her cheek as she gazed up at him, trembling with terror. "My place is real nice. I keep my girls warm and fed good. And the work's way more pleasant than this." He grinned.

Bea sighed. Jacks, however, looked less than pleased and marched over as Guy picked the frightened girl up with a yellow hand and dropped her into his cage with the rest.

"That's Mister Luthor's property you've got in there!" the man objected.

Guy turned to him, raising his eyebrows. "Not anymore. You guys got more than you can control, so I'm doin' damage control -- takin' some extras off your hands."

"Those are for the mines! They'd be poor quality pleasure slaves, anyway. Don't know how to do nothing but mine!"

"Like you and your boys here don't enjoy 'em every chance you get," Guy replied, eyes narrowing. He would know. He'd been born in an operation much like this one, raised in one, and sometimes Bea wondered if he had a soft spot for the poor and down-trodden and yadda yadda yadda. If there was a crusader lurking deep inside him, he took great pains to keep it concealed, but she knew him better than almost anyone and sometimes she thought she could see trouble in his future.

"I can't let you take Mister Luthor's property," Jacks insisted.

Guy generally enjoyed his work, but she knew he liked it better when they were presented with a challenge. Standing out here in the cold, wet, and muck putting down a rebellion of thin, ragged norms armed with sticks and bottles and rocks wasn't exactly her idea of a good time, either. Having something soft and warm to take home with him would at least make it worthwhile.

"Don't tell me somethin' I don't wanna hear, Jacks," he warned, ring flashing yellow.

As much as she'd like to see a man like Jacks smeared across the wall of his own camp by a yellow fist, Bea knew that it would be chaos all over again if that happened. When the strongest were removed from the picture abruptly, there were always those who would attempt to take advantage of the sudden vacuum of power, either by trying to seize it for themselves or trying to escape the suddenly weakened hand of authority.

"We dragged ourselves out of bed in the middle of the night and flew all the way out here to take care of a problem that you should have been able to handle yourself," she told the man, taking a subtle step between he and Guy. "Don't forget that the only reason that you're in business is because Lord Maxwell thinks that Mister Luthor's operation here is good for the economy."

"Better this than no economy at all, I guess," Guy agreed, spitting on the ground.

"So it wouldn't just be nice to give us a little token of your thanks, Jacks. It would be a good idea."

Jacks frowned, hands on his hips, and very deliberately looked away. "Fine. But no more'n five. Can't keep Lord Maxwell's economy going if I give all Luthor's working stock away for free."

He swaggered back up towards the main building, pausing only to have a quiet discussion with one of his men, who nodded and stayed behind to watch them.

"Could've just let me kill him," Guy pointed out reproachfully.

"Don't start. You know that would just create more problems than it solves."

"Aw, we'd sort 'em out. We always do."

"Behave yourself." She nodded towards the small group of women, still huddled together in terror beneath his yellow cage. "Pick four."

"He said I could have five!"

"We can have five. I might pick one."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, like that's gonna happen. You're too damn picky."

"I'm not picky. I just value quality over quantity," she sniffed, casting an eye disdainfully over the women Guy had selected. Some of them were pretty, some of them were only average, but none of them were special in any way that she could see. Guy kept a great many slaves for himself, but he didn't play favorites -- as far as Bea knew, he didn't know the names of any of them, and some of them had only enjoyed his attention once or twice in all their time at the Citadel. He kept them around and continued accumulating them until their numbers reached critical mass and Lord Maxwell yelled at him, and then he just got rid of the least interesting ones. How, exactly, they were gotten rid of depended entirely on his mood at the time. If he was in a good mood, he passed them on to others or sold them off. If he was in a less charitable mood, he set them free.

Some of them were even stupid enough to be overjoyed at the thought of freedom, and Bea sometimes wondered how far they got before someone or something far worse than Guy caught them and made them long for their days in the warmth and safety of the Citadel.

"Y'know what your problem is?" Guy asked as they circled the cage, peering in at their captives and weighing their options. She didn't know why she bothered, because she already knew that she didn't want any of these girls. "You can't handle a real man. It's always these little women and pansy fags that you can send scurryin' around on their hands and knees all the time."

"Introduce me to a real man and I'll prove you wrong," she shot back.

"I'll be glad when you've got yourself somethin' new and shiny to play with, 'cause this attitude of yours is killin' me. You wouldn't have such a piss-poor attitude all the time if you'd quit playin' too rough with your toys and breakin' 'em, you know?"

Bea bristled. "I don't break them! They betray me!"

Lord Maxwell called her obsessive. Bea much preferred the words "dedicated" and "focused". She was very selective about her slaves because, quite simply, most weren't worth the time and dedication that she would pour into them. When she finally found that special one, she gave him or her all the attention she could, pampered and cared for them like a favored pet, made certain that they lacked for nothing. And all she asked it return was what? A little obedience? A little bit of love? The ungrateful little wretches always ended up breaking her heart. Some of them proved incapable of learning no matter how harshly she trained them. (Really, all they had to do was what she told them to do. What's so hard about that?) Some of them learned well enough, but never displayed the enthusiasm and eagerness to please that they should have if they really loved her.

And then there were those who pretended to love her, only to truly betray her. The dwarf had been among that number -- one moment Oberon was hers, and the next he was gone, escaped with that friend of his whom no one could manage to keep caged. If she ever caught him again, she'd teach him how much he'd hurt her. Oh yes, she'd teach him.

"You gotta quit with the impossible standards," Guy advised, opening the top of the cage to pick one of his "rejects" out and looking a bit pouty about having to do it. "They're just human, they're gonna make mistakes. You gotta quit takin' it personally when they turn out to be less than perfect. I mean, if they were totally perfect and you never got to punish 'em, you'd get bored anyway, right?"

"What would you know about it? You've never loved yours the way I love mine."

"Nope!" he admitted cheerfully. "And I've got all the girls a guy could ever want. All you've got right now is an empty bed and a long history of dead slaves and runaways. I think the world could probably do without your kinda love, Bea."

She couldn't think of anything to say to that that didn't involve melting Guy's face off, so she walked away, ignoring the way his laughter carried on the cold air. Despite his sometimes crude mannerisms and knack for saying things that were so true that they made her want to wring his neck, she was actually almost fond of him in a way. They had fought together for so long now, first in the war and then in the employ of Lord Maxwell, that she almost couldn't imagine ever working so closely with anyone else. They were deadly and efficient, and she didn't trust anyone else to watch her back.

Of course, she didn't fully trust him, either. She knew full well that he'd stab her in the back in a second if he knew he could gain something significant from it, and she watched him, the same as he no doubt watched her. At the moment, she wasn't worried. She knew him well enough to know that he was much smarter than he appeared, and he was aware that he had nothing to gain by removing her from the picture -- and possibly everything to lose. She'd be his only ally against Lord Maxwell if it ever came to that. She allowed Guy to keep on breathing (and to get away unscathed with things she'd killed lesser men for) for much the same reason. Someday, when Max was out of the picture, things would change and she'd have to make sure to move against Guy before he moved against her, but for now, he was the closest thing to a friend that she'd ever had.

As she walked and thought about this, her eyes roamed the yard, hoping to catch sight of something special. Guy was right about one thing -- she was always in a terrible mood when she didn't have a pet to occupy her free time. Since Oberon's betrayal, she had told herself that she wasn't looking for a replacement, but the truth was that she was. She'd borrowed a couple of Guy's girls, but her heart hadn't been in it because they weren't hers, and he'd been quite miffed by the condition she had returned them in. He might not know their names, but he didn't like to see them hurt.

She didn't see how he could content himself with the average. They lived in a cold, grey world: cloudy grey sky, grey mud (she still remembered when there was grass, long ago during her childhood in Brazil), grey morals... it tended to make the people grey, too. Everywhere she went, she looked around her, and dirty faces dressed in dirty rags just blended in with the mud. Wide fearful eyes met hers and quickly looked away, or never dared to look at her at all. She didn't let herself feel pity for them. She couldn't afford to. A free woman was a rare sight indeed, and most of those who were free only maintained their freedom because they were married to powerful free men. To remain free by right of her own strength, she had to be meaner and colder than the men who surrounded her. There were always those waiting to seize upon the first hint of weakness, waiting to drag her back down with the rabble, and she was never going to be a slave again.

And while she was aware that gaining her freedom in the way she did was simply an accident -- the emergence of her new fire powers had been a cruel surprise for her owners, at least -- she had always known that she'd be free someday, somehow. All these grey faces content to submit for their whole lives sickened her.

In fact, it had been the strength and determination in Oberon's eyes that had attracted her to him in the first place. Everyone else thought she just had a fetish for anything unusual -- and this was true, of course -- but when she'd looked into the sea of grey faces, only his had looked right back at her, bold and challenging and unafraid. That's when that familiar roiling feeling began inside her: I must have that.

She missed that feeling. She missed being excited about what was waiting for her when she got home. She missed filling her free moments with planning what to do with her pet next. It was depressing to go back to the Citadel after a job like this and have nothing to look forward to. She could sit up there on the upper levels, far above the rest of the world, and sip wine and eat her fill and play cards with Guy and Doc Kord and sometimes even Lord Maxwell himself, but it was all so unfulfilling.

It would be different when she ruled the world, of course.

She had walked nearly the entire slave yard, and she was just about ready to give up and resign herself to loneliness when she saw it.

A small ragged bundle lay face-down in the mud in the far corner of the yard, isolated from the rest, its face obscured by a matted mop of unnaturally white hair tinted grey by the mud. Bea couldn't remember the last time she had seen white hair. True, humans tended to go grey early these days, but rarely did they live long enough for it to go completely white. The small form was surrounded by a patch of frost that couldn't possibly have been natural, either, even disregarding the fact that there was no other frost around for miles, not today. Bea couldn't remember the last time she had seen white frost. Like the rest of the world, it was normally as grey as everything else.

A meta. These brutish idiots had a meta in their slave yard, and they didn't even know it.

She crossed the yard rapidly, feeling the mud begin to crunch under her boots as she entered the frosty ring around the prone form of the slave. Just in this tiny area, the drop in temperature was noticeable. The slave didn't appear to notice her presence. In fact, it didn't seem to be moving or even conscious at all, and she couldn't tell whether or not it was breathing. Even through the dirty, threadbare rags that it was wearing, she couldn't tell whether it was male or female -- only that it was hopelessly thin, possibly starving. Blood clung here and there to the rags, and the bare hand that lay limp in the mud was too pale to be healthy.

"I think it's dead, Bea," Guy said softly, appearing suddenly by her shoulder.

And indeed, the guard that Jacks had left behind had noticed, too -- he was calling over a strong pair of lads, motioning for them to gather up the body and toss it into the pit with the rest of the day's corpses.

As if aware of the scrutiny, or perhaps responding to a feeling of impending danger, the creature began to stir. A thin hand grasped weakly at the frosty mud. A head raised just enough to fasten a gaze on the green boot inches away. Bea could see a pale face caked with grime and discolored by bruises, a face that was definitely female and much younger than she had first supposed, with strong Nordic features and ice-blue eyes like none she'd ever seen before. The girl wasn't quite beautiful, not yet, but she was pretty and might be even prettier with proper care and feeding. Her coloring was exquisite, and Bea was already imagining a collar of diamonds and pale blue topaz to match it.

Bea held up a hand, and the men stopped in their tracks. "Wait. She's not dead yet."

The guard jogged over to assess the situation, looking down at the scraggly little thing and poking her in the side with one foot. "Eh. Close enough. No sense in waitin' for the death-rattle when they're this far gone. Toss 'er in."

Those blue eyes, murky with pain and fear and disorientation, focused quite sharply all of a sudden, just for a split-second, and Bea saw it: the will to live. An arm reached out, grasped Bea's ankle, used it as leverage to drag herself forward a precious few inches, and her head tilted back to meet Bea's eyes pleadingly.

"Please," she croaked in a voice ragged with disuse, and when she couldn't hold her head up anymore, she pressed her forehead against the top of Bea's boot instead.

Bea's breath caught. She would never stop being utterly enchanted by the beauty of pure submission, given freely, unasked-for and uncoerced.

"Guy," she announced, not looking back to see that he was already raising his ring in anticipation of her request, "carry her for me. I'm keeping this one."

"Oh, here we go again. You got the weirdest fetishes," he said, scooping the girl up with a giant yellow hand and opening the lid of his cage so that he could drop her in with the others.

"Don't you put her in with yours! You'll try to keep her for yourself!"

"Aw, c'mon. I got four good girls in there -- I don't want your damn cold little corpse, ya crazy jealous bitch."

"Separate her right this instant!"

Guy rolled his eyes and sighed, taking the girl back out and forming a floating yellow cage for her alone. He brought it up close and peered in at her, but she didn't stir again. "Hope you're more perfect than the last half-dozen she's had, kid. 'Cause if you're not, you're gonna wish they'd tossed you in that pit after all."

Fic: Mad Doc Kord (Ted, Max)

Thu, 11 Dec 2008 06:57:33 GMT

Title: Mad Doc Kord
Author: Duskdog
Characters/Pairing: Ted, Max
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,000 exactly!
Continuity: Unnamed Elseworlds
Summary: Lord Maxwell gets an upgrade.
Disclaimer: DC owns ‘em.
Author’s Notes/Warnings: Background info on this Elseworld coming sometime later today or tomorrow, probably. I have plans.

Once, one of the cyborg candidates had been brazen enough to ask: "Why do they call you Mad Doc Kord?"

And Kord, eyes hidden behind the red lenses of his work goggles, had grinned in that infuriatingly boyish way that he had, and replied simply: "Because 'Mad Doc Ted' just sounds silly, doesn't it?"

It didn't exactly answer the question, of course, but then, the question had been naive even if it was technically valid. As far as Max knew, Ted Kord had never actually had any medical training in order to legitimately claim the title of doctor, but he most certainly was a madman.

Which was why he disliked letting Kord poke around in his brainpan.

"Don't forget whose skull it is you're messing with," Max reminded him, because he didn't quite trust him not to get carried away. His own voice sounded a little funny to his ears, but that was often the case during minor upgrades like this. There was no mirror to see what Kord was doing, and Max couldn't feel it as his pain receptors in the region had (mercifully) been turned off for the procedure, but he knew that the metallic top left portion of his skull was detached and that his soft brain matter was exposed.

"Don't worry so much," Kord assured him, and his voice sounded a little distant, too, even though he was so close that his knee occasionally brushed against Max. "How could I forget? The most powerful brain in the world, soft and gooshy and helpless under my fingertips..."

"You are doing nothing to bolster my confidence in you," Max declared flatly.

"Lighten up, Lord Maxwell. I know the consequences of ill-advised tampering. A little poke here, Max has a seizure; a little poke there, Max loses mental control of his own army and we all die in the ensuing rebellion. And as much fun as it would be to watch you seize uncontrollably, it's just not worth the risk. Dying would put such a damper on my day."

"So I'm fine so long as you don't get bored?"

"More or less," Kord agreed cheerfully, tapping on the metal portion of Max's skull in his hands as if to remind him that he still held it.

Perhaps it was ironic that, of all his inner circle, Kord was probably the most insane, but also the one that Lord Maxwell trusted the most. The man enjoyed hacking body parts off of people and replacing them with metal monstrosities that were often quite useful (but sometimes less so, as occasionally he produced a soldier with an arm capable of nothing more fearsome than opening cans, or a head that could toast bread -- such was the Doc's slightly twisted sense of humor), but he enjoyed his work so much that he had no ambition to do or be anything else. Technically, Kord had grown up a free man, but under the thumb of the aliens he had been forced to suppress his natural intellect and overwhelming natural curiosity about the world around him -- a genius kept in a box, a genius who exploded with mad inspiration when finally set free. With Max in power, he was free to experiment all he wanted, and the stream of "volunteers" for these experiments was endless so long as his comrades kept rounding up the rebels and troublemakers so efficiently. He was smart enough to realize that, if he were to kill Max and take over, he wouldn't be able to maintain control alone. And even if by some miracle he could, he wouldn't have the time on his hands to continue his work.

No, Ted Kord was happy -- overjoyed, even -- with the status quo, and such a man was useful to Lord Maxwell for reasons beyond his natural affinity for machines.

Guy and Beatriz were a whole other kettle of fish. Guy had been born a slave. Max actually had no idea from whence Beatriz had originally come, but she bore the marks of one who had been ill-used for at least a portion of her life. The same strength, will, and ambition that had enabled them to fight and claw their way to the top, and which made them valuable to Max, also made them dangerous to him. Neither of them could be content so long as there was someone above looking down on them, and he knew that eventually the day would come when he'd have to put them down like the dogs they were at heart.

Despite the fact that Kord's clothes were often blood-spattered, and if you could ignore his tendency to look at you as if wondering what he could do to "improve" you, he was much easier to get along with than the other two. He had never been forced to develop into a hard, ruthless person just to survive as they evidently had. Why, Doc Kord wasn't even cold -- he had excellent bedside manner as he was taking a bonesaw to your sternum, and he never even yelled at you when you screamed and screamed.

"Poke," Kord teased when Max had been quiet for too long.

Max clamped down on the arm of the metal chair with his cybernetic hand, crumpling the lab furniture like paper. "Quit playing and put me back together. I have work to do."

"Fine, fine. I was done, anyway." He made a few last-second connections, then carefully positioned the metal piece back in the proper place on Max's head and set about attaching it securely.

"And if you've installed anything that's going to repeatedly trick my brain into thinking I see shiny things at the edge of my vision, or make me crave human flesh again, I suggest you remove it right now."

There was a long moment's pause, and then Max heard the clicking sound of his skull-piece being detached once again.

"Killjoy," Kord muttered.

Mad was mad no matter how you looked at it, Max supposed.

Challenge Fic: Snowed In (Bea/Guy)

Sat, 06 Dec 2008 06:00:35 GMT

Title: Snowed In
Author: Duskdog
Claim: Guy Gardner
Characters/Pairing: Bea/Guy, Peggy Louise Gardner
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1390
Prompt: Cabin Fever (T7; P39)
Continuity: After the end of Guy Gardner: Warrior and JLA v.2, but before GL: Rebirth.
Summary: It's like a plot for a horror movie: Guy and Bea are snowed in at Warriors... with Guy's mom.
Disclaimer: DC owns 'em.
Author's Notes/Warnings: Now I desperately want to contrive a reason for Guy and Bea to have a bastard fire-baby.

The three feet of snow that had landed on New York City so far over the past forty-eight hours might not have stuck around long on the busily-trampled city streets, but the continuing blizzard had put a damper on business at Warriors. The slow night of business had turned into a slow morning in which Guy didn't feel particularly compelled to get up and start on his work for the day. Despite the fact that she could fly, melt snow before it actually touched her, and didn't actually feel the cold, Bea had conveniently declared herself to be snowed in last night, and they lingered in bed until almost noon just cuddling and enjoying each other's warmth as the wind howled outside.

Until the unmistakable sound of Guy's mother tromping up the stairs broke the blissful morning silence.

"Guy?" she shouted, banging on his door three times in rapid succession. "Guy!"

Bea groaned and pulled the covers up over her head. Guy sighed. "Yeah, Ma?"

"We're out of milk! How could you let us run out of milk knowing that there was a storm coming?"

"There's plenty in the cooler down by the bar, Ma."

"I am not getting anything from that bar. I can't believe you'd even suggest such a thing, not after what drinking did to your father!"

Bea uncovered her head and rolled her eyes, making a "yap yap yap" motion with one hand. There was no love lost between Guy's girlfriend and his mother, and she had heard this particular lecture a dozen times already.

"It's just plain old milk, Ma," Guy said, trying hard to keep the exasperation out of his voice. "It's exactly the same as the stuff you put in your old lady cereal."

"It's not 'old lady cereal'! It's oat bran, and you should start eating it yourself. You know how irregular your bowels are."

Bea buried her face in the pillow to muffle a sudden burst of hysterical giggling.

"Thanks for that, Ma. I'll keep that in mind."

"Anyway, it's almost noon," Mrs. Gardner reminded him. "Get your lazy ass up and go get your poor mother some milk!"

"Why don't you go get it? Fresh air'd do you good."

"Do you want me to fall on the ice and break my hip? Don't think I don't know where that leads. First it's a broken hip, and the next thing I know, I'm in a nursing home! I can't believe you're so eager to put me in a home! I gave birth to you, remember?"

Guy sighed again, reluctantly pulling himself out of Bea's arms, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Nobody's gonna put you in a home, Ma."

"They'd just send her back, anyway," Bea muttered.

"I'm goin' to get your milk right now, okay?" he called to his mother, shushing Bea with one hand. "Anything else you need?"

Mrs. Gardner hesitated only a moment. "Toilet paper!" she decided. "If there are going to be two women in this house, we'll go through it faster."

"...Two women?"

"Your mother wasn't born yesterday, Guy Gardner. I know you've got your hussy girlfriend in there. While you're at it, go on and pick up some diapers, too. You know it's only a matter of time before you'll be needing them with the way you two are always carrying on. Just so you know, I'm not going to be a grandma to any green-haired half-Mexican fire-baby. What if it burns down America, Guy? What if your bastard burns down America?"

He saw Bea's eyes flash dangerously green, saw her half-rise and draw breath to speak, and quickly restrained her and clamped a hand over her mouth before she could let loose a stream of curses in Portuguese. "Okay, Ma. Gettin' dressed now. I'll get you some more of that ice cream you like, too, okay?"

"Getting dressed at noon," Mrs. Gardner grumbled, moving away from the door. "Don't know where these kids learn these things..."

He kept his hand over Bea's mouth until the sound of his mother's feet went down the stairs and faded away.

"Mexican?!" she burst as soon as he let go. "Did she just call me Mexican?"

"I thought you'd be mad about the hussy part."

"Oh, I am a hussy, but... Mexican?!"

He sighed yet again and fumbled around for his pants. "Just ignore her. Ma don't know these things. She's got a tenth-grade education and that was like forty years ago."

"Hmph. There's no excuse for ignorance. Why don't you just find her her own place? She's not really old. She gets around fine. How about a nice place in Florida?"

Guy pulled his pants on and searched the closet for a clean shirt. "I'm the only family she's got left, Bea. She's just clingin'."

Bea rolled out of bed at last, still fuming, but busied herself with getting dressed so that she wouldn't give in to the urge to burn up a defenseless old lady. "I just don't see how you stand her, that's all. You wouldn't take that kind of talk from Batman, or the Guardians, but when it's your mom, you turn into this giant Vuldarian pussy!"

Guy sat back down on the bed and looked at his hands. "I know, I know. It's just... when I was a kid, she was totally different. Quiet all the time so she didn't upset Dad. I never even thought she could've ever been somebody different. That's just how I always knew her: that quiet lady that made my lunches and told me to just go on up to my room and play so Dad didn't have to see me. And when I was a teenager, I hated her a little bit 'cause she never stood up for me."

"You just keep giving me reasons to wring her neck for you," Bea noted sourly.

"But look at her now, Bea! She's a whole different person! It's like... Dad took this big, loud, vibrant lady and beat her down into this little bitty box. And how that he's gone, she's just now learnin' to be herself again. Or maybe she's just makin' up for lost time, you know? I guess nobody'll ever know what kinda woman she'd've been if she hadn't've gotten pregnant with Mace when she did. But the best years of her life are gone and wasted 'cause of Dad, and... I guess I figure she deserves to be allowed to be whatever she wants to be for the time she's got left."

Bea eyed him, barely resisting the urge to snort, and only because he looked so quiet and serious about it. He didn't share his feelings with her nearly often enough.

"I guess I can see that," she decided, for his sake. "I'll tolerate her. But you can't ask me to like her!"

"Aw hell, Bea, I don't like her. But I guess I do love her."

Before she could respond to that, they were interrupted by the heavy sound of a broom handle being banged against the ceiling directly below them.

"Less baby-making, more shopping!" Mrs. Gardner yelled, her voice carrying all the way upstairs.

Bea pinched the bridge of her nose. "You know, I was looking forward to laying around in bed all day, but suddenly I don't think I can stand to be cooped up in this place for one more minute!"

Guy's lips twitched into a grin. "Thought you were snowed in?"

"If I couldn't melt my way out, I'd dig myself out with my bare hands."

"You mean you don't wanna stay and keep Ma company? You could tell her all about growin' up in Mexico."

She smacked him in the head. "Get me out of here before I kill you both."

"Awright, awright, don't get your burritos in a tizzy!"

"Here's five reasons why you should stop it right now," she advised, brandishing a fist at him.

"C'mon... I'm sure we can find us an Earth-shatterin' crisis to get wrapped up in 'til spring, when the snow melts and Ma starts trollin' the bargain bins at Wal-Mart all day again."

"Sounds good to me." She picked up her coat. "But just so you know... if we don't find an Earth-shattering crisis before it's time to come back here? I'm going to start one myself."

Challenge Fic: The Rest of the Way Home (Guy/Kyle)

Fri, 05 Dec 2008 07:05:20 GMT

Title: The Rest of the Way Home
Author: Duskdog
Claim: Guy Gardner
Characters/Pairing: Guy/Kyle
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1791
Prompt: Exhaustion (T7; P28)
Summary: Like feathers in a hurricane: two Green Lanterns caught in a supernova.
Disclaimer: DC owns 'em.
Author's Notes/Warnings: For tazer_alex: angsty Lantern-love. I have no idea where this came from. This is why Guy/Kyle works for me more and more the more I think about it: there would be massive amounts of sappy loving devotion and much shouting and saving each other from doom. Guy would defend Kyle's honor at the big karate tournament. Kyle would draw Guy wearing his ring. Wearing only his ring. And then Celine Dion would sing their theme song. (Also: Now I am in need of a Guy/Kyle icon. You see how this is just a vicious endless cycle?)

Two sectors away from their last known location, two tiny figures floated helplessly through the blackness of space.

Guy's arms were wrapped around Kyle's chest, just under his arms, one hand clutching the opposite forearm tightly, and for all the limp unresponsiveness of the rest of their bodies, it looked like it might take a crowbar to make him let go. Kyle's head lolled back and forth as they spun slowly together, end-over-end with no end in sight.

Sometimes, Guy stirred and raised his head from Kyle's hair. Sometimes he tried to speak through cracked, parched lips, but his words were incoherent, and there was no one there to hear him, anyway. Maybe the ring transmitted some of it. When he was at his most coherent, he hoped it did. It was hard to muster the will to do more. His body was broken, exhausted, sapped of all strength. All he could focus on was the feel of Kyle's heart beating steadily beneath his arms. So long as Kyle's heart was still beating, so long as he could feel him warm and alive in his arms, it was okay.

Then he would give in to the exhaustion again and his mind would drift off into what might have been sleep and might have been unconsciousness, only his hold on Kyle never relaxed.

Sometimes, he saw images. When he slept, they were dreams. When he was awake, they were memories. He couldn't tell the difference between the two.

He dreamed/remembered seeing Kyle, floating on the verge of unconsciousness, helpless. He dreamed/remembered seeing the first flare of white light as the star's unnaturally-induced supernova began. He dreamed/remembered a surge of will greater than anything he had ever mustered before, fueled by the desperate need to get to Kyle, protect Kyle, save Kyle! He dreamed/remembered wrapping his arms tightly around Kyle's limp body almost in the same instant that the explosion washed against his hastily-erected shield. He dreamed/remembered pain unlike anything he had ever felt before, flaring white-hot in his brain as the force of an exploding sun battered his will, his shield no more than paper in the face of this cosmic force. He dreamed/remembered the feel of Kyle's body in his arms granting him strength when his mind wanted to wilt in submission to the agony, forcing him to maintain the shield that protected them from a force that would crush them, radiation that would fry them, light that would burn and blind them if he let it his will falter for even an instant. He dreamed/remembered tightening his grip around Kyle's middle until his own arms were going numb, until he felt Kyle's ribs crack, but not daring to loosen his hold as they were being hurled through space like feathers in a hurricane, no more significant than the tiniest speck of dust despite all the power of the weapons on their fingers.

He dreamed/remembered it all being silent, the universe's second-greatest explosion occurring in the vacuum of space with neither bang nor whimper. The only sound was the sound of his own scream within his protective bubble, and it went on long after the explosion was over and their momentum continued to carry them away.

Now everything was silent. He couldn't scream anymore even if he wanted to. It felt like something in his throat had given way. Kyle's breathing sounded distant even though it was only inches from Guy's face, and he wondered if it had anything to do with the feeling of dried, crusted blood in his ears -- dried, crusted blood all over his face -- clogging his nose, clinging to his lips, the taste of it in his mouth. He couldn't see. His eyes felt gummy, and he couldn't tell if they were open or not. The pain came from everywhere in his head at once, so he couldn't tell where it was centered, or if he was badly injured. Not so unfamiliar a feeling to a man accustomed to brain injury. The ring would fix it. He could feel it pulse hotly on his finger, working overtime on its emergency reserve power. It would go out soon. Maybe it was as tired as he was. There was a little voice in the back of his head telling him that he shouldn't go to sleep again, but he didn't want to listen to it. He was tired. So tired.

The others were looking for them, and they would come soon, but a distress call would help them find them faster. When Guy tried to muster the willpower for it, though, pain lanced through his skull and his ring only sputtered. He couldn't remember a time when he was too weak to command it. This wasn't right. He shouldn't go to sleep again.

But Kyle's heartbeat was strong, and it was going to be okay. There they were, his chest to Kyle's back, their beating hearts only inches apart. He wondered, in a sleepy half-coherent sort of way, if at this close range his own heart could draw strength from Kyle's. It was a silly thought, but suddenly there were a lot of silly thoughts in his head. He wanted to wear that dumb sweater that Kyle had gotten him for Christmas. He wanted to take Kyle home to meet his mom. He wanted to take a finger and trace out the words "mine mine mine mine mine" all over Kyle's body, and it would be invisible but everyone would be able to read it anyway.

When he woke up, he'd tell Kyle all of this, and they'd laugh about it.

He couldn't remember if he'd ever told Kyle that he loved him. He didn't put much faith in words. He preferred to show how he felt, and he was confident that he'd done it in a thousand different ways, and that Kyle knew... but maybe he should have told him, just the same.

When he woke up, he'd tell Kyle that, too.

He couldn't hold his head up anymore, so he let it droop against Kyle's shoulder. If he just slept for a while, he'd feel stronger and he could take them home. The ring was healing him slowly but surely. It even seemed that the pain in his head wasn't so strong anymore. Everything seemed so distant and peaceful out here in a place so vastly open that it was as private as a place could possibly be. They were alone, and everything was so quiet, and he was so tired. When they were back on Oa, he would miss this time with Kyle warm in his arms. Plenty of time to take care of important things later.

He let the gentle lub-dub of Kyle's heart lull him to sleep.

Kyle was dreaming. He was alone in the roiling ocean, surrounded by the cold blackness of the depths, and he couldn't breathe. He kicked his arms and legs, but he was only a tiny weak thing in the middle of the sea, no more difficult for it to toss around than a pebble. It hurled him this way and that, spun him over and around, threw his body against rocks and dragged him down. He struggled for the surface, but he was so deep that he couldn't see the sun and he wasn't left in one place long enough to orient himself. He didn't know which way was up. He was small, helpless, flailing for purchase where there was none. The ocean battered him mercilessly. He opened his mouth to scream for help, but no sound came out, only bubbles. Water rushed into his lungs. Blackness closed in from all around, crushing him.

And then strong arms wrapped around his chest from behind, and began pulling him up. Up, up, to the surface.

Guy, he realized. Guy, Guy, Guy. Don't let me go!

I won't, answered Guy with no words.

Kyle's limbs wouldn't work, but Guy's arms were tight around him, and he could feel the beat of Guy's heart against his back. So long as he could feel Guy's heartbeat, it was okay.

Even when Guy's embrace began to crush him, it was still going to be okay. He wanted to be held so tight that it hurt. So tight that the ocean could never carry them away from each other.

He raised his head, and in the distance, he could see the sun through the murky haze of water separating them from the surface. It got brighter as Guy carried them up, towards the warmth and the light. Kyle felt stronger as the light grew closer.

And then the arms around his body began to slip.

As Kyle broke the surface at last, he felt Guy's body fall away from him, and he couldn't feel Guy's heartbeat anymore.

Kyle regained consciousness all at once, sucking in a great lungful of air that the ring provided to him. "Guy?!"

They weren't in the ocean. They were in space. Memories came back to him in a rush: the Sinestro Corps, a star, an impending explosion that they could maybe, possibly outrun if they went as fast as they could go right now. A blow to the head. Darkness.

And a dream about drowning and being saved.

His ribs ached. His head hammered. His back was still warm from recent contact, and he knew that his dream had been at least partly real. Gingerly, so his traitorous stomach wouldn't rebel on him, he turned around to look.

Guy floated a few feet away, limp and lifeless, and Kyle felt his heart skip a beat -- but no, Guy's ring was still on his finger, still glowing very faintly. He crossed the empty space between them, put his arms around him, tenderly wiped the blood from his eyes. Blood everywhere, and no visible injury. The psychic backlash of an impossibly strong force meeting a forcefield powered by a will that wouldn't give in. Guy's brains leaking out his ears.

He pressed his cheek down against Guy's chest to hear the beat of his heart. Soft and steady. Faint. Too faint. For a moment they floated there, Kyle holding to him, head pillowed on Guy's chest just the way they always slept together. He wondered if his own heartbeat could lend strength to Guy's, if only they stayed this close.

But at least Guy's heart was beating, and as long as he could feel it beat, it would be okay.

He turned Guy around, wrapping his arms around Guy's chest, and forced himself to ignore the pain and will them both towards Oa.

"Sleep," he told Guy. "I don't know what you did, but you got us this far. I'll take us the rest of the way home."

Fic: Mouse (JLI)

Thu, 04 Dec 2008 02:46:48 GMT

Title: Mouse
Author: Duskdog
Characters/Pairing: Bea, Booster, Guy, J'onn, Ted, Tora
Rating: PG
Word Count: 3,337
Summary: One mouse is all it takes.
Disclaimer: DC owns 'em.
Author's Notes/Warnings: For madripoor_rose. If you haven't read A Wicker Basket and Pets, this won't make much sense.

When J'onn came downstairs one morning, Tora was crouched in the corner of the kitchen in a peculiar manner, tail twitching with interest, her blue eyes intent on something very small and grey trapped beneath her front paws.

It could be a toy, the Martian told himself. After all, the kitties had lots of toys of all shapes and sizes, and Tora was particularly fond of anything small and soft. She sometimes carried socks around in her mouth as if they were kittens.

When he looked more closely, it appeared that a long thin tail was sticking out from beneath one white cat paw.

Many of those toys look like mice, he reminded himself hopefully. Guy's favorite toy was a catnip mouse, in fact, and he refused to give it up. The one time that J'onn had attempted to take it away, hoping that Guy would pick a new favorite and stop cuddling and sucking on the ratty old one, he had moped for a week and J'onn had finally given in and returned it to him. The result was that there were at least a dozen other catnip mice strewn throughout the house -- failed replacements for the toy that Guy would not part with. Perhaps Tora had claimed one of those as her own.

He thought he heard something squeak.

Some of those toys make noise, he tried, but it was no good. He could only fool himself for so long.

With a sinking feeling, J'onn realized that he had finally discovered who it was that kept leaving dead mice in his bed.

He had learned that there were many aspects of feline behavior that took on a horrifying new twist when one knew that the felines in question were still humans underneath. Sometimes he couldn't bear to watch them indulge in the favored feline pastime of sitting by the windows looking outside. Maybe housecats all over the world spent their entire lives indoors, but knowing that some tiny part of these cats might still remember what it was like to travel the world freely -- or the universe, even -- made him feel like a jailer. He tried not to think too much about it when they groomed themselves or (as they frequently did) each other. It was just a bit too strange to imagine their human selves licking each other.

And he knew, of course, that they all occasionally stalked one another, but he had hoped that none of them would ever show the drive to hunt real prey if given the chance. Since the first time he found a dead "offering" in or around his bed, he knew that someone was a killer, but he hadn't suspected that it would be Tora. That made this a little bit harder to deal with. If they were ever returned to their human selves, the others might be a little disturbed, but they would probably get over it. But if human Tora found out that she had been a cold-blooded predator of tiny adorable creatures when she was a cat, she would probably never forgive herself.

The proper thing to do, he supposed, would be to take it away from her. And yet, the thought of doing that made him feel a little guilty, too. She caught it herself. Was it right for him to impose his rules on her as if she were a human when she really was a cat?

The truth was, he was fascinated despite himself.

She lifted one paw. The little mouse didn't appear to be hurt in any way. It was curled up, motionless, but J'onn could sense the fear emanating from the tiny creature and could imagine the flutter of its little heart. It was most definitely alive, but too terrified to move. She put her paw back down, covering it again, still gazing at it intently as if it were the most amazing thing she had ever seen.

It was the time of morning that he usually fed the kitties breakfast, so he shouldn't have been surprised when Ted and Booster ambled in, tails held high and noses to the air. Halfway across the kitchen, Ted stopped short and looked at Tora. J'onn thought about interfering then and there, but he was curious as to what they would do, so he decided to just watch for now. He hardly ever left the Embassy anymore, after all. His entire world revolved around nothing more important than the drama that played out between five cats on a daily basis.

Ted settled down a few feet away, tail twitching much the same way Tora's was, his curious gaze fixed on the prize beneath her paws. Booster skittered over and flopped down near her, rolling over to look at her sideways, not even seeming to notice the mouse at all.

In a lot of ways, Booster was the one who still acted most like a kitten. It was a little funny to J'onn because, though he probably would have considered him to be less mature than most of the team when he was a human, he wouldn't have imagined Booster as childlike in any way. Yet here he was as a cat, the one most likely to wind himself up in a ball of yarn, the one most likely to attack shadows on the wall, and the one most likely to pester the other cats until they got annoyed and slapped him away.

J'onn could almost imagine what he must be saying in cat language, because his actions and expression said it all: "Whatcha doin', Tora, huh? Whatcha doing, huh huh what?" He wasn't sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing that cat Booster sounded nothing at all like human Booster in his head.

For that matter, he wasn't sure whether it was a good thing or a bad thing that he was attributing "voices" to the cats, at all.

Tora paid them no mind. The little mouse wasn't even wriggling, but she didn't look away from it for even an instant. Booster batted at her twitching tail for a moment, but then caught sight of his own tail and chased that, instead. Ted watched the mouse patiently, but didn't make a move.

It wasn't until a blur of green fur caught the corner of his eye that J'onn realized that Bea had been in the room all along: on top of the fridge, in fact, eating a loaf of bread that he had foolishly believed would be safe up there.

"And to think I've been blaming Guy for that," J'onn scolded, retrieving the ruined loaf and tossing it in the trashcan in the small pantry (kept there for safekeeping, because cats cannot be trusted with trashcans any more than they can be trusted with bread).

Bea, of course, was less concerned about what J'onn thought than she was about what Tora had caught. She trotted right over without any hesitation at all and sniffed at Tora's paws curiously. Hmm. She cocked her head and made an inquiring noise in her throat. Bea was very much a talker, always full of little noises like that, and there were long stretches of time when her purrs and meows were the only sound in this Embassy that used to be so full of life.

Sometimes J'onn petted her just to hear a sound. Any sound at all.

She batted gingerly at Tora's paws. When that earned her no reaction, she batted a little harder, her attention on the furry little nose poking out from underneath. And then Tora did something that J'onn had never heard her do before.

She growled.

It was very faint at first, very low in her throat, so that he almost wasn't sure that it was coming from her at all. Guy and Bea growled all the time (often at each other). Ted did it occasionally, usually when he was nearing the end of his patience and Booster wouldn't leave him alone. Booster did it only rarely, but there had been a time or two when he was tussling with one of the others that he had tried to warn them off that way. But Tora? Never. Yet now that he really looked, there was no mistaking that it was her. While the other three had their ears perked with interest, Tora's were laid back flat against her head, body tense as she guarded her prize.

For a moment, he was struck by a memory: Tora as a human, her body tense just like this, practically gritting her teeth as Bea regaled her with another list of Guy's shortcomings. She hadn't growled then, of course. Tora didn't like to fight, not even when she probably had every right to, and especially not with her friends. And Bea had rattled on, oblivious, because when you're a person who's accustomed to saying what you think, it's hard to recognize the signs of anger in someone who normally holds back. She would never upset Tora on purpose, but sometimes she just didn't realize she was doing it until it was almost too late.

Bea the cat was not so different. She was never one to back down when the other cats challenged her, and she certainly wasn't afraid of submissive little Tora. She danced backwards a little, paw raised, and then came forward again and batted at the mouse some more, playing with the hidden prey as if Tora's paws weren't in the way at all.

Tora growled warningly.

Ted watched patiently.

Booster rolled around in the floor obliviously.

Bea batted at Tora's paws some more, dancing sideways to bring her body up against Tora's, pushing her aside -- literally throwing her own body weight around in a dominant manner. She pushed them all around this way to some extent, even Guy who was bigger and stronger and usually (but not always) pushed back, but Tora usually just rolled to her side and tucked her tail submissively and seemed no worse off for it. She got along with everyone because she never challenged anyone. And so long as they weren't fighting and hurting each other, J'onn didn't typically interfere in their feline rank structure.

Today, Tora hissed and didn't roll over. And when Bea lowered her nose to sniff at the mouse, or perhaps make a grab for it, Tora did something else that J'onn had never seen her do before: she reared up on her back legs and boxed Bea hard about the head with her front paws.

The mouse, left exposed and vulnerable by this sudden movement, was still petrified with fright, and before J'onn could even think to stop him, Ted took advantage of the opening he had been waiting for all this time, bounding across the floor and sliding into the mouse, trapping it in his own paws. The Martian only had an instant to reflect what a tactician Blue Beetle could have been someday, if only he hadn't been turned into a cat, before Tora became aware that her mouse was in danger and whirled to slap Ted in the face, claws extended. He dropped it and raised a paw of his own at her, hissing. Bea, however, wasn't about to take her previous assault lying down -- she pounced on Tora from behind, and in an instant, tufts of green and white fur were flying about the kitchen as the females rolled and bit and clawed each other.

The mouse, finally shaken out of its paralysis, dove for cover. Ted skittered across the slick kitchen floor after it, finally catching it just next to the table... just before being hit by an orange-furred freight train as Guy, apparently attracted by the sounds of battle, rocketed into the room and body-slammed both Ted and the mouse all the way under the kitchen table and out the other side. While J'onn attempted to reach his hands down into the furious ball of fur on the other side of the kitchen and separate the girls, Guy and Ted suddenly began tearing into each other, too.

Free again after being knocked aside during the scuffle and probably more than a little addled from all the violence, the mouse began to run. In a blind panic, it headed straight towards Booster, whose eyes seemed to get wider and wider with each instant as the terrified creature approached him. All at once, he scrambled to his feet, backed up so fast that he nearly tripped over himself, and ran out of the room as if the devil itself were chasing him.

The mouse just happened to go in the same direction.

J'onn managed to get a good hold on Bea's scruff and hauled her up out of the floor. The instant he did, Tora shook herself off, looked around, and then took off down the hall after the mouse. Ted shrieked, and J'onn turned to see Guy biting the back of Ted's neck hard, claws dug into his sides. He reached down with his free hand and tried to grasp Guy's scruff, too, but Guy turned on him and attacked his hand, falling off of Ted. Instead, J'onn grabbed Ted's scruff and picked him up out of Guy's reach. Bea, taking offense at whatever was closest, tried to take a swipe at Ted's dangling form.

"Pick on someone as mean as you," J'onn suggested, dropping her into the floor next to Guy. He cradled Ted to him comfortingly, running his fingers through brown tabby fur to check for injuries as he left the two more dominant cats to take their anger out on each other rather than the submissive ones.

He found the others in the study where they all spent most of their evenings in front of the fireplace being petted while J'onn read books. It was a safe place for the cats, a comforting place, and he supposed it would be no wonder that she'd bring her prey here if she had caught it. Booster peeked out from beneath the couch. Tora was curled up in the wicker basket they had all originally been dropped off in. J'onn had kept it hoping it would provide clues, but even when it didn't it served as a fine cat bed, full of the scents of their littermates, and one or more of them often took toys into it when they wanted comfort and privacy.

Ted had a little bloody spot on his neck, but it appeared to be minor. J'onn put him down gently, reminding himself to tend to it later, after he had checked the others. Dimly, he realized that Bea and Guy had run into the room behind him, but they were quiet and no one was growling or hissing, so he crouched down by the wicker basket to look at Tora.

Curled carefully in the circle of her front legs was the mouse, still terrified but none the worse for the wear. Tora's warm purr seemed to fill the silence of the room. As he watched, she lowered her head and licked the mouse's fur gently, making soft, loving sounds in her throat, the sound that a mother cat would make to reassure her kittens that she's here and that they can feel warm and safe.

Suddenly, J'onn was certain that Tora was not the mouse-killer at all. Someone was certainly killing them and leaving them as loving offerings for him but Tora, in her own weak, confused way, was trying to protect them.

It wasn't something that a normal cat would do.

"Tora?" he asked softly, not entirely certain whether or not he wanted to see human eyes stare back at him from that kitty-cat face or not. It would mean there was hope, yes, but would it just be a crueler sort of fate for his family to have the minds of humans in the bodies of cats?

She looked up at the sound of her name, but she looked the same as she had for nearly two years now: just a cat. Just a plain old cat.

Still, he had talked to them as if they were people from the very beginning, and nothing had changed in the time since. The rest of the world might forget, but J'onn would always remember them as they were.

"You're a good kitty," he said, stroking her head. "But you can't protect it. Do you understand? Let me take it somewhere far from here where it might be safer."

She didn't stop him as he scooped the mouse up gently in both hands and stood slowly, but she kneaded the bedding in the basket with her paws worriedly, eyes on him, as if seeking reassurance for a sort of unease that she couldn't define. Just like human Tora, playing nervously with whatever was handy when she was anxious about something.

"Tora?" he asked again, gazing down into her blue eyes one last time. "Are you in there?"

For a moment, there was nothing. And then something stirred behind those eyes, something that wasn't there before -- a spark of murky not-quite-human intelligence that his telepathy felt in the same instant that he saw it. First there was confusion, and then there was fear and sadness, one white paw half-raised towards him pleadingly...

...And then the spark went out like a snuffed candle, that one raised paw hesitating and then continuing up to receive a little pink tongue, and she was just a cat again, just a cat grooming herself in the way that cats generally do.

He didn't just imagine it. He couldn't have just imagined it. The brief touch of her mind on his had left an echo behind, like a footprint in the snow, and as he tried to hold onto that ghost of a feeling with desperate mental fingers he realized that there was not one echo, but five -- all of them, all of them in the same instant just barely awakening, reaching out to him for help with minds clouded by shock and pain and fear.

He looked around, but he knew even as he did that the hints of their human selves were gone again, buried deeply beneath the feline. Bea was in the opposite corner far from Tora, licking her wounds and being as resentful of her ex-best friend as a cat could possibly be. Guy hissed at him from the top of the bookshelf. Ted wound around J'onn's legs, looking up at his cupped hands hopefully, clearly trying to use his charm to wrangle himself a mouse dinner. And Booster peered back at him from beneath the couch, eyes wide.

"It's hardly a wharf rat," J'onn said gently, kneeling by the couch and just barely opening his hands to display the tiny, frightened creature to him. "Nor is it a cheesesteak," he added for Ted's benefit.

Their eyes betrayed nothing human, not memory or understanding or confusion -- just plain old feline curiosity, Ted's tinged with hunger and Booster's with hesitation.

J'onn covered the mouse again with his hands and stood. "Never mind," he said, like a parent carefully explaining something very important to his children. "You'll understand again soon. Very soon. I promise."

For the first time in two years, there was a glimmer of hope. He had known for a long time now that if there was hope to be had, it was going to come from inside the Embassy, not outside it, and he had been right. But now that he had that little glimmer, it was time to call in outside help again.

First, he was going to go to a nice big field somewhere and release a very frightened little mouse.

Then he was going to call Batman.

Hold On to Your Pudding Cups!

Thu, 27 Nov 2008 05:44:56 GMT

Also! I can't believe that I completely forgot to pimp these! I looked at them a couple of weeks ago, got distracted by dogs, and then completely forgot to share and rave over their awesomeness!

ladytalon1 drew Cootieverse Guy Gardner in all his first-grade glory. Check out the black and white and color versions!

That's pretty much exactly like I imagine him in the Cootieverse, little band-aid on his abused little face and all. I love these so much.

Your Assignment, Should You Choose to Accept It

Thu, 27 Nov 2008 05:37:08 GMT

Whosoever can produce one or more nice Bea/Tora icons for me gets a drabble of some sort. I need to practice my drabbling skillz anyway.

Whosoever can produce a Bea/Guy/Tora icon wins the internet (and also probably something longer than a drabble).

I can see it in your eyes now. You all think I can't write anything that's less than 700 words, don't you?

...You're probably right. But that just means that my pathetic inability to be concise in my fic is your gain!

Challenge Fic: Beefcake (Bea/Tora, Booster, Guy, Ted)

Mon, 24 Nov 2008 01:45:39 GMT

Title: Beefcake
Author: Duskdog
Characters/Pairing: Bea/Tora, Booster, Guy, Ted
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 748
Prompt: Men
Summary: Tora likes her men bad and beefy. Bea notices these things and puts her knowledge to use.
Disclaimer: DC owns 'em.
Author's Notes/Warnings: For the Cold Snap: Winter '08 Porn Battle on femslash_today(and also posted in the comments to that post). Also, this is one of two Bea/Tora prompts (thank you museofspeed), but there's no limit to how many people can tackle each prompt, so I'm just going to nudge everyone in that direction with a giant Hint Hammer. I'm not the only person who writes Bea/Tora, am I?

"You are so into beefcake."

Tora jumped, turning to see Bea standing in the doorway to the showers behind her, grinning. "What?"

"Oh, you know. The big sweaty muscular eye-candy that you've been staring at for the last five minutes?" Bea said, nodding towards the corner of the room where Guy was lifting weights.

She reddened. "I wasn't staring!"

"You're drooling."

She knew she wasn't, but she instinctively raised her arm to wipe her chin, anyway, and pouted a bit when Bea nearly cracked up. "It's not funny."

"Beefcake," Bea insisted, straddling the bench behind her and wrapping her arms around Tora's waist, lips close to her ear. "See, if I didn't know you better, I would have thought you'd go for the poundcake," she continued, indicating Beetle, who was making a valiant effort on the treadmill. "He's got just a little bit of extra stuffing, but there's something cute and cuddly about him, isn't there? And you love cute and cuddly."

Tora dutifully contemplated the cute and cuddliness of Ted, trying not to squirm at the way Bea's breath tickled her ear. Most of Ted's attractiveness came from his personality, but his body was nice, too -- he was adorable in a way that made her want to pet him and keep him, the same way she would like to pet and keep a puppy, but looking at him didn't send any electric tingles down her spine straight to her groin, not the way that looking at Guy did.

"Most women would go for the fruitcake, though," Bea said, nodding towards Booster, who was trying to encourage Ted's treadmill efforts by dangling a candy bar in front of him. "Tall, perfect blond hair, flawless blue eyes, nice fit body... don't you dare tell him I said any of that, by the way."

Tora looked Booster over. He was perfect, really. Physically, anyway. And as her eyes wandered down over his bare chest, she had to admit to a certain attraction, but that little tingle still eluded her.

Bea chuckled, working her hand slyly up under Tora's t-shirt, spreading her fingers over the smooth flatness of her belly. "See, you're not even looking at their faces. You're into muscles. That's why you're staring at Guy even though he's got a face only a mother could love, and that's why you get all melty when Superman comes by even though you barely know him."

"I don't get all... melty!"

"Big. Hard. Beefy. Muscles," said Bea triumphantly, her fingers brushing teasingly over the crotch of Tora's workout shorts. "And bad boys. You love bad boys."

"Superman's not a bad boy," Tora pointed out, drawing in on herself in an effort to escape those wandering fingers, but there was nowhere to go except back against Bea's body, where the feel of Bea's breasts against her back was no less tantalizing.

"No, that's why it wouldn't work out with him. You'd get bored with the sex. That's why your man-fantasies are all about Guy. So long as you're just looking, I don't mind, you know. It's hot watching you get hot watching someone else." Her fingers paused beneath the waistband of Tora's shorts.

"Bea! We're not alone in here!" Tora hissed urgently, squirming.

"You say no, but you're not actually going to make me stop. You know why?" Her hand slid lower, middle finger descending into slippery heat, and she held Tora tightly to her with an arm around her middle as she let out a gaspy little squeak. "Because you love bad girls, too."

Guy happened to look up, then, and the sound his weights made when they hit the floor made Booster and Beetle look at him, and then follow his wide-eyed gaze towards the women. Booster dropped his candy bar. Beetle stopped running but the treadmill kept on going, dragging him right off the end so that he fell flat on his face, but it didn't stop him from staring.

"I'll make you guys a deal," Bea announced, and Tora couldn't do anything but bite back a moan and lay her head back against Bea's shoulder in mute denial of the wetness that those three pairs of eyes suddenly provoked in her. "You keep on doing what you were doing so that Tora can watch you, and I'll keep on doing what I'm doing so that you can watch her."

No one had a problem with that arrangement, even Tora, whose whimpered "no" sounded an awful lot like "yes".

Challenge Fic: Domination Is (Guy/Tora)

Thu, 13 Nov 2008 05:17:04 GMT

Title: Domination Is
Author: Duskdog
Claim: Guy Gardner
Characters/Pairing: Guy/Tora
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2178
Prompt: Spank (T13; P48)
Summary: Guy thought he wanted a cruel mistress. Tora doesn't have a cruel bone in her body, but that doesn't mean she doesn't know what domination is.
Disclaimer: DC owns 'em.
Author's Notes/Warnings: I've been trying to write domme!Tora for a while, mostly thanks to doctorv, but it just didn't all come together until I read -- you guessed it -- Doc's good-girl domme Tora in Whipped. So now you know who to blame for this. Twice over.

Being dominated isn't what Guy imagined it would be, at all.

He's had fantasies almost since puberty hit. It started with a teacher, actually, which he supposes isn't all that unusual. There he was, a dejected, unloved thirteen-year-old boy on the road to juvenile delinquency, and there was Mrs. Calloway, the English teacher who was determined to save him. She was tough on him. She called on him in class constantly instead of letting him slouch down and nap in the back row like most teachers did. When he didn't turn in an assignment, she made him stay after school and complete it right in front of her. She held him to a higher standard than he had ever been held to before, and the harder he fought her authority, the harder she was on him.

"Why've you got it out for me?" he'd demanded in desperation one afternoon, knowing that his mom would tell his dad that he was late coming home from school again, and there might be hell to pay.

"I don't have it out for you," Mrs. Calloway had explained, stern but patient. "I'm holding you to a higher standard because I know you're smart enough and capable enough to meet it."

Guy was stunned into obedient silence, and spent the rest of the afternoon sitting in her classroom finishing the essay that he was supposed to have handed in that morning. And when he finally turned it in, digging his ratty old sneakers into the floor in front of him as she read it, he was rewarded for his efforts with an "A" and a rare, tight smile.

"Excellent," she'd said.

That was the night the dreams started. Being good for Mrs. Calloway. He couldn't have said how or why a notoriously strict middle-aged married woman with dark hair and glasses suddenly became beautiful to him, but he always vividly remembered the dreams: he was a bad boy, and she spanked him for it, but when the spanking was over, she smiled and told him "Excellent", and he woke with a warm stain on his sheets.

There were strings of similar fantasies over the years after that. A sassy cheerleader. A college professor. Half a dozen porn star dominatrices. Most persistently, Hal Jordan. No matter the face, the fantasies were all remarkably the same. There was humiliation, and pain, and ultimately, gratification that he just knew would be a tiny bit sweeter than what he could get from tamer sex.

But the fantasies got more intense with each passing year. He wanted to be humiliated more. He wanted more pain. It seemed wrong, and it was certainly shameful, so he never told anyone. And maybe that's why he found himself relieved to settle into a relationship with Tora: sweet, gentle Tora, who would certainly never indulge him in such a harmful thing even if he were ever to be weak enough to ask.

It isn't until he's been dating Tora for a while that he realizes that all these years, he's had it all wrong.

Domination is the way her brows draw together with worry when she looks at him sometimes. He feels like a world-class jerk for making her worry about him so.

Domination is the way she sets her jaw when she's holding back her anger, and the way she refuses to meet his eyes when she tries to hide her disappointment because she doesn't want to hurt him by letting him know that he's hurt her. He knows he's not worthy of her because he can't make himself hold back for her sake in the same way.

Domination is the way she catches his arm when he draws it back to hit Beetle, and he whirls to confront her only to find her looking back at him with pleading, almost-tears in her eyes. He wants to be the man she wants him to be, so he lowers his fist and fancies he can feel his masculinity shrink just a little in everyone's eyes but hers.

Domination is the way she slips her robe down off of her shoulders, cheeks turning pink, eyes on the ground. He gives her his rapt attention, because he knows that he's privileged for being allowed to feast his eyes upon something special and sacred, something she wouldn't show to just anyone.

Domination is the way she bites her bottom lip, tilting her head and peering up at him from beneath her lashes as she parts her thighs just a little, and shyly says "Please." He goes to his knees without a second thought.

When he's about to do the wrong thing, she convinces him to do what's right, and domination is the way she smiles at him so proudly when he makes that choice. He lives for that smile in the same way that he dreads seeing the disappointment when he chooses poorly.

When he's very bad and pushes her away, she obediently withdraws from his presence, but domination is the way she keeps herself away from him afterwards until he breaks down and comes to her. He hurts when they're apart, and he resists and resists until he can't stay away from her anymore. She never makes him apologize, but he does it anyway with fevered kisses and touches when she accepts him into her arms once more.

When he asks her one day, gruff and embarrassed and unable to look her in the eye, to spank him for being so bad, she's less surprised than he expected her to be.

"If it's really what you want," she agrees, perhaps a little too quickly.

It's really what he wants, but he never imagined he would get it, and he's clumsy unbuckling his belt because she's sitting on the bed watching him. When he slips his ring off with trembling hands and sets it carefully on the bedside table, she smiles at him and sits up straighter, shifting in an eager sort of way that he's never seen in her before.

But when he asks her to tie him, she says no.

"It would be silly to tie you down," she says to him, running a gentle hand down his back as he bends over the bed for her. "I just know you're going to be so good for this."

The words thrill him from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, but mostly they thrill his cock, trapped hot and hard beneath his body and the blankets. She doesn't want to take control away from him. She wants him to control himself, which is really the only thing she's ever tried to make him do, and she's confident that he can do it.

He's so busy basking in pleasure over this fact that he isn't expecting the first blow when it comes, sharp and cold against his left butt cheek. He jumps.

"Please be still," she says, and there's no command there at all, but she asked him to behave, so he feels obligated just the same.

She massages the red spot her hand left behind, and he calms beneath her fingers.

"Good," she says, and it takes all his willpower not to squirm against the bed as the word sends another of those thrills straight to his cock.

He always thought he wanted -- needed -- whips and chains and cuffs and leather to feel properly dominated, but he finds submission in nothing more than the sharp sting of her bare palm against his naked buttocks. She spanks him, harder than he expected, and he struggles to control himself for her, making fists in the sheets and biting the blankets to suppress his groans of pleasure until she tells him that he doesn't have to be quiet if he doesn't want to. Sometimes she does it slow, one blow at a time, massaging his hot cheeks with icy fingers in between blows. Sometimes she does it fast, dozens of rapid strikes in succession, leaving them both breathless and panting.

"Do you like this?" she asks him after one such barrage, one hand playing in his sweaty hair, and though he can't see her, he can hear the excited tremble in her voice. He's pleasing her. "Do you really like it?"

"Yeah," he pants, and he has to raise his head and lick his lips before he can correct himself, "Yes ma'am!"

She's never asked that he call her that, but she doesn't correct him, either. Somehow, when she spanks him again, he knows that it's encouragement rather than punishment.

Her hands are all over him in between blows now, rubbing possessively, as if she just can't resist touching every part of him that belongs to her. She spanks him and kneads his buttocks hard this time. She spanks him again and runs her fingers up and down his back. She spanks him again, and slides a hand between his legs to cup his balls. He spreads his legs for her, and raises his ass up to meet her hand as it comes down, and she doesn't ask him to be still anymore because she can't control herself any more than he can at this point.

"Guy," she practically moans, bringing her hand down hard and then sliding her entire body up his side. He can feel her naked breasts pressing against his back, and he doesn't remember when she paused to take off her clothes. "Guy," she says again, her lips against his ear and her hand cold and firm on his back, preventing him from getting up (as if he even wanted to). "No man where I come from would ever do this for his woman. You're so much better than that. Such a fine, strong man. So special. So good to me." She sits up, cracking his buttocks sharply with her palm again. "So good."

She's not ashamed of him. She doesn't think he's being weak. She doesn't think he's bad. She's happy. He's pleasing her.

He whimpers as she spanks him sharply over and over again, rubbing himself against the blankets, torn between the need to achieve his rapidly-looming orgasm and the desire to hold out for as long as possible so that this never stops. She's enjoying this. She hasn't told him that he can't come until she's ready, but she doesn't have to, because he wants to keep on pleasing her. He bites the inside of his mouth, trying to think about football stats, the names of all the alien Green Lanterns he knows -- anything but the feel of her hand against his buttocks and the sweet sound of flesh striking flesh.

She stops suddenly and comes around to climb onto the bed in front of him.

"Oh, Guy," she says breathlessly, grasping his shoulders and tugging at him, encouraging him to raise up and embrace her, and when he does, they're both so weak in the knees that they fall back to the bed together, him on top of her but always in her thrall, just the way it's always been before. God, she's so wet -- sometimes she needs lube, but not tonight and maybe not ever again -- and if he has trouble gaining entrance, it's only because neither of them can focus enough to steady their shaking hands enough to help.

It's hard and fast, and it's the best sex they've ever had. She's already on the brink, she's encouraging him in a way that she's usually too shy to do -- "Harder, faster, more!" -- and it seems like only the blink of an eye before a mewling whine escapes from her throat and her hips are jerking up sharply, her body shaking, her nails digging into his back. He buries himself deep one last time, groans and holds her to him as he comes, too, and they rock together for a moment, sharing the bliss of their first simultaneous orgasm.

Usually he has to make himself remember that she likes to cuddle, because domination is the way she'll be sad for a week if he falls right asleep after. Tonight, though, it's less of a chore and more of a pleasure. He's certain now that she could do this to anybody if she really wanted to, twist any of them around her little finger, convince any of them to bend over for her because they're all just as conditioned to want to see her smile as he is -- Bea, certainly, Ted or Booster, yes, maybe even J'onn -- but she's probably not even aware of the power she has.

Whatever it is, he knows she likes it.

"I just know you're going to be very good tomorrow," she says sleepily, playing with his hair as he nuzzles her throat. "But do you think it might help if, maybe, we did this again in the morning? Just... as a reminder?"

Domination is the way she asks him so prettily for what she wants, so that he can't possibly disappoint her by saying anything but "Yes."

Meme: Random Factoids

Tue, 11 Nov 2008 23:13:25 GMT

NaNoWriMo has temporarily shoved fanfic out of its way, so I haven't made much progress on anything but the novel so far this month. I need something amusing that can be completed in small increments of thought, so I'm filching this meme from Kalinara over at Pretty, Fizzy Paradise:

Essentially, you suggest a character, and I will tell you something that I believe whole-heartedly about that character that has no merit or basis what-so-ever in the actual comic books.

Random example: Tora doesn't drink cola. The first time she tried it, she thought someone was trying to poison her. Of course she knows better now, but she can't quite shake the feeling that brown liquids that pop and fizz and burn just a tiny bit going down are not natural.

Request as many as you want. Yes, you can pick characters that I've never even discussed before because I do think a lot about characters that I never actually get around to writing fanfic about. If I don't know enough about them to have any thoughts, I'll be honest and tell you so, though. Oh, and you can pick a character that someone else has already picked if you want, and I'll just keep telling you random crap about them. Original characters are fair game, too. Heck, they don't even have to be my own!

Gardner/Rayner '08: Demopublicans for the Future

Wed, 05 Nov 2008 00:46:49 GMT

America needs a strong leader.
America needs someone who will stand up for what's right just because it's right, not because a religion or agenda told him to.
America needs a man who looks good in a belly shirt, cowboy boots, and who isn't afraid to cut his own hair.
America needs... GUY GARDNER.

Guy Gardner is a man of character. Integrity. Finely-honed masturbation skills. A working man like you and me (assuming that you and I are men who also work). He is not a working woman, but he likes to watch them from across the room.

Guy Gardner supports:
Minimum Wage Workers. If not for you, how would he order his fries and tacos? How indeed. He's been there in the grease-filled trenches beside you. He understands your pain. YOU MAY HAVE A TAX BREAK, A RAISE, AND AFFORDABLE HEALTHCARE.

Small Business Owners. You, sir, who own the small gas station down the street, and who always let Kyle pick up the beer even when he stupidly forgets his I.D. -- Guy Gardner loves you. YOU MAY HAVE A TAX BREAK.

The Wealthy. If not for your large, fine houses, we would have nothing suitably impressive to egg on Halloween, and great novels would be written about the struggle against the middle-class soccer mom down the street instead of about the struggle against The Man. YOU MAY HAVE A COOKIE.

The Military. You go the extra mile to blow shit up for America. You deserve a president who is neither geriatric nor a pansy. Guy Gardner wants to help you. Literally, he wants to help you. He will come to you and assist you in blowing shit up. AFTERWARDS, THERE WILL BE DRINKS FOR EVERYONE WHO IS NOT AN AIR FORCE PILOT. THOSE GUYS CAN FEND FOR THEMSELVES.

Gays. Lesbians should be allowed to marry one another and make sweet love in public. Gay men should be allowed to marry one another, and therefore take themselves off the market so that the women who have been wasting their time fawning over those "sensitive" men will start paying proper attention to the men who actually want to pay proper attention to them. It's a win-win situation. YOU MAY MARRY AND HAVE BABIES, TED AND BOOSTER. OH, AND ALL YOU OTHER GAYS, TOO.

Religious people. Guy Gardner is reasonably sure that there is either no god, or that there are five-hundred of them who are actually just really powerful jerks who get bored easily, but this is America, damn it, and GUY GARDNER SUPPORTS YOUR RIGHT TO WORSHIP THE ALL-POWERFUL ASSHOLE OF YOUR CHOICE.

Children. Guy Gardner wants to see your babies in school learning important stuff from qualified teachers (such as himself). After travelling many miles and observing the behavior of many adults who were taught improperly and continue to teach their own children improperly, he proposes to add in his patented "Don't Be A Dumbass" Curriculum to all public schools, as well. This curriculum will address crucial everyday issues with lessons such as "Don't Piss on the Public Restroom Floor" and "Put that Item Back Where You Found It If You Decide Not To Buy It -- You're Making More Work For Honest Hard-Working People" and "Turn Your Damn Cellphone Off Long Enough to Talk to the Person Standing Right in Front of You". HALF THE SALARIES OF ALL AIR FORCE PILOTS WILL BE GIVEN TO TEACHERS, INSTEAD.

Guy Gardner will not lie to you, or say one thing but do another, except for during those times when it's for your own good. Because he cares.

Guy Gardner wants to hear what you have to say, unless you're stupid and should not be listened to by anyone. Because he understands.

Guy Gardner may get your college-aged daughter pregnant, but he will do right by the baby. Because that's just the kind of stand-up guy he is.

Guy Gardner: tough on crime, committed to justice, number one on your girlfriend's speed-dial.

A president you can believe in.

A vice-president you won't be embarrassed to have erotic dreams about.

Do the right thing for America.

Vote Gardner/Rayner '08!

Challenge Fic: Masks (Guy/Tora, Hal, Rocky)

Wed, 29 Oct 2008 05:27:04 GMT

Title: Masks
Author: Duskdog
Characters/Pairing: Guy/Tora, Hal, Gunnar, Garth, Griffin, Rocky
Rating: G
Word Count: 763
Prompt: Costumes (2008 DCU Free For All Autumn Challenge)
Summary: Uncle Hal volunteers to take Guy's kids trick-or-treating, but Rocky has to get over his newest phobia, first.
Disclaimer: DC owns 'em all except the Gardnerspawn.
Author's Notes/Warnings: Why is Rocky the only person in the universe smart enough to be disturbed by this?

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Tora asked, washing black makeup off of her hands at the kitchen sink.

Guy wrapped his arms around her from behind, nuzzling the back of her ear. "It's a great idea. The boys go trick-or-treating, we get some time alone... what's not to like? Why? Don'tcha trust Hal?"

She hesitated, not really willing to say yes or no to that. "I trust myself more," she compromised finally.

"Aw, come on. This was his idea, y'know. He seems real excited about it."

"I'm just not sure that he knows what he's getting into. He--"

"No, no!" squealed Rocky from the living room. "Mama! Mama!"

Tora wiped her hands on a dishrag, turning around just in time to see him run into the kitchen on stout little legs, arms outstretched. She knelt down so that he could run right into her embrace and gathered him up in her arms. "What's wrong, baby? Oh, you're smudging your makeup!"

It had taken the better part of the afternoon to get all the boys dressed up in their Halloween costumes -- now the trick was keeping everything pretty until Tora and Guy had time to wash the makeup and fake blood off of their hands and get some pictures before Hal arrived to take the boys trick-or-treating. Rocky was going to be a black cat, complete with furry kitten costume, mitten-paws, and hood with little triangular ears. Not five minutes ago, Tora had painstakingly dabbed some black on the end of his nose, and drawn out six little whiskers across his cheeks.

"Eyes is gone! Eyes is gone!"

"What eyes? Where?"

He covered his own eyes with his furry little mitten-paws.

Guy sighed. He had a hunch. "Griffin! What'd you do to your brother?"

A tiny little white-haired Booster Gold peeked around the door from the living room, blinking at his father through officially-licensed yellow Boostershades (find them at any fine toy store near you, or join the Booster Gold Fan Club for a free pair!). "Nothin' Daddy! I promise, cross my heart!"

Guy crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes in a special fatherly sort of way.

"We were just gonna put Gunnar's mask on him, that's all! Nothin' mean! He just freaked out 'cause he's weird!"

"Griff."

Gunnar peeked around the corner, too, green mask held in one hand. He had wanted to be Green Lantern (and oh, Guy's heart swelled with pride), but he had thought it very important that he design his own costume. Mostly he had just picked different elements from existing Lantern costumes that he liked, and Guy suspected that he had only picked Hal's stupid old mask because it just didn't feel like Halloween if you weren't wearing a mask or makeup on your face!

"For real, Daddy. Griff didn't do nothin'!" He held up the mask, only a cheap imitation of the real thing, and Rocky turned away and hid his face from it.

Guy crossed the room and plucked the mask gently from his eldest son's hand, bringing it back over to Rocky and holding it up. "Look, sport. It's okay. It's just a mask. It's not gonna cover anybody's eyes. It's got holes, see?"

"Eyes!" insisted Rocky.

Tora kissed his forehead and stroked his hair soothingly. "Masks don't hurt you, Rocky. There's nothing to be afraid of. Look, Daddy will put it on and I promise you'll be able to see his eyes, okay?"

Trembling, Rocky snuggled against his mother, eyes on Guy as he slipped the mask on.

"There. See? It's just me with a mask on." Guy patted his head. "And look, see my pretty eyes?" He batted his eyelashes. "I can see you!"

The boy reached out hesitantly, poking a finger in his eye.

"Ouch!" squeaked Guy in an exaggerated falsetto, and Rocky giggled. His parents looked at each other and smiled: another potential crisis averted.

And then Vampire Cowboy Garth came around the corner looking exceptionally pouty. "Uncle Hal's here, and he didn't bring any presents! Do I gotta let him in?"

"I let myself in, thanks," came Hal's voice from the living room, an instant before he came around the corner. "And what are you supposed to be, anyway? Undead Wyatt Earp?"

Rocky looked up. Rocky screamed. Tora suddenly had an armful of panicking child, but that didn't stop her from glaring daggers at Hal.

"Well, that explains where that phobia came from," said Guy, mirroring his wife's glare.

Hal looked back at them cluelessly through the blank white eyes of his Green Lantern mask. "What? What did I do?"

Babbling: Challenges, and a Meme

Fri, 24 Oct 2008 05:28:15 GMT

I'm only ten prompts away from fulfilling my 80-prompt Guy Gardner claim, and five from fulfilling my much shorter Dibnys claim. I've quite enjoyed dcu_freeforall, and I've decided that, as soon as I finish one or the other of the claims I already have, I'm going to make a claim for the JLI. I haven't decided just how many prompts, yet, but I've decided to ask for some advice.

Anyone know any particular prompt tables, or any particular individual prompts, that you think would make for good JLI stories? Obviously my favorites are the Beetle/Booster/Fire/Guy/Ice version of the JLA, but technically the JLE also counts -- and of course any supporting characters from those books. While you're at it, now would be a good time to suggest any story ideas that you wouldn't mind seeing written on such a table. Basically anything that would help me set up or pick out a nice prompt table is welcome.

And also, a meme, stolen from several places:

Set your playlist on shuffle. The seventh song that plays will be the inspiration for your next fic. Just mentioning the song in your fic (i.e. Buffy and Angel danced to "Unchained Melody") is cheating! The key word here is "inspiration". What situation does the song describe, or what emotions does the song evoke in you? Can you write those emotions into your characters believably?

I got "Alone" by Heart. I usually never manage to get any story fodder from memes like these, but OH MY GOD.

Till now, I always got by on my own
I never really cared until I met you

This is almost exactly how Bea describes her relationship with Tora when she's talking to Sigrid about it. After that, the idea was formed and the rest of the song just reinforces it. Hello, angsty Bea/Tora fic! If you don't know the lyrics (for shame -- Heart is awesome), you can find them here.

...Though now that I think of it, Heart's Greatest Hits would be a pretty good playlist for story inspiration in general.

Hey... I need Bea/Tora icons.