Spike Popped My Cherry!
Jan. 25th, 2009 07:36 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
darkrivertempestYAY! Look at the pretty I got over at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
nekid_spike
Isn't he just lucious? I got it for an Andrew/God chapter during Nekid guest days in January. If you want a gander at the chapter (edited recently) look under the cut!
Sabriel approached the massive oak doors featuring wrought iron scrollwork depicting the fall from Heaven and stood, tracing the work with his fingers. Hanging on the huge thunderbolt doorknocker was a crooked sign that said: “Strategy Meeting in Progress, Do Not Disturb.” He snorted with mirth. God’s idea of a Strategy Meeting was dubious at best.
God, THE Holy One, Jehovah, Yahweh, the guy that bowls with Jesus during thunderstorms… whatever you wanted to call Him, had summoned Sabriel back to headquarters for a debriefing, and at the rate he was going, it would be eons before the dark-haired angel-in-waiting earned his wings.
Noticing the door was cracked an inch or so, Sabriel put his ear to the door to listen to the conversations that he really had no business snooping on. He heard many voices - some low and high pitched, some angry, some light and fluffy - but all centered around the current situation on Earth surrounding the Summers family.
Preparing to enter, he caught the sound of banging, a grumble or two, and then finally a small beep followed by a soft voice. “Hello, there, gentle viewers,” the quiet voice said. Again, some more banging, like something being pounded on a table. “You caught me at work on some of my back orders.”
Curiosity now firmly grabbed hold of Sabriel as he crept quietly in to the room, following the sound of the voice. The long winding hallways made it difficult to determine which direction to go when the voice echoed off the walls. Finally, closing his eyes, he tried to locate his Maker, following the pull that the Master had over all of his works. He stopped short of entering the grand workroom, instead choosing to hide in the shadows to observe the day-to-day habits of the fabled deity.
A pungent smell of clay and wood filtered throughout the entire area, a roaring fire crackling in the hearth off to the left side of a massive oaken workbench. It was covered in sculpting tools, clay in various forms of completed pieces, feathers and glasses of water. The completed pieces had a very life-like appearance, male or female, child and adult, animal or human.
In the middle of all the scattered mess was a slender young-ish man with fuzzy blonde hair with wide eyes. He wore a loud Hawaiian shirt – the kind that Sabriel secretly enjoyed - khaki Bermuda shorts and light blue flip-flops. It was totally incongruent to what he thought God the Maker would look like, as not many of the beings in Heaven actually got to see their Creator, prone to isolation as he was. He envisioned a Santa Claus looking type or a Charlton Heston maybe; even Laurence Olivier would be good.
Instead, here sat a science fair reject, geek extraordinaire… with a video camera aimed at him as if he were making a video diary.
“Isn’t it wonderful to get lost in your creations?” God said as he molded a limb onto a small form. He looked into the camera and gave a toothy grin, holding up his latest project, waving it back and forth.
No wonder God preferred isolation - probably didn’t want the human population getting wind of what he was really like. Sabriel hid a smile and continued to watch from the shadows.
“Come with me now, if you will, gentle viewers. Join me on a new voyage of the mind. A little tale I like to call: Buffy, the future Slayer of the Vampyrs,” God exclaimed as he held up a piece that reminded the angel-to-be of a Barbie doll.
The doll had some Barbie brand clothes on it, too. A pleather skirt that barely reached her knees, fishnet stockings, and a halter-top that was obviously taken from the wardrobe of the famous girly doll but made to fit the ‘Buffy’ sculpture. Sabriel was surprised there wasn’t a Ken look-a-like that the Great Architect had paired her with… oh wait, there it was!
“This tragic fellow is William, who now goes by the tacky name of Spike, and is starting to fall in love with our beauteous golden Buffy. Unbeknownst to our gentle viewers, however, is that Spike used to be human… well, at least half human, until that horrible demon Diabolus got a hold of him,” God explained to the camera as he pranced the Spike and Buffy doll along an imaginary yellow-brick road.
Sabriel’s jaw dropped. So, Buffy would most certainly be called to be the Slayer, but Spike? Spike used to be human? Or, well, at least half human, according to God. How had Diabolus achieved that little stunt? Incubi were supposed to be born, not created… weren’t they? It was a testament to how much stress he was under if he couldn’t remember the origins of certain demon species.
“Now, where did I put those wings?” God questioned himself, searching his worktable for a plume of black feathers. Finding none, he improvised, sticking two cocktail umbrellas in the Spike figure’s back and unfolded them – one a garish purple, the other muted green. “So, once Diabolus the Nasty got a hold of William, he was turned into a nymphomaniac pimp-daddy with homicidal tendencies,” the deity continued, zooming the camera lens closer by remote to focus on the Spike sculpture.
Shaking his head in dismay, the angel wanna-be watched the most powerful being in the universe play with what amounted to dolls. Knowing his time was short, he prepared to reveal himself to God when he heard, “And this, lovely audience, is the tender and gentle Tara… so pure of heart, so selfless in her actions, so shy and quiet.”
Truth be told, Sabriel had strong feeling for Tara, seeing firsthand all those things that the Almighty had spoken of, and more. Listening intently, he watched as God produced a figurine that ironically looked like Barbie’s sister Skipper, with the same blonde hair but more conservative clothing.
“She’s such a special person… caring, loving, and right now the poor thing is so confused about her father,” he tsk’d to the camera, stroking her blonde hair, and sighed heavily when adding, “If only she knew.”
“Why don’t we tell her?” Sabriel asked as he emerged from the corner’s shadows.
“Oh!” his Maker exclaimed in a flustered tone as he stopped the camera with a push of a button. “You’re here… finally!”
Leaning over the worktable, the brunette scanned the progress of his Father’s work, accidentally squishing a figure.
“Ahhhh! That was Jonathon!” God raged as he scooped up what was left of the sculpture, its head irreparably mangled.
The rage also caused Sabriel’s eyebrows to burn off. “Hey! I’m sorry, I didn’t see it!” he complained, rubbing his bare-skinned forehead. A distinct smell of sulfur hung in the air.
“Now, I have to start all over again,” God grumbled. “Or maybe I can just make him shorter… yeah, that’s it!”
Sabriel looked at the workbench again, noticing the two blond dolls… which were laid out in a most compromising position with Spike on top of Buffy. As God was preoccupied with the Jonathon figure, the angel discreetly removed Spike from his rather erotic stance and laid it aside… several feet away.
“My Lord, why don’t we tell Tara about her father?” he asked, bringing the Summers household back to the topic at hand.
“Hmm? Oh, well, I don’t think the poor dear would take it very well,” he answered absentmindedly as he finished reshaping Jonathon.
“Who is her father anyway?”
God set down his piece and looked at the young man. “If I tell you, you’ll just go and blab it to her. Intentionally or unintentionally remains to be seen.”
“She needs to be told. It might save her eventually,” Sabriel pleaded.
“Oh, all right, I’ll allow the knowledge to be passed to her. But if things go to heck in a hand basket, we know who to blame, don’t we?”
The brunette grinned and bowed at the waist. “I am ever your servant, my Lord.”
“Yes, which reminds me. I gave you the task of keeping balance in both girls’ life, not falling in love with them!”
“But, it couldn’t be helped!” he countered. They were so different from other humans he couldn’t help but be drawn to them in other ways.
“Need I remind you what a delicate balance is comprised of, Sabriel? It doesn’t mean ogling the girls! You’ve been given the duty of making sure nothing happens to them and you’d better keep it that way, or I’ll get medieval on your heinie,” God promised with a raised eyebrow.
“Yes, my Lord,” he grumbled.
“And what kind of name is Xander Harris anyway? Couldn’t you have picked something a little more… enigmatic?” God said with a moue of disgust. “Keep `em guessing?”
“I happen to like Alexander Harris, thank you very much,” he pouted.
The Supreme Being harrumphed. “Poofy name, if you ask me.”
“And Sabriel isn’t?”
“Sabriel means Order, which is something you’re supposed to instill in others, being as you are a Virtue. So, why haven’t you done it?”
“I-I’ve…” he faltered. “I’ve been busy keeping the peace, as it were.”
“By staring at Tara’s boobs?” God thundered. For a small man, he could be very loud.
“I’m sorry, I’ll do better. I have to, I want to earn my wings!” he appealed to his Maker.
Looking around his worktable, God spied what the angel-in-waiting had done with the Buffy and Spike figures, sighing heavily. “At this rate, I might be out of feathers by the time I get to you. Leave me for now. See if you can do better.”
“And Tara’s father?” he asked hesitantly.
“Oh yes,” the blond, thin man responded as he returned to his sculptures. “He’s a Nephilim.”
Sabriel was genuinely confused. “Nephilim? But… I thought, with the Great Flood, they were destroyed?”
The origin of the hybrids began with the fallen angels and in particular with the Grigori or watchers. Samyaza was an angel of high rank and led a rebel sect of angels in a descent to earth to instruct humans in righteousness. The tutelage went on for a few centuries, but soon the angels pined for the human females and began to instruct the women in magic and conjuring. The angels consumated their lust, and as a result produced hybrid offspring called Nephilim.
The fallen angels who spawned the Nephilim were cast into the Inferno. However, God granted ten percent of the disembodied spirits of the Nephilim to remain after the Great Flood, as demons, to try to lead the human race astray - through idolatry, the occult, etcetera - until the final Judgement.
Ridding the planet of these hybrids was one of God's purposes for flooding the Earth in Noah's time. The Biblical reference to Noah being perfect in his generations referred to his having a clean, Nephilim-free bloodline, although it may be inferred that there was more diversity among his three daughter-in-laws.
Sabriel had thought them wiped out but apparently at least one had escaped and began procreating right away. God was right. This news would not sit well with Tara.
After several moments of pondering, the younger man turned towards his Creator to ask another question, but soon realized God was not paying attention to him. He’d returned to carving his sculptures and playing with his dolls, serious discussion having been concluded.
Feeling dismissed, Xander Harris - Sabriel to his fellow angels-in-waiting - walked from the work room, hearing the whir and click of a the video camera as God began talking to himself again.
“And this, gentle viewers, is Daniel Oswald - Oz for short. Isn’t he just the cutest thing you’ve seen? Woof, woof!”
Xander shook his head with laughter and headed home.
nekid_spikeIsn't he just lucious? I got it for an Andrew/God chapter during Nekid guest days in January. If you want a gander at the chapter (edited recently) look under the cut!
Sabriel approached the massive oak doors featuring wrought iron scrollwork depicting the fall from Heaven and stood, tracing the work with his fingers. Hanging on the huge thunderbolt doorknocker was a crooked sign that said: “Strategy Meeting in Progress, Do Not Disturb.” He snorted with mirth. God’s idea of a Strategy Meeting was dubious at best.
God, THE Holy One, Jehovah, Yahweh, the guy that bowls with Jesus during thunderstorms… whatever you wanted to call Him, had summoned Sabriel back to headquarters for a debriefing, and at the rate he was going, it would be eons before the dark-haired angel-in-waiting earned his wings.
Noticing the door was cracked an inch or so, Sabriel put his ear to the door to listen to the conversations that he really had no business snooping on. He heard many voices - some low and high pitched, some angry, some light and fluffy - but all centered around the current situation on Earth surrounding the Summers family.
Preparing to enter, he caught the sound of banging, a grumble or two, and then finally a small beep followed by a soft voice. “Hello, there, gentle viewers,” the quiet voice said. Again, some more banging, like something being pounded on a table. “You caught me at work on some of my back orders.”
Curiosity now firmly grabbed hold of Sabriel as he crept quietly in to the room, following the sound of the voice. The long winding hallways made it difficult to determine which direction to go when the voice echoed off the walls. Finally, closing his eyes, he tried to locate his Maker, following the pull that the Master had over all of his works. He stopped short of entering the grand workroom, instead choosing to hide in the shadows to observe the day-to-day habits of the fabled deity.
A pungent smell of clay and wood filtered throughout the entire area, a roaring fire crackling in the hearth off to the left side of a massive oaken workbench. It was covered in sculpting tools, clay in various forms of completed pieces, feathers and glasses of water. The completed pieces had a very life-like appearance, male or female, child and adult, animal or human.
In the middle of all the scattered mess was a slender young-ish man with fuzzy blonde hair with wide eyes. He wore a loud Hawaiian shirt – the kind that Sabriel secretly enjoyed - khaki Bermuda shorts and light blue flip-flops. It was totally incongruent to what he thought God the Maker would look like, as not many of the beings in Heaven actually got to see their Creator, prone to isolation as he was. He envisioned a Santa Claus looking type or a Charlton Heston maybe; even Laurence Olivier would be good.
Instead, here sat a science fair reject, geek extraordinaire… with a video camera aimed at him as if he were making a video diary.
“Isn’t it wonderful to get lost in your creations?” God said as he molded a limb onto a small form. He looked into the camera and gave a toothy grin, holding up his latest project, waving it back and forth.
No wonder God preferred isolation - probably didn’t want the human population getting wind of what he was really like. Sabriel hid a smile and continued to watch from the shadows.
“Come with me now, if you will, gentle viewers. Join me on a new voyage of the mind. A little tale I like to call: Buffy, the future Slayer of the Vampyrs,” God exclaimed as he held up a piece that reminded the angel-to-be of a Barbie doll.
The doll had some Barbie brand clothes on it, too. A pleather skirt that barely reached her knees, fishnet stockings, and a halter-top that was obviously taken from the wardrobe of the famous girly doll but made to fit the ‘Buffy’ sculpture. Sabriel was surprised there wasn’t a Ken look-a-like that the Great Architect had paired her with… oh wait, there it was!
“This tragic fellow is William, who now goes by the tacky name of Spike, and is starting to fall in love with our beauteous golden Buffy. Unbeknownst to our gentle viewers, however, is that Spike used to be human… well, at least half human, until that horrible demon Diabolus got a hold of him,” God explained to the camera as he pranced the Spike and Buffy doll along an imaginary yellow-brick road.
Sabriel’s jaw dropped. So, Buffy would most certainly be called to be the Slayer, but Spike? Spike used to be human? Or, well, at least half human, according to God. How had Diabolus achieved that little stunt? Incubi were supposed to be born, not created… weren’t they? It was a testament to how much stress he was under if he couldn’t remember the origins of certain demon species.
“Now, where did I put those wings?” God questioned himself, searching his worktable for a plume of black feathers. Finding none, he improvised, sticking two cocktail umbrellas in the Spike figure’s back and unfolded them – one a garish purple, the other muted green. “So, once Diabolus the Nasty got a hold of William, he was turned into a nymphomaniac pimp-daddy with homicidal tendencies,” the deity continued, zooming the camera lens closer by remote to focus on the Spike sculpture.
Shaking his head in dismay, the angel wanna-be watched the most powerful being in the universe play with what amounted to dolls. Knowing his time was short, he prepared to reveal himself to God when he heard, “And this, lovely audience, is the tender and gentle Tara… so pure of heart, so selfless in her actions, so shy and quiet.”
Truth be told, Sabriel had strong feeling for Tara, seeing firsthand all those things that the Almighty had spoken of, and more. Listening intently, he watched as God produced a figurine that ironically looked like Barbie’s sister Skipper, with the same blonde hair but more conservative clothing.
“She’s such a special person… caring, loving, and right now the poor thing is so confused about her father,” he tsk’d to the camera, stroking her blonde hair, and sighed heavily when adding, “If only she knew.”
“Why don’t we tell her?” Sabriel asked as he emerged from the corner’s shadows.
“Oh!” his Maker exclaimed in a flustered tone as he stopped the camera with a push of a button. “You’re here… finally!”
Leaning over the worktable, the brunette scanned the progress of his Father’s work, accidentally squishing a figure.
“Ahhhh! That was Jonathon!” God raged as he scooped up what was left of the sculpture, its head irreparably mangled.
The rage also caused Sabriel’s eyebrows to burn off. “Hey! I’m sorry, I didn’t see it!” he complained, rubbing his bare-skinned forehead. A distinct smell of sulfur hung in the air.
“Now, I have to start all over again,” God grumbled. “Or maybe I can just make him shorter… yeah, that’s it!”
Sabriel looked at the workbench again, noticing the two blond dolls… which were laid out in a most compromising position with Spike on top of Buffy. As God was preoccupied with the Jonathon figure, the angel discreetly removed Spike from his rather erotic stance and laid it aside… several feet away.
“My Lord, why don’t we tell Tara about her father?” he asked, bringing the Summers household back to the topic at hand.
“Hmm? Oh, well, I don’t think the poor dear would take it very well,” he answered absentmindedly as he finished reshaping Jonathon.
“Who is her father anyway?”
God set down his piece and looked at the young man. “If I tell you, you’ll just go and blab it to her. Intentionally or unintentionally remains to be seen.”
“She needs to be told. It might save her eventually,” Sabriel pleaded.
“Oh, all right, I’ll allow the knowledge to be passed to her. But if things go to heck in a hand basket, we know who to blame, don’t we?”
The brunette grinned and bowed at the waist. “I am ever your servant, my Lord.”
“Yes, which reminds me. I gave you the task of keeping balance in both girls’ life, not falling in love with them!”
“But, it couldn’t be helped!” he countered. They were so different from other humans he couldn’t help but be drawn to them in other ways.
“Need I remind you what a delicate balance is comprised of, Sabriel? It doesn’t mean ogling the girls! You’ve been given the duty of making sure nothing happens to them and you’d better keep it that way, or I’ll get medieval on your heinie,” God promised with a raised eyebrow.
“Yes, my Lord,” he grumbled.
“And what kind of name is Xander Harris anyway? Couldn’t you have picked something a little more… enigmatic?” God said with a moue of disgust. “Keep `em guessing?”
“I happen to like Alexander Harris, thank you very much,” he pouted.
The Supreme Being harrumphed. “Poofy name, if you ask me.”
“And Sabriel isn’t?”
“Sabriel means Order, which is something you’re supposed to instill in others, being as you are a Virtue. So, why haven’t you done it?”
“I-I’ve…” he faltered. “I’ve been busy keeping the peace, as it were.”
“By staring at Tara’s boobs?” God thundered. For a small man, he could be very loud.
“I’m sorry, I’ll do better. I have to, I want to earn my wings!” he appealed to his Maker.
Looking around his worktable, God spied what the angel-in-waiting had done with the Buffy and Spike figures, sighing heavily. “At this rate, I might be out of feathers by the time I get to you. Leave me for now. See if you can do better.”
“And Tara’s father?” he asked hesitantly.
“Oh yes,” the blond, thin man responded as he returned to his sculptures. “He’s a Nephilim.”
Sabriel was genuinely confused. “Nephilim? But… I thought, with the Great Flood, they were destroyed?”
The origin of the hybrids began with the fallen angels and in particular with the Grigori or watchers. Samyaza was an angel of high rank and led a rebel sect of angels in a descent to earth to instruct humans in righteousness. The tutelage went on for a few centuries, but soon the angels pined for the human females and began to instruct the women in magic and conjuring. The angels consumated their lust, and as a result produced hybrid offspring called Nephilim.
The fallen angels who spawned the Nephilim were cast into the Inferno. However, God granted ten percent of the disembodied spirits of the Nephilim to remain after the Great Flood, as demons, to try to lead the human race astray - through idolatry, the occult, etcetera - until the final Judgement.
Ridding the planet of these hybrids was one of God's purposes for flooding the Earth in Noah's time. The Biblical reference to Noah being perfect in his generations referred to his having a clean, Nephilim-free bloodline, although it may be inferred that there was more diversity among his three daughter-in-laws.
Sabriel had thought them wiped out but apparently at least one had escaped and began procreating right away. God was right. This news would not sit well with Tara.
After several moments of pondering, the younger man turned towards his Creator to ask another question, but soon realized God was not paying attention to him. He’d returned to carving his sculptures and playing with his dolls, serious discussion having been concluded.
Feeling dismissed, Xander Harris - Sabriel to his fellow angels-in-waiting - walked from the work room, hearing the whir and click of a the video camera as God began talking to himself again.
“And this, gentle viewers, is Daniel Oswald - Oz for short. Isn’t he just the cutest thing you’ve seen? Woof, woof!”
Xander shook his head with laughter and headed home.
