Historical Thursday!
Sep. 22nd, 2011 09:05 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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comment_ficIt's the final day of my Themed Prompts and I hope you've enjoyed the various themes I've put forwards! :)
Today's theme is Historical AU! Ever wondered what your muses would be like if they lived in another era of history? Your favourite team of sleuths in the Middle Ages, your fair heroine in Roman Britain or that super hero at the turn of the century... Today place your favourite shows in different historical periods. The key things to remember about historical AU's is its your characters being in a different historical setting to their own world (yet possibibly being much the same in character), and if your show happens to be set in a period of history already it needs to be a different one to their own! Established Historical AU's are allowed too!
Here of course once again are those pesky Prompt Rules via the great god Copy and Paste:
Today's theme is Historical AU! Ever wondered what your muses would be like if they lived in another era of history? Your favourite team of sleuths in the Middle Ages, your fair heroine in Roman Britain or that super hero at the turn of the century... Today place your favourite shows in different historical periods. The key things to remember about historical AU's is its your characters being in a different historical setting to their own world (yet possibibly being much the same in character), and if your show happens to be set in a period of history already it needs to be a different one to their own! Established Historical AU's are allowed too!
Here of course once again are those pesky Prompt Rules via the great god Copy and Paste:
- No more than 5 prompts in a row, and no more than 3 prompts per fandom. However, if one of your prompts is filled, you may prompt again!
- No spoilers in your prompts until 1 week after the original air/publication date.
- If there are spoilers in your response, please warn in bold and leave at least 3 spaces. After that, it’s totally their fault.
- Remember to format your prompts appropriately and keep them to a reasonable length. For example:
- Torchwood, Any, Torchwood was created by Richard the Lionheart instead of Queen Victoria.
- DC, Batman & Robin, The Batman of Gotham by Gaslight gets his Robin.
- Iron Man, Tony/Pepper, Iron Man 1865.
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Date: 2011-09-22 08:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-22 08:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-22 08:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-28 02:02 am (UTC)For the most part, she ensures that the cook has everything she might need to see a small household of five, that the girl dusts quite diligently in every crevice of the bookcases, and that the lad keeps the horses shod and exercised. She executes Mr Stark's budget and employee calculations as well, by which course he hasn't noticed that she charges him extra for the task.
She is the one to adjust his vest and the 'devilish knot' of his tie when he wanders out of doors for entertainment. He claims he'll never come around and secure a gentleman as long as Pepper is there to be sure he's not stepping on his own coattails.
It is also Pepper's duty to entertain Mr Stark's visitors with a pot of tea while she determines (invariably) that he is too preoccupied to see them. She is the one to venture abovestairs to his laboratory, where the girl isn't permitted, and tidy up his messes.
And so it is that the housekeeper is the only one privy to Mr Stark's experiments. Pepper will often enter (against his shouted demands) with some refreshment and find her employer with his eye to a magnifier, delicately aligning clockwork wheels.
And today, she finds him with a leather gauntlet about his wrist, a thin strip of steel boning ripped from the inside to slice the pale skin of his forearm.
Pepper puts the tea aside immediately and reaches to direct his free hand across the wound. She pulls out a fresh bandage from the cabinet kept for such occurances and says, "I suppose this time you were even more assured of success than the last."
"It just seems that my calculations of tensile strength were a bit optimistic, Ms Potts," he insists, applying pressure as she has taught him. While he stayed home and designed weapons during the Rebellion, Pepper had been abroad as a nurse. The pressures of that life help her keep calm in this one.
Now, she takes his hand away and cleans up the blood, inspects the would. "You'll need stitches," she tells him, and their eyes meet.
This is another of Pepper's duties: to kneel beside Mr Stark's chair and press her thumb into the tender flesh of his inner elbow, reminding him to keep still. To pull silk and needle through with quick, efficient movements.
And her last duty: to leave in silence, with his eyes on her back. To let him stew there in his laboratory, wondering why he hasn't yet offered for her hand.
She wonders it herself, sometimes.
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Date: 2011-09-22 10:06 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2011-09-22 10:12 am (UTC)No fic, but...
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Date: 2011-09-22 02:21 pm (UTC)no fic but
Date: 2011-09-23 06:01 am (UTC)Re: no fic but
From:Re: no fic but
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Date: 2011-09-22 02:34 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2011-09-22 04:06 pm (UTC)FILL: Of All These Wrongs, Verging on NC-17
Date: 2011-09-22 06:41 pm (UTC)But where is the justice in tumbling into hay with a boy who should be stretched out on fine linens the first time he lies with a lover? In what way does it serve Bryce's cause to abuse the soft skin beneath his lips with tongue and teeth? Charles... Charles should bear no marks, of kindness or cruelty. He should be untouched. In body as he is in soul. Bryce can see it in Charles's eyes - the innocence that separates him from Bryce, boy from man, as age and ability do not. Charles doesn't see the ugliness in the world. A poor stable hand... Has somehow survived two scores of existence still seeing nothing but the good in people, and how is it just that Bryce should take that away from him? He will leave. When his work here is done, he will leave. And, if he does this with Charles now, how much more will the sting of his abandonment afflict his young lover in the aftermath?
"Bryce... Lord Bryce, please..."
For once in his short but eventful life, Bryce fears that justice is not the beat guiding the drum of his heart. In fact, he knows it is not. Truthfully, his attention has been divided since he first laid eyes on the Baron Shaw's handsome young servant. And he allowed this distraction to occur. Encouraged it, even, spending far more time near the stables than has been necessary in the interests of his mission. Now that distraction has come to this.
To Charles lying beneath him, all but naked. To his own breeches gaping loose, his other vestments scattered to and fro about the ruck stall in which he and Charles are hidden. To Charles's inexperienced but curious (Charles steals Bryce's breath with his curiousity) hands, roaming everywhere.
Bryce consoles himself with the fact that what is is not always just. Charles's hands, so lovely and gentle, should not be rough with the callouses of hard labor. And yet Bryce would have his touch no other way. His blood sings everywhere Charles's weathered fingertips brush against him. He drowns the silent derision of his own mind in Charles's gasps and moans as he repays each caress in like kind. He suckles and licks and bites. If he cannot be good to Charles, if he can not be right or honorable, Bryce will at least be pleasing.
"Yes, Charles... Tell me. Tell me what you want."
"What plea- What pleases m'lord... pleases me," Charles stutters.
There are equal parts apology, affection, and appetite in Bryce's grin. "There is much that would please me to do with you, Charles," Bryce says, a lover's purr. "Should I do them all, then?"
"Oh!" Charles's voice quivers, at the same time that the firm flesh in Bryce's grip does the same. Bryce couldn't stop himself at this point if Mother England requested it of him in person. "Oh, G-" Charles starts, and then makes as if to cross himself against the blasphemy that nearly left his lips.
Bryce catches his hand before Charles can and kisses the work-abraided knuckles.
"You needn't pray, Charles," he says. "You've done nothing wrong. I'm sorry."
Confusion mars Charles's pretty face. Wrinkles the brow beneath sweat-dampened curls. "What do you-"
But Bryce replaces Charles's words with his own tongue and all questions become moans and whimpers. The world is full of things that should not be. One so corrupt as Baron Shaw should not continue on in his office. One so pure as Charles should not struggle on in his service. One who has vowed to aid and protect, as Bryce has, should not take innocence where he finds it, simply because it is beautiful and he can't help himself.
Bryce prays in Charles's stead, silently, desperately, that if anything right should come out of all these wrongs, it will be to the benefit of the young man in his arms.
Re: FILL: Of All These Wrongs, Verging on NC-17
From:Re: FILL: Of All These Wrongs, Verging on NC-17
From:Re: FILL: Of All These Wrongs, Verging on NC-17
From:Re: FILL: Of All These Wrongs, Verging on NC-17
From:Re: FILL: Of All These Wrongs, Verging on NC-17
From:Re: FILL: Of All These Wrongs, Verging on NC-17
From:Re: FILL: Of All These Wrongs, Verging on NC-17
From:Re: FILL: Of All These Wrongs, Verging on NC-17
From:Re: FILL: Of All These Wrongs, Verging on NC-17
From:no subject
Date: 2011-09-22 04:14 pm (UTC)(Little does she know her 1st and favourite husband, Bryce, has been having an illicit affair with her most recent groom behind her back)
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Date: 2011-09-22 05:25 pm (UTC)i actually see this as the first scene of a longfic
Date: 2011-09-22 11:24 pm (UTC)But it's not where his thoughts lie. And while Sam drinks ale and plans strategy, Dean finds his way down to the settlement by the waterfall, just a few miles west of the city. And he watches the falls and crouches by the water, and thinks that the world is falling into war and chaos, and nobody really understands the heart of men.
Nobody, but the man who walks naked and painted to the side of the river sometimes, the one with deep eyes and bright black spikes of hair, sometimes looks at Dean as though he might have a clue.
They stare at each other, wordless, for minutes at a time. Dean doubts they would understand each other if they did speak. But here, wordless, there's a silent companionship between them -- two men, two warriors, drawn to the water.
And then one day the stranger dares to draw closer. Dean doesn't move, doesn't want to scare him away -- as though he's a rare animal in the wild. And the man moves like an animal, all sharp angles, a sudden turn of head, a few steps and then a stop. As though he is constantly waiting for arrows to rain down from above.
But a few hesitant steps later, he is by Dean's side. He nods, a universal motion, and they sit and watch the waterfall for minutes, without speaking, breathing nearly in unison as the reeds bend with the force of the falling water.
When the first shiver of nightfall sends goosebumps up Dean's arm, the man turns and pushes his palm against his chest. "Castiel." He is not chilled by the gust of wind.
Dean repeats the syllables dully. "Cas Ti El?" He points to the Indian, who nods again. "Uh... Dean," he says, gesturing to himself.
Castiel's eyes flicker over his face. "Dean," he says. The name in his voice has a hundred more layers than Dean's ever heard in it. Suddenly he's ashamed of his name. it's so simple. These Indians with their lyrical names that seem to go on and on, with bright clean vowels. Castiel. It must mean something fantastic. A name like a waterfall.
Stupid things he's thinking. His mind ought to be on the revolution.
"War is coming," says Castiel, and for a moment Dean thinks it's nonsense words in another language. He blinks, then turns and tries to find words to speak.
Castiel cuts him off. "When you are finished fighting off your persecutors," he said, "remember how it feels when you turn to us."
If Dean wasn't sure before that this savage was a warrior, he knows it now by the look in his eyes. He's afraid, but it's like his heartstrings have been plucked, and he's vibrating now, struck by Castiel's gaze and his warning.
"Why are you telling me this?" he asks.
And Castiel's lips turn upward. "Because you understand," he says.
Dean has not known this man for longer than the minutes they have spent looking at each other. He knows nothing of his language, his family, where he comes from and what he fears. But he nods his head yes, because despite all of that, he believes he does understand.
He watches Castiel walk away, movements sharp and fluid at the same time, precise even as they flow. There's some balance to him that Dean admires, him in his uncomfortable breeches and with his musket and vest, with his shoes that crunch down the grass. There's freedom in Castiel's nakedness, and Dean wonders what it would be like to be so close to the earth that you didn't bother to hide yourself. Others say that makes the Indians animals. Dean wonders if it makes them free.
Re: i actually see this as the first scene of a longfic
From:Re: i actually see this as the first scene of a longfic
From:Re: i actually see this as the first scene of a longfic
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Date: 2011-09-22 05:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-22 05:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-22 05:40 pm (UTC)