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Date: 2012-12-01 06:02 am (UTC)The Mask of Zorro, Joaquín, Alejandro, & Three-Fingered Jack, their adventures prior to the film
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Date: 2012-12-01 06:03 am (UTC)Stargate Atlantis, author’s choice, one Atlantis without Rodney, one Atlantis without John, and one Atlantis without both
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Date: 2012-12-01 06:04 am (UTC)Harry Potter, author’s choice, the greatest mistake they made was leaving someone alive
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Date: 2012-12-01 06:05 am (UTC)James Bond (Skyfall), James + any guy, What makes you think it's my first time?
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Date: 2012-12-02 07:10 pm (UTC)Bond smirked at Silva and his attempt to get under Bond’s skin. Maybe a lesser agent might have been disconcerted but he was a double O. His sexual identity had its boundaries stretched years ago from a combination of a few missions and MI6 encouraging its agents to experiment. An agent ashamed of his or hers sexuality and partners was an agent open for blackmail and corruption.
His first man had been an American. A fellow agent working for IMF. William Brandt had an intense stare, a dry sense of humour and a willingness to teach a British agent the ins and outs of sleeping with a man without any of the typical posturing of an inter agency meet up.
Bond had greatly enjoyed himself, finding the experience both pleasurable and unexpectedly fun in a way he forgot sex could be. Will had been a through teacher, patience and demanding in turns, pushing James beyond his normal boundaries.
When he got back to MI6, there had been a knowing look in M’s eyes that had Bond wondering just how much of that supposedly chance meeting would lead to something much more intimate.
M was the top Spymaster of Britain. If she felt it was necessary for Bond to explore another part of his sexuality for his job, he could certainly imagine her arranging something. Though he did wonder briefly why an American?
It occurred to him later, that not only did M know the best man to pair Bond up with to make him feel comfortable with the experience but had chosen someone Bond may never see again in case it turned out Bond’s boundaries wouldn’t stretch that far.
M really was a devious woman.
Which led to him smiling at Silva as Silva ran his hands over Bond’s thighs, trying to freak Bond out.
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2012-12-01 06:05 am (UTC)James Bond (Skyfall), Q, Severine was Q’s mother
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Date: 2012-12-01 06:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-01 06:36 am (UTC)Fill
Date: 2012-12-01 03:47 pm (UTC)Dean wants to laugh. He's a little preoccupied... obviously, and he's incredulous, so the sound comes out more as a huff, but it still stands. Cas is blaming him... That's funny.
"Me? What'd I do? This was Sammy's bright idea!"
Sam yells something rude from his corner of the food court.
"Words have power, Dean," Cas says somberly, not even a little breathless as he turns and vaporizes another demon. "You said-"
"I said I'd rather fight demons than go Christmas shopping..." Dean clarifies, indignant. "...not fight demons and go Christmas shopping..." The pimply-faced kid who sells big pretzels next to American Eagle tries to take Dean's head off with a pizza knife, so Dean turns the Colt in his direction.
"Nonetheless, I believe you have... How would you say it? Jinxed? Yes, I believe you have jinxed us." Cas smites the broad who gave Dean a dirty look when he grabbed the last sale-priced drill set in Sears, and gives him a look of profound patience and irritation, simultaneously.
"That's what I'm thinking!" Sam hollers, as he grapples with a fellow trio of holiday shoppers. Demons, every one of them. Sam took them shopping in a mall overrun by demonic possession.
"Well, that's it," Dean grunts, disentangling himself from a dead demon who still has bags of purchases hanging from its bloodied arms. "I'm returning both of your presents!"
Or he would... If they hadn't already killed off all of the customer service representatives.
Re: Fill
From:(I didn't mean to stay up this late either...)
Date: 2012-12-01 07:10 am (UTC)(...or end up listening to so much Bowie.)
Date: 2012-12-01 07:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-01 07:14 am (UTC)too blue - shades of past mind-control, PG
Date: 2012-12-05 05:10 am (UTC)Did you think to leave me so simply, little hawk?
.
It takes months before the survivors stop side-eying him. He knows he'll never stop looking in the mirror and wishing his eyes were a different color. A nice dull brown, maybe.
His eyes are too blue.
.
I was raised a warrior, Agent Barton, in a warrior culture. Does your spider not know that?
.
Doctor Doom, the Fantastic Four's nemesis, threatens the world for whatever inane reason this week. More aliens pop in, different ones, and first contact goes swell. Iron Man and Captain America come to blows again.
Hawkeye kills fifteen people who needed to die. They’re all sanctioned kills.
.
I’ve but to ask you, dear one, haven’t I?
.
He dreams about Loki. They’re not nightmares. He wakes up shaking, but it’s want instead of rage, desire instead of fear.
… lust instead of regret.
.
Come to me, Clint. You know where I am.
.
Hawkeye goes off-grid a year to the day Loki touched down.
Black Widow tears apart New York looking for him. She doesn’t find him.
.
Good boy, little hawk.
.
Clint’s eyes are too blue. His god’s plans are less chaotic and more focused this time, and he doesn’t have the loyalty-stealing stick, and he settles in for a long-term stay instead of hurrying through things that are better left unhurried.
Every day, Clint wakes up beside him and thinks, today I’ll contact them.
.
You are mine, dearest. Your heart belongs to me, unto the very end.
.
Every day, Clint looks into the mirror and his eyes are blue.
(Lol, sleep, what is that? I have essays due!)
Date: 2012-12-01 07:14 am (UTC)"Challenge fucking accepted."
Re: (Lol, sleep, what is that? I have essays due!)
Date: 2012-12-01 07:54 am (UTC)He had been resentful that the Board had insisted on doing A Christmas Carol. Their regular season was over, for one thing. For another, it's not like a director could really add anything new to the story of Scrooge. 19th Century social commentary posing as a tale of personal redemption posing as family entertainment. It was what it was.
Which is why he handed it over to Darren. Darren would come up with something that didn't push it over into treacly sentiment. It would be bereft of heart, but at least it would be pretentious pseudo-artistic crap instead of commercialized overpackaged crap.
Of course, there was the fact that Darren smiled when Geoffrey gave him the assignment.
That should have been his first warning.
And honestly, Geoffrey didn't mind that Darren was setting the play in a post-apocalyptic wasteland. It actually kind of had potential.
Casting Tiny Tim as a six foot tall female model seemed kind of... strange. But, well, cards on the table, Geoffrey had always found the Tiny Tim character a bit annoying.
But the orgy scene....
This play is not supposed to have an orgy scene.
The fact that it was an orgy with the three ghosts plus extras in reindeer costumes only made it worse. If it were Scrooge sexually exploiting Bob Crachet or something, Geoffry might approve it -- well, not for a family audience maybe, but at least artistically it would be a valid choice.
Darren had explained it like this: "Past, present, and future are engorged, groping at one another, it's all one big circle of arousal, linear time is just a bourgeous fantasy, I am confronting the audience with this fantasy and with the commercialization of the holidays, to slap the audience into awareness of the quantum physics of the futulity of..."
That was the point where Geoffrey stopped listening.
Darren of course had just taken it as a challenge when Geoffrey had tried to force a change. He launched a full scale war of annoyance.
Even now, Darren was sleeping on Geoffrey's couch, refusing to go home until Geoffrey acknowledged that Darren's interpretation was 'fucking inspired genius.'
Which was absurd. Geoffrey wouldn't admit that about one of Darren's plays even if it were true.
Especially if it were true.
Darren had also taken all of the food out of his refridgerator, hid his pillows, and done all sorts of minor nuisances in order to force Geoffrey's hand. Geoffrey really wasn't sure what this was all about, since it would have been easier to just block Geoffrey from speaking to the cast.
Geoffrey tried to bear it, though.
But when Darren poured a can of green beans all over Geoffrey's bed, that was it. He ran over to the couch where Darren was going to sleep and pulled him up.
"What is wrong with you??!"
"You never admit you like anything about me!" Darren said.
"What's to like?"
Darren ... actually looked hurt.
Crap, Geoffrey thought. Darren used to be a lot less sensitive before they started sleeping together.
"I mean, in terms of that one scene," Geoffrey amended. "I just think... the symbolism would play better as a domestic scene. Like, the ghosts and reindeer lying in a big cozy bed. Maybe one of them is knitting, one is reading."
Darren stared for a second. "You mean like a post-coital scene?"
"Yes. Yes, that's exactly what I meant."
"Not bad. Actually. For once," Darren said.
"So... is that settled then?" Geoffrey said, relieved.
"No. You have to say one thing you adore about me."
"You're kidding, right?"
Darren crossed his arms.
Geoffrey sighed. "Fine. I guess... you have nice eyes..." he mumbled, trailing off at the end.
Darren smirked. "I know. My eyes are splendid."
"Fine. I said something flattering. Now go home."
"You said something true."
"Whatever. Just... I said it. Now go the hell home. Or, you know, at least come to bed."
Darren gave that arrogant smirk yet again. "Fine," he said, as if it were a burden, and brought his blanket into Geoffrey's bedroom. "But you're still cleaning up the green beans."
Geoffrey followed him into the bedroom. He somehow resisted the urge to throttle his boyfriend.
Re: (Lol, sleep, what is that? I have essays due!)
From:Re: (Lol, sleep, what is that? I have essays due!)
From:no subject
Date: 2012-12-01 07:16 am (UTC)(This was a track on The Saint OST, so I can't shake that sort of tone from it.)
no subject
Date: 2012-12-01 07:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-01 09:03 am (UTC)not a fill but...
Date: 2012-12-02 10:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-01 09:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-01 09:59 am (UTC)We took on the world together, I caught all of your tears
You told me back then that our love would never end
You lied
("D.T.M." by Simon Curtis)
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Date: 2012-12-01 10:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-01 10:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-01 10:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-01 10:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-01 10:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-01 11:26 am (UTC)Filled
Date: 2012-12-01 04:08 pm (UTC)“Eliot,” she hisses. “I need you to get over to Hardison’s house.”
The strain in her voice sweeps away all sleepiness instantly. “Are you there? What’s wrong?”
Parker takes a deep breath and Eliot can hear the scrape of fabric against rough-hewn stone. “I got stuck in the chimney,” she says. She tries to hide the burgeoning embarrassment in her voice, but she’s never been able to fool him.
Oh, dear lord. “Parker…”
“It’s Christmas! I’m Hardison’s secret Santa. That means I have to dress up. It’s not my fault Santa has to be so fat!”
“You –“ one of these days, this team is going to kill him from sheer stress alone. “You couldn’t have dressed up like an elf or something smaller?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Everyone knows Santa delivers the gifts. The elves don’t like to leave the North Pole.”
Of course. Parker logic. Eliot checks the clock and sighs. At 4 in the morning, there will be next to no traffic. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Great!” Parker chirps. “And don’t forget to bring Santa cookies!” The phone creaks in his hand. “Ho ho ho!”
“I not bringing you damn cookies!” he yells, but Parker’s already hung up.
Re: Filled
From:Re: Filled
From:no subject
Date: 2012-12-01 11:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-01 11:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-01 12:00 pm (UTC)