mylodon: (whaletail)
So why does LJ decide to have terms of use shenanigans the week of the Shifting Sands challenge at [ profile] following_sea? I'm still posting there, undaunted, even if I'm also updating my 'mylodon' account at dreamwidth.

Anyhoo, if you want a silly story with Archie, Horatio and Styles, By the Light of the Full Moon is your thing.
mylodon: (whaletail)
Simply because I came across it again and was rather impressed with it! Not least by how silly it is.

T is for Turnips
mylodon: (whaletail)
Archie and Horatio of course. I have no idea if or where I posted this originally.

The Channel

The Channel, 1799

“Your birthday seems to come round with startling frequency.”

Horatio tries to smile but weariness defeats him. They beat to quarters at three bells in the forenoon watch; the engagement ended in the second dog watch and he is dog tired.

Archie—how can he still be so sprightly?—rubs Horatio’s shoulder. “At least Bracegirdle gets to take the prize in and you can get some rest.”

“I think a few hours in my cot would be the best present I could hope for.” Horatio’s eyes are already closed as he whispers, “As we can’t spend a few hours in yours.” He feels something pressed into his hand and forces his eyes apart to see a little packet.

“Open it.” Archie’s lips are by his ear.

Horatio pulls the tissue away to reveal a silver shoe buckle, small but perfectly formed, as Archie is small but perfectly formed.

“You’ll get the matching one once we make port.” Those lips are touching his brow now. “Once we’ve seen action there,” they murmur, and Archie draws away.

France 1918

“Your birthday seems to come round with startling frequency.”

Horatio tries to smile but weariness defeats him. Their platoons have been out for thirty six hours, fighting a desperate rearguard action in defence of land they took in 1915—will this senseless war never resolve itself? “I’m only glad to have survived to see another one.” Horatio corrects himself and this time he can force a smile out. “I’m glad we’ve both survived.”

“Please God we’ll make another. And please God we’ll celebrate it in Blighty.” Archie puts a hand under his pillow, fetching out a brown paper parcel. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you.” Their hands touch—briefly, lovingly—as the gift is exchanged. “Oh, thank you.” It’s two pairs of socks; warm, dry, silken woollen socks, smelling of home and comfort—and Archie’s mother’s scent as the Countess herself has knit them. “I’ll wear them when I wake.”

Archie smiles, raising his mug of tea to toast the day. “Next year in England.”

Horatio raises his mug in return but doesn’t repeat the words. He’s seen too many men tempt fate.

Hampshire, 2010

“Your birthday seems to come round with startling frequency.”

Horatio tries to smile but weariness defeats him. The power went down at the refinery forty eight hours ago and he’s worked almost every one of them, nursing his precious computer systems through the crisis. Not a processor he doesn’t know and love, but not as much as he loves Archie.

“Are you like the Queen and have two a year?” Archie has fed him, bathed him and put him to bed with the cricket on the radio to lull him to sleep. “Will I leave your presents until tomorrow?”

“I have more than one?” Horatio’s voice is thick with the need for sleep. “Maybe just the one now.”

Archie has it ready to hand, a small box which he has to help his lover to open, so tired is he.

“It’s beautiful.” It is. An original Napoleonic war sextant, to grace Horatio’s desk here at home. “I’ve always wanted one.”

“I know.” Archie reaches for the bedside light and switches it off, the heavy curtains leaving the room unnaturally dark for an afternoon. “Sleep now.”

Horatio turns, finding his favoured position. “The other in the morning?”

“The other whenever you’re ready.” Archie kisses him full on the lips and Horatio goes to sleep smiling, well aware of what his other present will be.
mylodon: (whaletail)
Must be from an old fic challenge, found on a USB stick I was cleaning up.

A Letter from Hell – Archie’s reply (although I have no idea what he was replying to!)
DISCLAIMER: Wish I owned them. I don’t.


My grandmother, who had more wisdom than teeth, gave me two pieces of advice. That a sailor’s life was no life and that an obnoxious epistle deserves no reply. I have ignored both.

You see, I want you to understand how a sailor’s life has been the making of me, even though you used it to try to break me. Ironic how you ended up being the broken one and I was made whole again.

Irony. My dictionary tells me it’s a quirk of fate. I’ve encountered a few of those these past few years. The squall which sent the French ship off course and across the bows of that little boat you’d set adrift. My attempts at escape which saw me moved from pillar to post and into the very jail where Horatio would eventually be sent.

You will derive some satisfaction—and how little of that you must have in your piteous state—from knowing that I, too, have descended into hell. But on the thirtieth day I rose from the pit, although my new life didn’t begin then. That was when I sloughed off my pride and put on the armour of Horatio’s love.

Love’s a wonderful thing, Simpson. A pity that you never knew it in any freely given form, only what you could snatch and spoil.

You try to see my future, but you’re as blind as you ever were. Maybe I’ll be granted a glorious death in battle, or a quiet one in old age, as toothless as my grandmother. Even a martyr’s end would hold no terrors, now. I have looked into the abyss and now I only see the stars.


mylodon: (whaletail)
For once I'm grateful to a spam comment, as I'd forgotten all about this. (2007 vintage!)

Title: Some are born idiots
Characters: Marshall and his middies, from Master and Commander
Rating: G
Word Count: 100
Spoilers: N/A

“I was amazed when I first grasped how to tell sine from cosine. I have you to thank for that, Mr Marshall.” Mowett’s eager smile was a warm glow on a freezing night.

“Shame you’d never learned how to tell a bad egg from a good before cracking it.” Marshall wrinkled his nose and they all remembered the fruits of William’s last disastrous shopping expedition ashore.

“What do you value as your best lesson, Babbington?”

The man addressed kept his mouth firmly shut, obviously in distress.

Pullings laughed. “He’s just learned it. Never stick your tongue on a frozen cannon.”
mylodon: (whaletail)
Title: Things that never happened to Archie Kennedy
Rating: PG
Three ficlets - AOS/Torchwood. AOS/LOTR, AOS alternative story.
Originally written for  [ profile] calavarna n 2007! I’d forgotten all about these until the lovely [ profile] josieb1 turned them up. So they’ve been taken out, dusted down and re-posted.

I don't own any of these characters, just play with them.

Set in the ‘Regeneration’ HH/Torchwood Universe.

“You talk in your sleep.”

“Do I? Horatio’s never mentioned it.”
Read more... )
mylodon: (Default)
And if you want to make sense of that title, you can read it at Following Sea.
mylodon: (whaletail)
Every year I (dis)grace TLAPD with a bit of nonsense and this year is no exception. Usual suspects (whom I don't own - shame that), usual drivel.

"If I were a privateer I'd run my ship to His Majesty's Navy rules."

"What's brought on these notions?" Horatio rolled his eyes. "And they'd never be so daft as to trust you with a letter of marque."
Read more... )
mylodon: (admiralty)
We're remixing fic like made over at [ profile] hornblowerremix. My (very silly) offering can be found here: A World Exclusive.
mylodon: (jamie chest)
Inspired by, and to be sung to the tune of, Victoria Wood's "Ballad of Barry and Frieda".

For [ profile] anteros_lmc because she had a hard day yesterday.
Read more... )
mylodon: (Default)
Inspired by a chance remark made by [ profile] nodbear during my Advent series of postings.

This is my body, lying in the darkness and the darkness of the seizure snatches it, taking over my physical shell, sending my soul elsewhere while it shakes and twists me.

“And the light shineth in the darkness and the darkness comprehended it not.”

Memories of Advent back home, the church, greenery, candles, swelling grandeur of the organ, that’s what this verse always aroused in Archie. Hearing it now, with the ship listing slightly as she ran the waves, bright sun shining over the Spanish coast even though it was December, seemed incongruous.

He and Horatio had argued last night, about the translation of “comprehended” in this verse. Understood, overcome, defeated, observed – they’d traded synonyms and meanings until the rest of the snotties had been up in arms and threatened to throw the pair of them overboard.

“Katalambano.” Horatio whispered the word, in case Pellew caught him speaking during Service.

“What?” Archie hissed back.

“It’s the original Greek for I comprehend.”

Archie turned slightly, to see the smugly satisfied look on his friend’s face. “We’ll talk later.” He resumed his look of studied innocence, perfected for wearing on solemn occasions such as Service, the reading of the articles or gulling Horatio. Whatever it was would have to wait.


“Katalambano.” Horatio nodded, enthusiastically. “I remembered it from school. It’s the word they used in the early Greek versions of John’s gospel.”

“And this takes the argument further forward? The unpronounceable in pursuit of the untranslatable?” It was Sunday afternoon, the crew were making and mending, singing shanties, there was no running out of the great guns to practice nor any likelihood of beating to quarters. He and Horatio sat over a chess board in a shaded part of the deck.

“It aids the translation. In my favour.” Horatio’s stern expression changed into a glorious smile. “I’ve remembered all my teacher told me. Apparently it’s the same word as is used when they talk about someone being possessed.” He stopped. “Dear God, I’m sorry. It’s been so long since they bothered you…”

“No need to apologise. Please, carry on.” Archie could feel brave here, the Channel’s breadth – he hoped – from Simpson and the cause of the fits. “Tell me all the meanings you remember.”

Horatio took a deep breath, seemed as if he was on the point of arguing, then continued. “To grasp eagerly or tightly, like the men on the ropes. Snatching, like you when there’s soft tack on the table.” He was clearly trying to compensate for his error with a show of levity. “Taking over, maybe like seizing a prize in action.”

“What about having a fit?”

“Perhaps…” Horatio was tentative, eager not to reopen old wounds.

“Well, yes or no? Could the word be used to mean the something which possesses me?”

“Used to possess you. It’s been a long time…”


A long time since the last fit, but was that what Archie had in mind? It had been a long time since the other possession, too, the occupation of his body by another evil being, only this one had been flesh and blood, not just a spiritual demon.

This is my body, crouching in the darkness and the darkness of his lust snatches it, taking over my physical shell, stealing control of my will while he uses me. He wants to comprehend my mind, snatch my soul. I will not let him.

“Archie?” Horatio’s voice was all concern.

“Sorry, I was miles away.”

“I shouldn’t have brought it up. Please don't think I'm implying you become possessed by a demon.”

“No, no it isn’t that. No demon as you mean it, anyway. I’ll tell you one day, but not now, not here.” Archie smiled, displaying a bravery and lightness of spirit he didn’t feel. “Come on, slowcoach. Your move.”

This is my body, crouching in the darkness when the long night of captivity takes me, binding me. It wants to overcome and break me. But here I will find the light shining in the darkness and at last nothing will overcome it.
mylodon: (Hugs)
And why is it when I have important stuff to do I stall on that, yet these keep springing to mind?

There was something tied up to the yard
It was hairy and smothered with lard
Was it Styles, looking scorched
Or a sloth, quite debauched?
Or Horatio. Bet. Turned wrong card.

A sailor called Styles had a crush
on a bold Lieutenant named Bush
He wiggled his hips
And puckered his lips
But just got a smack in the mush.
mylodon: (jellyfish)
A middy out walking one day
Was offered a romp in the hay
He might have said “Aye”
If asked by a guy
But a girlie? Ew. No. Run away!

When your captain makes you take the prize,
To a home port as fast as she flies,
Just argue and say
“It’s not my turn today,
Send Simpson” and hope that he dies.

Sadly, there are more of these to come.
mylodon: (Default)
From prompts by [ profile] nodbear

All limerick prompts gratefully received, believe it or not.

One morning while curling his hair,
Horatio found marmalade there.
Toast on his head!
From breakfast in bed.
With Archie. And both of them bare.

To find a face handsome as Styles
You might have to travel for miles
He’s like a Greek God
With statuesque bod
If you look at him through three cork tiles
mylodon: (Default)
I thank Madamoiselle [ profile] nodbear for the inspirational first lines.

There was an old Master named Bowles
Whose hobby was peering through holes
He stopped when he saw
The captain on the floor,
With a wombat, a sloth and three voles.

"Wrinkles?" said Archie, "oh dear!"
Why should I end up with them here?
Crows’ feet on my face
Are enough of a disgrace
But how did they get on my rear?
mylodon: (archie grating)
[ profile] nodbear made me do it. She said she'd make Saracens sign Brian O'Driscoll if I didn't. She suggested 'when out in the gig' and I got got confused between land gigs and sea gigs and did both.

Horatio, when out in the gig
Swerved to avoid a fat pig
“Bugger this pannage,
I’ll never quite manage
To do this and not lose my wig.”

Horatio, when out in the gig
Encountered waves stunningly big
Archie turned green
Said something obscene
And Pellew was sick in his wig.

PS I'm not explaining pannage. Look it up.
mylodon: (Default)
My second offering for the Seven Deadly Sins Challenge, 'Soft tack and a Softer Bed', can be found here.
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