(no subject)
Jun. 13th, 2012 04:19 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
were_lemurFor Everything Else ...
MacGyver, Murdoc, all ages, not mine. Murdoc takes the opportunity to mess with MacGyver.
"Five hundred dollars!" MacGyver's fellow volunteer exclaimed. "Thank you, mister!"
"Of course, my darling." The smooth, British-accented voice sent a chill down MacGyver's spine.
Murdoc.
He shoved his clipboard into the startled woman's hands, and took off after the professional killer, weaving through the crowd. He caught up with him around the corner.
"I don't know what you're playing at."
"Why would I be playing, MacGyver?"
"Donating to a gun control charity, Murdoc? That's not like you."
Murdoc shrugged. "It's not as if gun laws matter to me, MacGyver. And the look on your face when you recognized me? Priceless."
Exaggerated Assets
Avengers, Loki, teen and up, not mine. Loki would know. CRACK!
While they worked on the Tesseract, the two lab techs chatted. As usual, their talk turned to men.
"I like the strong silent type," the woman said.
"You mean Barton?" her male colleague asked. "I don't think he swings my way, but a man can dream."
The woman laughed. "I bet he's hung like a horse."
Loki appeared over their shoulders, and followed their gaze. "No he's not," he said after a moment. "In those pants, believe me, I'd be able to tell."
The techs looked at him curiously; rather than explain how he knew, he turned and walked away.
Aftercare
Doctor Who, Third Doctor, the Brigadier, teen and up, not mine. The Brigadier notices.
"Are you all right?" Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart asked.
The Doctor turned quickly, almost ... guiltily. "Why do you ask?" he snapped.
"You seemed to be walking a bit uncomfortably," the Brigadier said. I just wanted to make sure that your recent capture by the Master hadn't done you any lasting harm."
"Oh, it's nothing that a few days of rest and relaxation won't cure," the Doctor said.
"I'd be happier if you stopped by the infirmary and let our doctors check you over."
"Yes, I'm sure you would." The Doctor said, before heading into the laboratory, moving slightly more carefully than usual.
Soft Touch in a Hard World
Game of Thrones, Sansa/Shae, all ages, not mine. Sansa needs tenderness, Shae is willing to provide.
Sansa leaned back into the touch, as her handmaid brushed her hair with smooth, gentle strokes. The routine soothed her, after another fraught day of dealing with Joffrey, and she felt herself begin to relax.
Shae finished brushing her hair, and braided it back for sleep. Then her hands moved across Sansa's scalp, and involuntarily, she let out a soft moan.
"Is that a bad moan," Shae asked, "or a good one?"
"Good," Sansa said, as Shae worked her hands lower, down her neck, her shoulders. Sansa let her eyes fall closed.
She was almost asleep when Shae kissed her.
Before I Kill You, Mr. Bond ...
GoldenEye, James Bond/Alec Trevelyan, adult, not mine. A conversation in handcuffs.
"Before I kill you, Mr. Bond ... "
"Why do they always say that?" James asked, and shifted in his restraints.
Alec shrugged, and ran his hand down his "prisoner's" belly. "Maybe they're all idiots. In love with the sound of their own voices. Now hush, you're killing the mood."
James grinned back up at him. "You already killed it, with that silly line. How am I supposed to take you seriously as a villain once you've said something like that?"
"I'm glad they say it, though," Alec said, and reached up to remove the cuffs. "Gives me time to save you."
Better?
Doctor Who, Tenth Doctor/Simm!Master, all ages, not mine. The drums are gone, things will be better now. Won't they?
"Everything will be better now." The Doctor's voice is soothing. "Your crimes were caused by of the drums, and they're gone."
The Master knows that's not true; for most of his lives, the drums were background noise. But he also knows how badly the Doctor wants it to be true.
There's the dilemma: lying is bad, and the Doctor wants him to be good. But the truth won't make the Doctor happy.
He wants the Doctor to be happy.
It's not really a lie, he decides, if it's what the Doctor wants to hear. "It was the drums," he says.
Compensations
Pirates of the Caribbean, Anamaria/Groves, all ages, not mine. There are compensations to being a pirate.
"Mr. Groves." The captain's voice pulled him from his moody contemplation of the horizon. He turned to her, straightening automatically to attention before he remembered; he wasn't with the Navy, or even the EITC, anymore.
And pirates didn't generally stand at attention.
He'd never realized, until it was too late, how much he loved the Navy. He suspected that he would spend the rest of his life missing it.
There were compensations, of course; pirates -- at least the lucky ones -- got to be thoroughly kissed by their captains.
Anamaria took his hand and led him aft to the Captain's cabin.
Big Problem
Doctor Who, Ainley!Master, all ages, not mine. The Master realizes that he has one.
The Master woke up on the floor of his TARDIS's primary laboratory, feeling like he'd run a hundred kilometers and then been rolled down a hill full of rocks.
After his accident with the newly designed Tissue Compression Eliminator, he was surprised -- and relieved -- to have woken at all.
For a few minutes he just lay there, staring woozily at the ceiling, which seemed farther away than it should have been. It wasn't until he sat up and saw the overturned stool, the seat towering above his head, that he understood why.
He had, he realized, a very big problem.
Fairytale Ending
Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Willow/Tara, all ages, not mine. Willow and Tara's wedding.
Tara had been all in favor of doing it quickly, in front of a judge. But Willow would have none of it. "I've been waiting to marry you this long," she said. "I want to do it right."
"What if this is the only chance we get?" Tara asked.
"The election's not until November. We've got plenty of time."
They were married in August, in the back yard of the house they'd bought together, surrounded by the friends who had become family. They jumped the broom, Willow broke the glass on her first try, and they lived happily ever after.
Happily Long Enough
Newsflesh Trilogy (Mira Grant), George/Shaun, all ages, not mine. George and Shaun in Canada.
TRIGGER WARNING: sibling incest
George stared up at the Aurora Borealis, a Coke in one hand, the other resting lightly on the pistol holstered on her hip. She seemed lost in the wonder of the sky, though I knew if a zombie moose or any other threat showed up, she would have no trouble dropping it with a single shot.
"Beautiful," I whispered.
She half-turned to me and the corner of her mouth quirked up. "It is."
"That wasn't what I was talking about."
Her grin grew slightly wider; she threaded her fingers through mine. Together, we watched the northern lights dance overhead.
Peace and Quiet
Torchwood, Jack/Ianto, all ages, not mine. Downtime for Jack and Ianto
The Hub was quiet.
For now, Jack knew. It was always "for now," always a temporary lull in the neverending battle to keep Cardiff, and the Earth, safe from whatever would come through the Rift next. But he was more than willing to take it.
A sound cut across his momentary peace. He nudged Ianto, sleeping beside him. "You're snoring."
Ianto muttered something uncomplimentary, but shifted to his side anyhow, before dropping back to sleep. Jack rolled over as well, spooning against Ianto's back. He draped his arm over his sleeping lover's waist.
Peace reigned once more in the Hub.
MacGyver, Murdoc, all ages, not mine. Murdoc takes the opportunity to mess with MacGyver.
"Five hundred dollars!" MacGyver's fellow volunteer exclaimed. "Thank you, mister!"
"Of course, my darling." The smooth, British-accented voice sent a chill down MacGyver's spine.
Murdoc.
He shoved his clipboard into the startled woman's hands, and took off after the professional killer, weaving through the crowd. He caught up with him around the corner.
"I don't know what you're playing at."
"Why would I be playing, MacGyver?"
"Donating to a gun control charity, Murdoc? That's not like you."
Murdoc shrugged. "It's not as if gun laws matter to me, MacGyver. And the look on your face when you recognized me? Priceless."
Exaggerated Assets
Avengers, Loki, teen and up, not mine. Loki would know. CRACK!
While they worked on the Tesseract, the two lab techs chatted. As usual, their talk turned to men.
"I like the strong silent type," the woman said.
"You mean Barton?" her male colleague asked. "I don't think he swings my way, but a man can dream."
The woman laughed. "I bet he's hung like a horse."
Loki appeared over their shoulders, and followed their gaze. "No he's not," he said after a moment. "In those pants, believe me, I'd be able to tell."
The techs looked at him curiously; rather than explain how he knew, he turned and walked away.
Aftercare
Doctor Who, Third Doctor, the Brigadier, teen and up, not mine. The Brigadier notices.
"Are you all right?" Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart asked.
The Doctor turned quickly, almost ... guiltily. "Why do you ask?" he snapped.
"You seemed to be walking a bit uncomfortably," the Brigadier said. I just wanted to make sure that your recent capture by the Master hadn't done you any lasting harm."
"Oh, it's nothing that a few days of rest and relaxation won't cure," the Doctor said.
"I'd be happier if you stopped by the infirmary and let our doctors check you over."
"Yes, I'm sure you would." The Doctor said, before heading into the laboratory, moving slightly more carefully than usual.
Soft Touch in a Hard World
Game of Thrones, Sansa/Shae, all ages, not mine. Sansa needs tenderness, Shae is willing to provide.
Sansa leaned back into the touch, as her handmaid brushed her hair with smooth, gentle strokes. The routine soothed her, after another fraught day of dealing with Joffrey, and she felt herself begin to relax.
Shae finished brushing her hair, and braided it back for sleep. Then her hands moved across Sansa's scalp, and involuntarily, she let out a soft moan.
"Is that a bad moan," Shae asked, "or a good one?"
"Good," Sansa said, as Shae worked her hands lower, down her neck, her shoulders. Sansa let her eyes fall closed.
She was almost asleep when Shae kissed her.
Before I Kill You, Mr. Bond ...
GoldenEye, James Bond/Alec Trevelyan, adult, not mine. A conversation in handcuffs.
"Before I kill you, Mr. Bond ... "
"Why do they always say that?" James asked, and shifted in his restraints.
Alec shrugged, and ran his hand down his "prisoner's" belly. "Maybe they're all idiots. In love with the sound of their own voices. Now hush, you're killing the mood."
James grinned back up at him. "You already killed it, with that silly line. How am I supposed to take you seriously as a villain once you've said something like that?"
"I'm glad they say it, though," Alec said, and reached up to remove the cuffs. "Gives me time to save you."
Better?
Doctor Who, Tenth Doctor/Simm!Master, all ages, not mine. The drums are gone, things will be better now. Won't they?
"Everything will be better now." The Doctor's voice is soothing. "Your crimes were caused by of the drums, and they're gone."
The Master knows that's not true; for most of his lives, the drums were background noise. But he also knows how badly the Doctor wants it to be true.
There's the dilemma: lying is bad, and the Doctor wants him to be good. But the truth won't make the Doctor happy.
He wants the Doctor to be happy.
It's not really a lie, he decides, if it's what the Doctor wants to hear. "It was the drums," he says.
Compensations
Pirates of the Caribbean, Anamaria/Groves, all ages, not mine. There are compensations to being a pirate.
"Mr. Groves." The captain's voice pulled him from his moody contemplation of the horizon. He turned to her, straightening automatically to attention before he remembered; he wasn't with the Navy, or even the EITC, anymore.
And pirates didn't generally stand at attention.
He'd never realized, until it was too late, how much he loved the Navy. He suspected that he would spend the rest of his life missing it.
There were compensations, of course; pirates -- at least the lucky ones -- got to be thoroughly kissed by their captains.
Anamaria took his hand and led him aft to the Captain's cabin.
Big Problem
Doctor Who, Ainley!Master, all ages, not mine. The Master realizes that he has one.
The Master woke up on the floor of his TARDIS's primary laboratory, feeling like he'd run a hundred kilometers and then been rolled down a hill full of rocks.
After his accident with the newly designed Tissue Compression Eliminator, he was surprised -- and relieved -- to have woken at all.
For a few minutes he just lay there, staring woozily at the ceiling, which seemed farther away than it should have been. It wasn't until he sat up and saw the overturned stool, the seat towering above his head, that he understood why.
He had, he realized, a very big problem.
Fairytale Ending
Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Willow/Tara, all ages, not mine. Willow and Tara's wedding.
Tara had been all in favor of doing it quickly, in front of a judge. But Willow would have none of it. "I've been waiting to marry you this long," she said. "I want to do it right."
"What if this is the only chance we get?" Tara asked.
"The election's not until November. We've got plenty of time."
They were married in August, in the back yard of the house they'd bought together, surrounded by the friends who had become family. They jumped the broom, Willow broke the glass on her first try, and they lived happily ever after.
Happily Long Enough
Newsflesh Trilogy (Mira Grant), George/Shaun, all ages, not mine. George and Shaun in Canada.
TRIGGER WARNING: sibling incest
George stared up at the Aurora Borealis, a Coke in one hand, the other resting lightly on the pistol holstered on her hip. She seemed lost in the wonder of the sky, though I knew if a zombie moose or any other threat showed up, she would have no trouble dropping it with a single shot.
"Beautiful," I whispered.
She half-turned to me and the corner of her mouth quirked up. "It is."
"That wasn't what I was talking about."
Her grin grew slightly wider; she threaded her fingers through mine. Together, we watched the northern lights dance overhead.
Peace and Quiet
Torchwood, Jack/Ianto, all ages, not mine. Downtime for Jack and Ianto
The Hub was quiet.
For now, Jack knew. It was always "for now," always a temporary lull in the neverending battle to keep Cardiff, and the Earth, safe from whatever would come through the Rift next. But he was more than willing to take it.
A sound cut across his momentary peace. He nudged Ianto, sleeping beside him. "You're snoring."
Ianto muttered something uncomplimentary, but shifted to his side anyhow, before dropping back to sleep. Jack rolled over as well, spooning against Ianto's back. He draped his arm over his sleeping lover's waist.
Peace reigned once more in the Hub.
Tags:
