Entries tagged with 12doc

Current Mood: tired

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Twelfth Day Of Christmas - Puh, finally made it through the challenge!

“I can’t believe she didn’t even give me a chance,” Brian complained. “I mean, who’s ever heard of ending a job interview in under two minutes?”

“Well, Sister Mary has known you for a very long time,” Pepper hinted diplomatically. “I guess, she already knew she wasn’t going to hire you.”

“That’s the worst part,” Brian said. “I thought we were friends. She should know how trustworthy I am. You’d think she’d understand I’m the best choice for the job. It wouldhave been a perfect fit.”

“Brian,” Pepper exclaimed losing her patience. “You applied for a job as a cleaner.”

Current Location: CRACK!land

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On the twelfth day of Christmas...

The UTTER CRACK played out in the comments on this entry inspired this drabble. With major apologies to

starspiritgate and

foxxfire5 , because I know

steadfast will be amused.

Baraq - Soap Opera

He’s sitting on the couch with Aziraphale, shoulders and knees touching comfortably as they sip tea and poke fun at the soap opera on TV, when Crowley enters, glowering, and inserts himself between them. He blinks, surprised.

Gabriel approaches him, grinning, with a painting of a very female Barachiel, but he’s only just glanced at it when Michael appears and pulls Gabriel away, mumbling something about a cat stuck in a tree and sending a glare Baraq’s way.

Baraq doesn’t know how he ended up in a soap opera, but it’s nowhere near as amusing as the ones on TV.

~*~

For the record, Gabriel is being curious and friendly, but Michael's just irrationally jealous - he's not taking chances. As for Aziraphale... no comments there. Poor, poor Baraq, he didn't deserve this.

And again, my deepest apologies to Yubi! I know you didn't mean for any of this to happen, dear, it just... did. ~~I blame Jen~~.

~~Baraq/Aziraphael/Crowley OT3!~~

Current Mood: artistic

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Late submission for the eleventh day of Christmas

This was for yesterday, the eleventh day. Baby Zizi from

steadfast 's Manchester Lost.

... I meant for him to be really cute but he looks... odd. :\ And possibly slightly crosseyed. It needs to be said that this was a quick sketch while I was doing my holiday homework, on a tiny Post-it that could easily be hidden in your palm. The pad was also extremely thick so I was holding the pencil at an odd angle.

Baby Zizi by ~Sivaroobini on deviantART

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Twelve drummers drumming,

For the final day, we have Baraq, for

starspiritgate, a.k.a. me :B

I wasn't going to -- Baraq's almost supplanted Autem as the person I draw all the time, and she's a character I've had around for about seven years -- but I already had this lying around and I was running out of time. Sorry, folks who didn't get a painting! I'll make it up to you some time.

All of them are on my DeviantART, albeit smaller.

( full image )

Current Mood: guilty

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Um

This is actually for the tenth day of Christmas, as I was out and unable to get to a computer. I have a drawing for today, the eleventh day, but I can't find the card reader for my camera so you'll be getting it late, I'm afraid. :\ Tomorrow.

Pollution - Accomplishment

The once crystalline-clear river is now a dull, murky brown, its viscous flow interrupted by the occasional styrofoam structure, oil puddle and car tyre.

A seagull flails, trying desperately to flap its wings, heavy with slick oil. Another bird chokes wildly, trying to cough up the plastic bag it has swallowed.

The setting sun’s light turns the grey sky blood-red. Plumes of smoke rise towards the sky, spelling out in wreathing smoke-letters the silent pain of the burning forest.

In a petrol station, a pale young man wipes his hands on his grimy, off-white overall, breathes in deeply, and smiles.

~*~

Pollution always brings out the purple prose in me. :X

Current Mood: stressed

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Eleventh Day of Christmas - All Beelzebub meant to do was to fetch his key

“But I’m not even doing anything!” War exclaimed incredulously. “I swear it’s not my fault.”

Sister Mary didn’t seem to be blaming her, though, and Adam was too busy trying break up the fight to pay her any attention.

“Foul, treacherous spawn from the pit!” Michael roared shaking his struggling victim. “I’ll smite you and exorcise you and banish you back to Hell. And then I’ll tear you limb from limb!”

“No Michael, you won’t,” Adam repeated sternly. “Remember the rules. Put Lord Beelzebub down right now and apologise, or I will have to throw you out of the manor.”

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eleven pipers piping,

Books books books. Books? Books books books books.

Following on Crowley's heels is

steadfast's Aziraphale! No comment on this aside from... that bowtie. It causes paroxysms of horror.

( full image )

Current Mood: amused

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Tenth Day Of Christmas - Tadfield Manor makes every effort for the comfort of its guests

Dave the cleaner almost regretted having taken a week off for Christmas. His family had been so happy to see him and he’d had a wonderful time, but oh, how much work had piled up in his absence!

“Just look at this mess!” he exclaimed when he first saw the state the ballroom had been left in after the guest’s Christmas party. “That won’t even fit into the bin and I still have to clean up after the staff party as well!”

“No problem,” said Sister Mary. “Just dump the overflow into Pollution’s room and call it an extra service.”

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ten lords a' leaping,

Bit late this time, sorry! I was... reading Secret Garden/Buffy crossover fanfic. I regret nothing. (And now I have visions of a fey version of The Secret Garden, with Colin being witch-cursed and Dickon has dryad blood, and... and I'm going a little mad again.)

Today we have the one and only Anthony J. Crowley, for

foxxfire5! Flash bastard.

By the by, the trellis is strung with tomatoes, also known as pommes d'amour, or love-apples. Used to be marketed as an aphrodisiac back in the day. Make of that what you will.

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Current Mood: tired

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Ninth Day of Christmas

“The servants’ entrance?” Could it get any worse?

He had almost expected being banned from entering the restaurant when Sister Mary had informed him she was well aware of his true identity. Not being allowed into the bar was a disappointment and detrimental to his social life, but he could, sort of, understand that as well.

“The restaurant staff have complained that their customers feel your effect whenever you pass through the lobby,” Sister Mary explained. “It’s bad for business.”

Famine sighed and lowered his head in defeat. He was too much businessman not to understand the dictates of money.

Current Mood: gloomy

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Ninth day of Christmas - Lucifer

*gulp* This is the last drabble I have written. I'd better get to work on things for the next three days...

Lucifer - Imagine

Imagine being Severed from His Presence, feeling that raw, gaping chasm in your core, like an empty vessel that has lost its purpose. Imagine the pain of Falling, watching the light of the Silver City become a distant and unattainable star, feeling flames scorch your wings, adding more pain to your agony. And the impact, crashing into that barren, fiery realm you now rule, organising that rabble of scared, hurt, Fallen angels, remaking them so the pain is lessened and they can make themselves useful. Ruling a realm of eternal pain and torture, after having basked in His love.

Imagine.

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nine ladies dancing,

Told you I was going to do it.

Here we have the shiny new Michael, as played by

steadfast! FINALLY, HUNDREDS OF DRAWINGS OF FANTASY SWORDSMEN PAYS OFF in not having to go looking up pose references.

( full image )

Current Mood: drained

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Eighth day of Christmas

Michael – Stumble

It would be so easy to stumble slightly, give in, follow the path his brother took. He is the Warrior, God’s Right Hand, and Heaven has no chance of standing against him. Wrath and Pride dangle a shadow’s breadth away, teasing him, and Lucifer would welcome him triumphantly. He could command another army, one with fewer scruples to impede them.

Gabriel looks up from his book, smiling gently at him, as Raphael sets down a plate of cookies and Uriel pokes his head out, paint on his nose, and the Presence is warm within him. And Michael the Archangel smiles.

~*~

Current Mood: rushed

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Eightth Day Of Christmas - It's War!

She couldn’t completely control her powers, but that was a good thing. She couldn’t have existed in a world that was completely peaceful.

Of course Adam’s rules meant that she couldn’t allow a real war to break out in Lower Tadfield, not with tanks or bombs or even machine guns. Even Adam couldn’t stop her presence from causing simmering anger or outright arguments.

With a satisfied smile War leaned back and listened to the sounds of Loki and Uriel’s argument drifting in from the corridor while watching Crowley and Baraq’s silent, but no less devious fight over the TV remote.

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eight maids a' milking,

Today's picture is for

chrisvenus's Daniel! (Prince of Stories, Monarch of the Sleeping Marches, His Darkness Dream of the Endless, and I am rightly embarrassed to remember all that right off.)

I've drawn Morpheus plenty of times, but this is the first Daniel, I think. He's... more or less monochromatic, which makes rendering him in actual colours a bit odd.

( full image )

Current Mood: accomplished

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Seventh day of Christmas

Since Yubi offered us Drugs and Primoris, I thought I'd offer my Primoris drabble to go with it. ;)

Primoris - Deceptive

All you can hear is your heart beating; you dare not move or even look back, in this maze of dark corridors.

Is that a footfall behind you? An intake of breath?

Run.

Forgetting stealth, you break into a run, feet pounding against the ground, onwards and onwards on a neverending path; you know there is a shapeless terror behind you, gaining on you, and you dare not look back. Run, until your heart gives out, and you never wake.

Run, run, as fast as you can, little mortal man. For I am waiting, at the end of your path.

~*~

I admit, I originally wrote something that was way over 300 words for him but then this had to be a drabble, so I took the last bit and edited it to stand alone, and voila.

Current Mood: shy

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Seventh Day Of Christmas - Fox attempts to write the other Loki (probably fails)

It is frustrating. While there is no lack of supernatural beings with destructive abilities in the manor none of them seem to be inclined towards world ending. Loki can’t decide whether it’s just laziness on their part or they are brainwashed.

An antichrist on a crusade to preserve the world, a war goddess preferring sex to wanton destruction, demons actually liking the world and the people in it … The angels are hopeless causes anyway, except for Michael who says he needs orders from above.

He doesn’t even want to think about the embarrassment of being told no by himself.

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Sixth Day of Christmas

Adam - Unsure

Adam is never sure what’s real and what’s not.

When the beautiful girl in the bar whom he’s been eyeing for a while suddenly decides to move into the seat next to him and smiles, is it because she likes the look of him too or because he wants her to like him?

When the Them, even as adults, still place him before anything else, is it true loyalty, or the simple fact that he wants his friends to be with him?

When the universe bends to your every whim, even the subconscious ones, how do you know what’s real?

~*~

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seven swans a' swimming,

AND NOW FOR SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT.

They haven't been offered much screen time yet, but I still love Primoris and Drugs. (Primeval fears? Modern gods? Wreaking Silent-Hillian havoc on people's minds? TRIPLE SOLD.) Drugs has, er, had a little artistic license taken with. I've had another fictional god of drugs on the mind lately who appears as a man strung with gold jewelry and not terribly much else, and that affected this.

( full image )

Current Mood: nervous

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Sixth Day Of Christmas - for Adam (and Ishtar)

At last the dream problem was fixed and the first nightmare banished. Finally it was safe to sleep again.

Adam closed his eyes with a happy sigh. No more nightmares, only good dreams tonight.

“Hello Adam,” a husky voice greeted him. “Come and join me.”

He blinked and there she was on his bed in all her naked glory. She beckoned her breasts and leg shifting as she moved. Somehow a nervous step backwards only took him closer and then he felt her hands on his bare skin.

Adam shot up and out of his bed with a scream: “Ishtar!”