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08 December 2007 @ 12:11 am
Winter Holiday Challenge!  

1. Just reply to this post with comment fanfic involving a winter holiday (Christmas, New Year, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, etc) or has something wintery in it such as snow or iceskating.
2. Subject line should include (in this format): Pairing/Characters, Rating, Title
3. No minimum or maximum!
4. Include warnings if your comment needs it!
5. You can write as many as you want!

and the most important rule: HAVE FUN!
(Deleted comment)
Stephanie: Samflareonfury on January 25th, 2009 11:04 pm (UTC)
Re: comments
You can post the first bit and then link it at the end to somewhere else, if you want. Do you want to do that so you can have your name to the fic? I'll delete the 2 comments above and you can repost it - if you want.
intimacy_writerintimacy_writer on January 25th, 2009 11:09 pm (UTC)
Re: comments
K thanks that would be awesomes. :)
Stephanie: Melindaflareonfury on January 25th, 2009 11:23 pm (UTC)
Re: comments
intimacy_writerintimacy_writer on January 25th, 2009 11:41 pm (UTC)
None/ Irafel & Dulciel, PG. Snow Angels- First Movement
Israfel was watching her partner drink a root beer float. It was a funny thing to do, she had watched plenty of humans do it before, but Dulciel was different. They were partners; they were connected wingtip to wingtip, heart to heart. Whatever he enjoyed she enjoyed.

“You’re mad at me,” she said. She hooked her boots over the rung in the chair, iron boots, crosses in the heels, flowers up the sides. She could feel his silent frustration.

He took another sip.

“You’re mad at me,” she said again, this time with more conviction and rested her chin in her hands. She looked around the little diner, they were somewhere in Minnesota. The light was soft and sharp drifting through the iced glass, making odd geometric shapes on the table, the table was the color of a seashell. The booth seats and the plump waitress’ uniform was also the color of seashells. It was a warm, curling color she felt like she could almost bite through like a cookie if she wanted to.

“No,” he said carefully. “I’m not.”

His response almost startled her, her head turned sharply. She could feel his wings fidgeting behind him; she pushed the slice of pie he had ordered earlier across the table toward him.

“I’m not mad. I’m upset because you came barging in, in the middle of a fight.” The waitress, her face plump and beautiful with middle age stopped at stared at the sound of the wings she couldn’t see before shaking her head and moving on.

“Dulciel,” she folded her fingers together. “You went without me, we’re partners.”

“It was dangerous; I’m supposed to keep you safe. You have work to do still.”

“You can’t keep me safe if you’re three continents away from me.” She doesn’t say if you’re dead because, Father sustain her please, she could not take it.

Things were relatively simple in her mind: she loves the Father, she submits to his Holy Will, she loves Obbanon because they worked together before, she loves humans because God made them in His Image, but in front of that she loves Dulciel, the sweetness of the Lord, because he is her partner and the Lord God of Israel commanded that they work together. At first she had been curious, she had added in the destruction of Babylon and Sodom and Gomorrah and helped to smite Actocalon, the whore of the Assyrians, she had burned the pharaoh and his false temples. (She would never admit it, but she took a sort of pleasure in hitting the idols, seeing if she could knock them over.) And he was a messenger, a warrior for certain, he had that bearing; but he had made it clear from the beginning that he was interested in things that man could make, things that clicked and clacked and went on their own. How he had laughed at the sight of the things man had made and how he had cried as well.

It was sweet when he did it; it made her feel holier to see the kindness he had spared them with those tears. It made her glad that she was his partner. She didn’t use the word proud, that was a dangerous word, a word that would turn back and bite at you when you thought you were holding a harmless twig. But yes, she was pleased.

She only seemed to frustrate him though.

“We will do good work Dulciel, we’ll stop the Hellgate from being opened in Grandview.”

“Yes,” he said sternly. She could see his hand, but she could almost feel it curl over the grip of the Colt. “We won’t let it open.” He pulled out a fist of hundred dollar bills and put one on the table, his eyebrows coming together, “Do you think that’s enough?”
intimacy_writerintimacy_writer on January 25th, 2009 11:45 pm (UTC)
Re: None/ Irafel & Dulciel, PG. Snow Angels- First Movement
She looked at the bills. This was a whole lot easier when you could just find a prophet somewhere and bless his wife with child. She tilted her head to the side; she wasn’t sure blessing the waitress with child would do, people were odd about those sorts of things these days. “Maybe you should be put down two to be safe. We did get two things.”

Dulciel brought his eyebrows together and looked at the wad of paper in his hand. “I wish we didn’t have to bother with this.”

“We don’t really,” they didn’t need to eat, but he enjoyed it, and he never stepped to the edge of appetite. “But I don’t mind if you like to make the stops.”

He smiled at her and then suddenly was irritated with her again. She ducked her head and grabbed his pinky with her own. The difference between their vessels’ skins was pleasing, like brown sugar and parchment. He sighed and gripped her pinky tighter in his; the second set of wings he kept tucked tight around his middle reached out and brushed across hers, “We really don’t have to keep satisfying my sweet tooth Israfel.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” something she had heard a human say, but it lacked any snark. “I am glad, I enjoy humans. They are stumbly and confused, but not without their appeal. And it pleases me that you enjoy eating.”

He nodded because what pleased her pleased him too.

Because they were partners.

“We’ll cast out the demons at the edge of town before going,” he said. He never picked a place to stop where there wasn’t something to do.

She nodded as they walked out of the diner, the bell ringing fervently as Dulciel passed under it and the walked out into the snow. Their wings opened two sets each, broad and feathered, and they were up in the air.
intimacy_writerintimacy_writer on January 26th, 2009 12:14 am (UTC)
none, Israfel & Dulciel, Rick Payne, G, Snow Angels- Second Movement
The sad thing was he didn’t notice for an couple of hours, okay six, but whose counting. And he could talk, a valuable skill he wasn’t going to lie, especially in his profession and not just teaching mind you, although there was a certain something for getting his student cross-eyed in an effort to take down notes (didn’t push them too hard, of course not, he was supposed to teach them and he definitely didn’t bulldoze over them like some of the history professors did, but it was fun to push a little) but also in getting information, people had a way of backing off dazed and confused when ya hit ‘em right between the eyes with a whole big mess of words; especially great if the person in question was standing in front of a doorway you wanted to go through. That’s beside the point though, this wasn’t either of those cases, it was him talking to feel better about the fact he was driving through a couple feet of snow with two well dressed people and a half naked man snuggled in shoulder to shoulder in the back of his truck.

He spoke over the sound of the tinny Christmas music; it was that or talk radio. And he could talk enough for the radio. So when he took a break with, “I know what you going to say, go on say it,” in the middle of a tirade about shrimp of questionable origin.

The girl, dark hair, pale skin, very calm sitting with her hands folded in her lap and a solemn sort of pleasure on her face, rather nice looking but a little too close to back home if ya knew what he meant, looked up and blinked at him and said, “Your truck is cheery.”

The man with the poorly tied tie leaned forward and looked around the half naked man, who was still staring straight forward and sitting straight up like someone had stuck a stick up… well you know, and said, “I believe you mean ‘cherry.’”

“But the truck is blue,” she said. “Most cherries are a reddish color.”

Then they seemed to have an intense moment of telepathic communication and sat back.

“You’re car is cherry,” she said.

At that point he had sat up a little straighter, thoughts of ‘Oh Rick, what did you get yourself into this time,’ banging around his skull.

“Also, there’s a deer,” she said.

“What?” Rick said, looking back just in time for the deer to hit the front of his truck, which since it was going like three miles an hour did little more than stun the deer which stumbled off into the woods somewhere.

“A deer,” the guy said. He had that weird sort of cosmopolitan caramel skin that totally made you feel like a plebe.

“Thanks, got that,” Rick snarked, temporarily forgetting that there were two crazies, potentially three sitting in the back of his truck, the truck he had rented to be able to push through the snow. Which, let’s be honest it wasn’t doing that great a job of doing.

“Are we supposed to be going this slow?” the guy asked.

“The snow’s slowing me down.” Rick said. “If I was in Miami I wouldn’t have this trouble.”

The two in the back looked at each other again, “I’ll do it,” the girl said and before he could get away there were two fingers on his forehead and a million soft voices and he was a boy at his grandmother’s house only no one was fighting and no one was there but him warm and the fire in the fireplace and its gentle heat was everywhere and he was going to sleep… when he jerked awake he and the half naked guy were in Miami on the beach, still buckled in and there were about six empty pie tins in the seat next to him.

“Hmm,” Rick said. “That was weird.”