free for all
Jan. 18th, 2014 12:02 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tigriswolf posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
comment_ficHere, have a free for all.
Y'all all know the rules:
+ No more than five prompts in a row
+ No more than three prompts per fandom
+ If one or more of your prompts is filled today, then you may prompt again
+ No spoilers within prompts until a week after the airdate/release
+ Warn for spoilers in bold and leave at least three spaces before the text
Have fun!
Y'all all know the rules:
+ No more than five prompts in a row
+ No more than three prompts per fandom
+ If one or more of your prompts is filled today, then you may prompt again
+ No spoilers within prompts until a week after the airdate/release
+ Warn for spoilers in bold and leave at least three spaces before the text
Have fun!
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2014-01-18 06:02 am (UTC)Alarm (2008), author’s choice, what the fuck was actually going on?
no subject
Date: 2014-01-18 06:03 am (UTC)Fast&Furious series, Dom, “Rest in peace, brother.”
no subject
Date: 2014-01-18 06:03 am (UTC)Mythology, Artemis + Athena (+ other goddesses of author’s choice), time for the goddesses to rule
no subject
Date: 2014-01-18 06:04 am (UTC)Sleepers (film), author’s choice, if it had been Michael or Shakes that saw Nokes that night
no subject
Date: 2014-01-18 06:05 am (UTC)Sleepers (film), author’s choice, if Father Bobby had become a hitman – and still took the boys under his wing
no subject
Date: 2014-01-18 06:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-01-18 06:56 am (UTC)Part One of Two
Date: 2014-01-24 03:08 am (UTC)He made his way off the dance floor, out of the club and towards the back alley way. If he was going to end up killing a monster, Stiles didn’t need any witnesses. He pulled at the ceremonial knife he had used to kill a twisted version of a ghoul crossbred with a nymph earlier in the night out of his pocket. He unclasped the sheath and let it fall to the ground, the knife held upside down in his hand, the blade resting against the tender skin of his forearm in hopes of hiding it just a few minutes longer.
“I would have thought you would have someone waiting out here for you but you’re all alone. That doesn’t make sense. You’re too handsome to be out here alone.”
The voice sent shivers down Stiles’ spine. If the guy had any ounce of humanity left in him, Stiles might pretend he didn’t recognize the supernatural signature swirling around him in dark hues. Stiles turned his head to look over his shoulder at the guy before fully turning around to face him. “Maybe I knew you would follow me out here.”
He moved far faster than Stiles had anticipated. His back hit the brick wall of the club and air rushed from his lungs as he looked into the deadly black eyes. “Why would you want me to follow you out here after the night you’ve had.”
Stiles instinctively tilted his head back as the man leaned in, brushing his nose against stiles’ throat inhaling as much of Stiles’ scent as he could. Stiles felt a prick of pain at the base of his throat and let out a groan. “If I didn’t know your intentions I would totally be turned on by that move you pulled right there.”
“What do you know of my intentions?”
Part Two of Two
From:Re: Part Two of Two
From:no subject
Date: 2014-01-18 07:01 am (UTC)Fill
Date: 2014-01-20 01:09 am (UTC)It’s night, the time that Bass feels most comfortable. He still isn’t sure if anyone can see him, especially Miles. It hasn’t been long and he’s still adjusting to his undead status, if that’s what it is.
He slips through the door of the abandoned house where Miles, Charlie and Rachel are staying. He can pass easily through solid structures, which frankly freaks him out, but it comes in handy.
The house is still in good shape, all the windows are intact and most of the furniture. There are family photos on the walls and a checked curtain graces the kitchen window. There’s enough of a moon that squares of light fall on the floor.
He moves, glides, he’s not sure what it is, into the bedroom Miles has claimed. He’d know the sound of that snore anywhere. He feels like he spent his whole life listening to it. Miles doesn’t stir when he enters the room. If a normal human had entered, Miles would leap up in a flash, sword in hand.
Bass stands next to the bed and looks down at his friend slash foe slash lover, god knows what they were to each other. Whatever it was, it was always intense. They never seemed to be able to let go, no matter what shit went down between them, one or the other of them always came back. They’d been through hell and back more than once, and still, here Bass was. He’d died, goddamn it, and still he couldn’t let go.
Fuck Miles, really. Why is he here, mooning at him like a fucking teenager, like Miles is going to save him or something. Miles’ face is peaceful as he sleeps, so much more placid and calm than when he’s awake. Bass reaches out. To him, his own body looks as it did when he was alive, just as corporeal, just as real. But he doesn’t know what anyone else senses of him, what they can see or hear or smell.
He sweeps a hand through Miles’ hair. Miles shifts and turns over, but he stays asleep.
Bass marvels at how he can feel the texture of Miles’ hair, the warmth of his skin, as if nothing has changed, just as if Bass were still alive and they’d spent the night throwing down shots and egging each other on and fell into bed the way they so often had over the years.
He feels a pang of regret that they’d spent so much time fighting, banging away at each other like two pitbulls with their hackles up, instead of loving each other the way they both knew they did underneath it all. When it came down to it, there was nobody else like Miles for Bass, and he was pretty sure Miles felt the same way about him.
Because one of them always comes back. They might pretend otherwise, pretend it was for some other reason, expedience or strategy, but the bottom line is neither can stay away; they have to be with each other, come hell or high water.
Bass sits down on the edge of the bed, unwilling to leave just yet. He daws his hand down Miles’ neck, over his chest and settles around his waist, his arm weighing down on Miles’ body. Bass sighs.
“Bass,” Miles says confused, his eyes suddenly open. “What…? What are you doing here?”
“Sssshh,” Bass says, a thrill going up his spine. Miles can see him and that means everything. “I’m here. Don’t ask, just go back to sleep.”
And with that, he lies down and stretches out next to Miles, finding the familiar curves and bones. The warmth of Miles’ body seeps into him and sustains him for whatever lies ahead. The one thing he knows is that they’re together again, like always.
Re: Fill
From:Re: Fill
From:no subject
Date: 2014-01-18 08:23 am (UTC)Fill: Why would people live here? (MCU, Clint + Natasha)
Date: 2014-01-18 01:58 pm (UTC)________________________________________________________________
"Why? Why would people live here?" Clint moaned as if he was in serious pain. He was somewhere behind her and she had no idea why he was complaining so much. Well, that wasn't completely true, she knew why, she just didn't think that complaining was going to help anything.
"Shut up Clint," Natasha said calmly, eyes still fixed to the screens she was monitoring.
"I can't shut up, it's too hot to shut up, it's too hot to talk too. It's too hot to think ‘Tasha,” Clint complained, possibly even louder and more obnoxiously than last time, “it’s a hundred and fifteen god damned degrees… in the shade! That’s just unholy. I’ve been on missions in the middle of the desert where it wasn’t this hot.”
“Clint, you can either shut up or I can shut you up,” she threatened blandly, finally turning to look at him and only just holding back her laughter. At some point she had heard him moving the fans around, but this wasn’t what she was expecting. With the exception of the one oscillating, short-necked fan he had kept mostly pointed at her and the bank of monitors on the wall every single fan in their small safe house was arranged in a rough circle in the middle of the room. This circle was, coincidentally, directly under the ceiling fan that spun as fast as possible and at a slightly worrying angle, from the low roof. In the middle of it, with just enough room to roll over as he was currently doing, was Clint. He had stripped down to some truly terrible purple boxer shorts and seemed to be intermittently rolling from one side to another to get to cooler parts of the floor and splashing himself with water from a half-filled bucket near his head.
“Really?” she asked, amusement and exasperation seeping into her voice, causing the archer to crack open an eye to shoot her a look that was more exhausted than anything else.
“Yes, really,” he replied grumpily, “I feel like I’m actually cooking here and this was your idea. ‘It’ll be an easy mission’ you said, ‘it’s just a week of surveillance’ you said, ‘what could go wrong?’ you said. This, this could go wrong. You didn’t think to check if there was going to be a heatwave?”
“I never realised how much of a brat you could be,” Natasha commented, mostly to see the look of flustered indignation cross his face before she turned back to the monitors, “and I don’t appreciate you being naked in the middle of the floor by the way,” she added, just to irritate him further. She had been putting up with his whining for two days now, and the heat was expected to last at least another three. It was possible that the heat was getting to her as well, she just didn’t feel the need to vocalise it like her partner did. In fact, Natasha had no idea why people tolerated this weather, but she also felt that she had more reason to complain than Clint did; the first day they had been there she had spent most of the day outside setting up the cameras and checking the signals and had come home sporting a fairly impressive sunburn that still stung if she moved too much.
Natasha had been about to turn around and tell him to take his shift watching the monitors when a piece of cloth settled over her head. Her hand, when she went to pull the offending cloth away, came back holding crumpled purple cotton while Clint laughed behind her.
“Now I’m naked,” he said, but he barely had the energy to put any effort into sounding cocky or smug like she would have expected, “just in case you were wondering what the difference was.”
Natasha might have belatedly realised that he had protested the fact that she said he was naked in the middle of the floor while she was resisting the urge to scratch at her now peeling sunburn. She also decided that she could definitely watch the monitors for a little longer.
Re: Fill: Why would people live here? (MCU, Clint + Natasha)
From:Re: Fill: Why would people live here? (MCU, Clint + Natasha)
From:Re: Fill: Why would people live here? (MCU, Clint + Natasha)
From:Re: Fill: Why would people live here? (MCU, Clint + Natasha)
From:no subject
Date: 2014-01-18 08:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-01-18 08:26 am (UTC)(Only one issue into All-New X-Factor and can already tell that it's gonna ruin me, ahaha...)
no subject
Date: 2014-01-18 08:28 am (UTC)(So many feelings this week, argh. Help ease the pain of waiting for the summer premiere, please?)
no subject
Date: 2014-01-18 08:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-01-18 08:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-01-18 09:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-01-18 09:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-01-18 09:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-01-18 09:16 am (UTC)original, gen, pg
Date: 2014-07-09 08:00 pm (UTC)In this 'verse. Original, gen, pg.
...
He turns to watch her come, sunlight glinting off her hair. Her smile is wide, and his smile widens to meet it. “Whatever shall we do?” he asks, reaching a hand toward her.
It is quite odd, having hands. New. Exciting. He flexes his fingers, trailing one tip along her wrist. She shivers at the sensation.
“We are awake,” she says, caressing his skin. “Brother, we are awake.” She laughs in delight, and his smile widens even more at the sound.
They turn to watch their sister crest the hill. She laughs and runs toward them; the ground trembles beneath her feet, and they run to meet her, hands still joined. The earth behind them cracks open and they run faster, laughing.
Re: original, gen, pg
From:no subject
Date: 2014-01-18 09:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-01-18 09:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-01-18 09:23 am (UTC)FILL: Him (spoilers for Sherlock S03)
Date: 2014-01-18 10:47 pm (UTC)I really, really hope this tickles your fancy! *chews lip*
She pressed her back against the wall of the dark hallway and closed her eyes. She needed a moment, just one moment, to gather her wits and calm her racing heart. She clenched her fingers in the soft fabric of her dress tightly, trying to stop the shaking. A thin sheen of sweat covered her body, sending cold shivers down her spine when the draft from the restaurant's front door blew in.
This whole night had been one cock up after another, but the biggest one was her own damn fault. The can of mace falling from her purse was easily explained away, the reason for not wanting a cocktail equally fast excused, and her persistence to attend this particular restaurant raised a confused eyebrow, but nothing more. And then she had to go and reply to the man at the bar.
John Watson.
He had approached her when they were waiting to be seated. He had been with a friend, Mike, who had stood a few feet away, observing with an amused look on his face. Her companions had been no help, they had simply grinned and watched it play out. It was a good thing Mary didn't actually think of them as friends.
John had said something about the weather, or the waiting, or maybe the wine, she couldn't really remember, and she was so taken off guard she had actually replied. He had introduced himself as John and she had shaken his hand and given him her alias. Mary Morstan. Nurse, and out on a dinner with friends.
Of course he had to be a doctor. He couldn't be anything completely different and incompatible. No, he had to be smart, and funny, and intelligent, and charming, and way too observant for Mary's comfort.
"A gun strap? Let me guess, MI6, undercover on a mob case? This restaurant is actually run by the Chelsea mafia and you're here on an assignment to kill their leader."
He had winked when he had said it, but it had been the biggest mistake of her career. Fumbling with her napkin so it dropped to the ground, crouching down the pick it up and her dress accidentally slipping up a bit too high. It was a rookie mistake.
She had had just enough brainpower left to laugh, be it a little strained, and excuse herself to the bathroom without showing her panic. She had let herself become distracted. By his charm, his laugh, and his quick wit. It was the last thing she needed right now, not when she was this close to finally getting close to her mark, and she had to get herself under control. Fast.
"Miss? Are you alright, miss?"
A hesitant voice cut through her whirling thoughts and brought her back to the cold hallway between the kitchen and the backdoor. When she opened her eyes, the kitchen help was looking at her a little scared and she tried to smile reassuringly. "Yes, I'm fine, thank you. Just needed a little breather. I'll be alright."
The boy nodded and then disappeared back to the kitchen. She knew she had to go back to her dinner party soon before her behaviour would seem strange, but her heart was still racing.
John.
Her assignment.
She had been prepared to see him obviously, but she hadn't been prepared for the attraction she felt for him instantly. The completely out of character urge to - for the first time in her life - follow her heart instead of her head. The immediate rush of feelings and emotions for him. The doubt screaming at her to stand the fuck down. Let him walk. Just this once.
She couldn't.
If she did, she would never see him again. If she let him go - her target, her mark, her assignment - she would be dead in six months. He would make it look like an accident, killed in the line of duty, but it wouldn't be. It would be deliberate, cold, and efficient. Like he was. Like she was trained to be. Like she had to be right now, so she could kill John Watson.
He didn't like disobedience.
She took a deeo breath, and then another, and another.
"I am so screwed."
Re: FILL: Him (spoilers for Sherlock S03)
From:no subject
Date: 2014-01-18 01:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-01-18 04:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-01-18 04:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-01-18 04:14 pm (UTC)