Fandom Dilettante

My friends have dragged me into Teen Wolf fandom.

Also Holland Roden looks uniquely fabulous in red lipstick.

Title: Lipstick
Author: Lazaefair
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Character: Lydia Martin

When people are watching your mouth, imagining the things your mouth could do to them or where your mouth has been, they’re not watching your eyes. Or your hands. They’re not listening to the words coming out of your mouth.

The red lipstick is one of the pieces of her armor. It’s distracting to the people who swing her way, and infuriating to the people who don’t.

Red for sex. Red for power.

Red for sacrifice. Red for death.

Don’t get her wrong. Sometimes she forgoes the red lipstick and walks out in a glossy pink, or even nude. Let no one think she is predictable.

But in the night, in her dreams, she always returns to red. When she stands in the shadows over another dead body, all that’s visible is the gleam of her eye and the red of her mouth. She listens. And she screams.

I miss writing.

Chapter 2 (kind of?) of With the Punches. Incorporates another kinkmeme prompt about Bruce's glasses.

Rating: E for Explicit Fun for Everyone! (NC-17, to clarify.)

Tony/Bruce, Clint Barton cameo

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Seriously, what's with all the fanficcers who love formatting their communities with itty-bitty teeny tiny fonts? *squints at screen* I'm not getting any younger here (yes, I just said that) and it's straining my eyes trying to read light-gray-on-white Helvetica 9 point. *squints some more*

I keep going back to AO3. At least they have the wisdom to make their default font a sensible size and color. I want my Lassiter/Spencer porn to be easily readable, dammit.

In only marginally related rants, why is it that the sentence
"Merry Christmas Carleton," he whispered.
so goddamn irritating to me?

Is it the missing comma? Or the sure knowledge that no one actually whispers sentimental sap out loud to themselves while standing alone in kitchens, except in badly written fanfiction? Or perhaps it's the ludicrous idea of Shawn Spencer whispering sentimental sap out loud to himself while standing alone in the kitchen? Or it's knowing that the writer actually intends this moment to be tender, instead of bad soap opera? At least it wasn't Lassiter doing it, that would have been hair-tearingly bad. People, listen, the only reason why TV character say things to themselves when they're alone is because we can't read their minds so they have to say their thoughts out loud. You're writing a story in text, you don't have to do this. Just keep their embarrassingly out-of-character schmoopy thoughts inside their inner monologues like normal and we'll be fine. Maybe. Probably not. Baby steps. (It's probably the missing comma.)

Okay, so, I give up. I surrender. Fanfiction writers are officially defunct. This movie has already written its own fanfiction for us. There was legitimate hurt/comfort in there, guys. It is its own fanfiction.

I mean, Chrissakes, Holmes has his legs up around Watson's ears at one point! The (almost) final moment features Holmes and Watson gazing into each other's eyes and then shutting them in eternal soul-rending anguish! Mary Morstan almost shoots a man and then Holmes says, "Do you trust me?" and she says "No," and he says "I'll have to do something about that"!! Even the gypsy, Simza, was looking at Holmes and Watson like, Who are you guys and why are you gay bantering in my tent? and later in the train like, Okay, you're totally fucking, you don't have to hide it. The Sharpshooter Guy (Moran) discusses opera with his evil employer! Holmes and Watson waltz together in public at a ball! Holmes battles Moriarty in a mind-duel on the astral plane! (Really.) Stephen Fry gets naked in this movie! That's practically a commandment!

This movie gets down on its knees and begs for the dirtiest fanfiction ever. It's like Guy Ritchie and the rest were trying to pack in the most amount of Ho Yay, innuendo, wink-winks, and enticements to threesomes that I've ever seen. I think I'm kind of shipping Moran with Watson now. Or how about Simza/Anarchist French Guy (Claude?)*/Watson. Also, I swear to god Ritchie transparently trying to set up a Holmes/Watson/Mary threesome with that "He would have wanted to come with us" line at the end. What have they done to me. D:


*Who, by the way, is bloody gorgeous. I absolutely loved his five minutes in the film, and he packed so much backstory into a few lines of dialogue that you got invested in his character despite that he never appears again. Hence the 'shipping.

Night at the Museum - Ahkmenrah/Larry

G

Larry's normal mode of existence, that is, embarrassment.

Larry hears the pop first, a soft crack, and then he rounds the corner into the guard office. The night guard has learned the value of moving quietly, and so he walks in on Ahkmenrah mid-stretch. The pharaoh's gotten up from the desk and has risen to his toes, stretching his arms to the ceiling and arching his back while his vertebrae pop. After a long, weightless moment, he sinks down with a satisfied sigh.

Larry is frozen, an odd lump rising to his throat as he is confronted with the undeniable sight of the hard planes of Ahkmenrah's body, smooth and sleek skin, tensed muscles outlined cleanly in the linen robes. It hits him like a punch to the gut. He finds himself clearing his throat more forcefully than usual.

Ahkmenrah turns unhurriedly and smiles in a way that makes the lump come right back to Larry's throat. "How did it go?"

"Um," Larry says hoarsely and thinks frantically about how to explain it. "I, uh..." and he makes himself cough, "I fixed the problem. Christopher Columbus..." and he gestures vaguely, but at the moment he can't for the life of him remember what Christopher Columbus had done.

Ahkmenrah cocks his head inquisitively, but Larry has a sinking feeling about the gleam in his eye.

"Yes?" Ahkmenrah gently inquires, moving around the desk and Larry has never been so aware of how...smoothly the pharaoh moves sometimes, strolling towards him without ever once seeming to be a threat. Larry gulps, and someone screams somewhere in the museum, and he saves himself by backpedaling out of the room babbling about emergencies. He doesn't quite make it around the corner before he catches the disappointed flash in Ahkmenrah's face first.

Title: We bring you next to a back alley
Author: Lazaefair
Fandom: Samurai Champloo
Pairing: Mugen/Yatsuha
Prompt: back alley
Warning - swearing, set post-series. Mugen, drunk and bleeding? Never.

The last story I wrote for my 100 situations table was in 2007. I'm back, baby!

( The sake burned when it dripped through his fingers )

1. Write down the names of 10 characters.
2. Write something for every prompt, using the characters determined by the numbers. Do NOT read the prompts before you do step 1.

1. Larry Daley (Night at the Museum)
2. Dean Winchester (Supernatural)
3. Tony Stark (Iron Man movie)
4. James T. Kirk (Star Trek Reboot)
5. Yatsuha (Samurai Champloo)
6. Jack Carter (EUReKA)
7. Edmund Pevensie (Narnia)
8. Hermione Granger (Harry Potter)
9. Jason Bourne (Bourne series)
10. Meryl Strife (Trigun)

These range from PG to R.

First time, 4 and 6 (James T. Kirk and Jack Carter)
Funfest pairing! Great way to start a meme.
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Angst, 7 (Edmund Pevensie)
Writing angst for the Pevensies is like feeding bacon to a dog: it's just begging for it.
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AU, 1 and 8 (Larry Daley and Hermione Granger)
Hmm…I've never written this particular infamous AU. So let's see what happens…
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Threesome, 3, 6 and 9 (Tony Stark, Jack Carter, Jason Bourne)
Holy fuck, this is, like. The threesome from hell.
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Hurt/comfort, 5 and 10 (Yatsuha and Meryl Strife)
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Crackfic, 1 (Larry Daley)
This is rather difficult given that Night at the Museum is actually crackier than anything fandom could come up with. Do not read without brain-bleach on hand.
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Horror, 10 (Meryl Strife)
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Babyfic, 5 and 9 (Yatsuha and Jason Bourne)
I can't stop laughing. Best prompt ever.
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Dark, 2 and 8 (Dean Winchester and Hermione Granger)
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Deathfic, 2 and 3 (Dean Winchester and Tony Stark)
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Well golly gee it's been several months already. I'm still alive, I suppose.

Loren, 78, 235 C.A.
Today we have finally reached the very summit of the vast mesa of Nipple, which rises majestically out of the red-clay foothills of the Areola country. Areola is a sloping land, sitting directly atop a strangely curving kingdom which rises gently out of the flatlands we were previously travelling through. When one stands atop Nipple and peers westward to the utter limit of his binoculars, one may make out in the distance the faint form of the Twin Nipple, a mesa which sits atop a similar landscape to our Areola and is as near to identical as two vastly separated geographical features may be. We have a geologist in our party, a Mr. Rockburn, who peered and muttered and scribbled in his notebook, and later told us about the current going theories as to how such a geological wonder might have come to pass.
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