publica: (Default)
( RES ) PUBLICA. ([personal profile] publica) wrote2016-11-29 04:44 pm
Entry tags:


pick a muse — 1
leave a prompt/starter — 2
texts, ships, smut, &c — 3

power_ful: (sideways (pb))

accidental hookup text! for Mon-El! for great awkward!

[personal profile] power_ful 2016-11-29 04:09 pm (UTC)(link)
Hey, babe. I could use a little sugar tonight. You free?
kochany: (Default)

[personal profile] kochany 2016-11-29 05:33 pm (UTC)(link)
"There are two basic motivating forces: fear and love."

advena: all icons © brilliance. dnt. (spg103_0667)

ugly laughs to infinity

[personal profile] advena 2016-12-01 08:23 pm (UTC)(link)
[ the first time kara lets him take her out for drinks — or, rather, the second time, because the first time had simply given her the giggles and a strong need for a nap. the second time, she'd kissed him, laughing and red-faced, with her hair coming out of her braided crown. it had been fun; the music had been loud; mon-el's hands had been insistent but polite, remembering her requests for public decency and politeness even if she hadn't.

tonight, though, kara finds herself on the angry side of less-than-sober. two drinks in, her face is flushed, attention focused on the way that mon-el leans over, flashes a smile at the waitress, casually touches her back. it twists her gut in a way she doesn't quite understand.

her grip is tight on his shirt, tugging hard enough to yank him off the barstool, dragging him through the bar. mon-el's flailing arms leave a trail of broken glasses on the ground, though for once, kara doesn't stop to pick it up. she doesn't stop until they're outside, in the darkest part of the alley outside, where she can push him against the wall and slam her hands against it, trapping him between. ]

No. [ it comes out rough, raspy; kara's eyes narrow as she glares at him, chest rising and falling with each bitter breath. ] Absolutely not.
warriorborn: (005)

i'm too impatient

[personal profile] warriorborn 2016-12-14 07:16 pm (UTC)(link)
1 & 2 & 3
warriorborn: (014)

idek what i'm doing here, man

[personal profile] warriorborn 2016-12-15 09:48 pm (UTC)(link)
[Benedict's cousin Gwen is only a few years younger than him, which means that they were often thrown together as children — or rather, Gwen would insist on playing with him, despite what her mother might say about it — and so he's always viewed her as something closer to a sister than a cousin. It means he's had to suffer through quite a few incredibly boring shopping trips when he otherwise might have managed to escape them, but considering that Gwen has never treated him any differently for being what he is, he's always considered it a small price to pay for her loyalty and love.

It has also prepared him for this moment, although he never thought it would.]

Just try it on. [He pushes the dress back into Elena's arms, giving her his best charm smile, the one where his eyebrows peak together and he tilts his head a little to appear even more endearing.] I'd like you to come with me, and you can't wear...that [ — he gestures to the loose trousers and sleeveless top combination that she seems to favor — ] To one of my aunt's holiday parties.
mistmaw: (— 004)

[personal profile] mistmaw 2016-12-19 08:56 pm (UTC)(link)
[ gwen started it. of course she did — benedict is far too sweet and too reserved to ever suggest such a thing, and so it had been gwen who suggested that they should practice kissing, so that when the time comes that they will want to impress someone, they're able to. benedict is two years older than her and already handsome and she thinks practising with him will prepare her for any man she'll have to take as her husband one day. she only hopes that any future husband of hers would be as circumspect as she is and ensure that he is already well-skilled before they meet. and besides, benedict won't ever approach any woman on his own, too deep run the internalized prejudices against the warriorborn. gwen already understands that at fourteen, and she still understands it now, a year later.

so she started it, and neither one of them have stopped it since: they've practiced kissing in between practicing martial arts, benedict teaching gwen how to throw someone, how to use someone else's speed and weight and momentum against them, how to block a punch and how to punch someone without breaking her thumb or wrist or anything else, how to fire a weapon, how to defend herself and how to attack. they've kissed, and they've touched each other above their clothing, just to see what it feels like, so i'll know what i enjoy and what i don't, benny.

she hasn't told him how much of an effect it has on her when she can feel him harden against her, but he's warriorborn. probably he can smell her arousal when she can only feel it, wet and sticky between her legs. she's touched herself, pebbling her nipples and rubbing a finger between her legs, and she's thought of benedict while doing it instead of any future husband she might (will) have.

they're good at kissing each other, these days. they're very good at it, but instead of deciding that the time for practice is over, gwen has come to realise that there are more important things she needs to learn. more than that, she's come to realise that she wants to learn them with benedict and not anyone else. it's fortunate, then, that he's returned home from the temple, that he's decided that becoming a monk is not for him after all, though he believes in the way. she's missed him terribly.

so tonight, when they're hidden away in one of her rooms to practice — she'd asked for a fighting practice, but after he'd pinned her to the mat for the third time she'd leaned up, straining her neck, and kissed him — when they're both a little out of breath already and she can tell by the way he holds his hips away from hers that he's not unaffected, gwen gathers her courage. ]

I want you to sleep with me.
warriorborn: (012)

so this happened

[personal profile] warriorborn 2016-12-28 06:36 pm (UTC)(link)
[When Addison came to him and said that he needed Benedict to do another mission for him, Benedict didn't think twice about saying yes. He has always gladly served the Spirearch, and been proud to do so, and he's known the man long enough to know that there is virtually nothing Addison could ask of him that he would refuse to do.

When Addison came to him and said that he needed Benedict to pretend to have a wife for said mission, Benedict balked a little.

Nobody knows — that is, nobody who isn't warriorborn knows; Esterbrook has figured it out, much to Benedict's eternal mortification — that he and his firecracker of a cousin are more than simply good friends, and the thought of having to pretend to be married to someone else makes his hackles stand up. He doesn't want to hold hands with another young lady, he doesn't want to have to kiss her, he doesn't want to sleep beside her at night. He only wants Gwen. He's only ever wanted Gwen, and just the thought of participating in this charade makes him feel already like he's betraying her, somehow.

He reluctance must have shown on his face, for Addison gave him a very sympathetic look and apologized. Benedict had been about to ask what for, when Addison continued and told him that the only female trainee he felt was suitable for the position of Benedict's pretend wife was, indeed, his cousin.

It had taken real effort to keep the naked relief he felt from shining through his expression.

The little house they'd been given to set up shop in is remarkably similar to Benedict's up in Habble Morning, and he instantly felt comfortable there when he let himself through the doors. It's very close to the vattery they have procured employment in, and close also to the tavern they're going to need to make themselves known in, and if he wasn't acutely aware of his duty to the Spirearch, Benedict might even be able to fool himself into thinking that this is his real life, that his little fantasy about running away with Gwen has come to fruition.]
mund: (3)

[personal profile] mund 2017-02-01 03:32 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Graves has terrible nights, sometimes -- often -- the things that he keeps carefully compartmentalized and shut out, buried by the rigors of the day, the incredible demands of his position in MACUSA. The monsters in the crevices of memory, the ones wrought by the violence of war and blood that flowed like water, accompanied by the screams and groans of the dying. Magic can only do so much, and even the most powerful of them cannot stay death's hand, cannot erase the horror and brutality of a battlefield.

He does his best with them, but the second onslaught of Grindelwald's torture, the captivity and the near-constant taunting -- what does not bend, breaks, and Graves had surely, in the months of madness and overwhelming agony, held on for as long as he could. He's one of the strongest wizards this side of the Atlantic but Grindelwald was stronger, and the things he could do, the creativity of torture visited upon him -- imposed and ground into his psyche. Graves is a man built to withstand the harshest of punishments, but even one like him has a breaking point.

He dreams of that tonight, that the safety of this apartment is an illusion, the lover in his arms, asleep and pale, near-luminous in the light of the full moon through the window could slip through his fingers like silver smoke. His mind is still caught in those moments when he jerks awake, too far gone to compose himself the way he usually could, before Newt can wake and catch a glimpse of the damage he keeps concealed from everyone else. The monsters refuse to be banished, now, rearing in his mind's eye, another reminder of his helplessness, the terror of being at another's mercy.

He jerks awake violently, a scream lodged in his throat; rage and anger and powerlessness, that it was all his own fault. He's breathing hard, burying his face in his hands. He's fraying at the ends, his mind racing, replaying the memories, over and over as if exacting some sort of vengeance on Grindelwald's behalf, and he swears he can taste copper and bile in his mouth all over again.

Shit. He has to get it together. ]
mund: DO NOT TAKE. (Default)

[personal profile] mund 2017-02-01 04:24 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Nearly four months into whatever this is, Graves is already intimately aware of Newt's daily patterns. It's seven in the morning, and a rare day where Graves is not needed at the office, nor can he find any reason to park himself there. It's been a slow week, as if the stars have aligned somehow and allowed MACUSA some reprieve; there has been no major incidents reported, and the Threat Level Measurer has stayed steadily on green.

A welcome change, for once, and Graves finds himself in need of unwinding. He finishes up the reports and proposals he had been sent at the crack of dawn this morning -- a longtime habit to keep himself apprised of everything that goes on in his absence -- and it's obvious that Newt has gone into the case to tend to his animals. It's a regular schedule, and Newt can be trusted not to deviate from it, not even when they'd spent the majority of the night tangled in each other, warm mouths and warmer hands. They had gone slow last night, tender and exploring, rich with potent desire and need and underscored with an affection that's grown in the weeks they've spent with each other. Graves is still flush with the warmth and sweetness of their time together, the memory of their hands threaded together as Graves moved inside of him a sensuously intimate one that still makes his breath catch, just a little.

This morning is one for sweetly mundane tasks. Graves made tea the way Newt likes it, and he finds his way into the suitcase (without spilling a drop of tea); the morning is progressing, and he's very sure that Newt's forgotten all about breakfast again, and he comes in with a mind to urge him upstairs before all that he plans to say slips rapidly away. Newt might not be working facing him, but even from his vantage form, he recognizes the long-sleeved shirt that's just a little too large for him in the shoulders, and the leather boots that Graves had purchased for him a week or so back. Now, this would be fine if Newt has opted to wear something more; perhaps a pair of pants, but it seems like he's eschewed that option and went straight to being the star at the forefront of Graves' filthiest dreams and fantasies.

Newt Scamander in his boyfriend's shirt, wearing nothing else but boots, hard at work on something or other -- it's hard for Graves to figure out what Newt is doing, especially when he's just confirmed for himself that the man is definitely not wearing underwear.

He comes up behind him then, quietly fond and more than a little turned on (don't ask, it really is a thing). Setting the mug of tea beside what Newt is doing, he steps close, close, lips brushing against his ear in greeting. He's even more captivating up close, and Newt still smells deliciously like sex, it's a wonder he doesn't trigger off mating season in his creatures just from his scent alone. ]

There's a whole world up there as well, in case you've forgotten. [ He kisses his earlobe briefly, a gentle overture. Newt cares so tirelessly for his animals, but who cares for him in turn? ] A world where breakfast exists.
manuscriptum: (— 025)

[personal profile] manuscriptum 2017-02-02 06:45 pm (UTC)(link)
[ newt pulls the suitcase closed behind him and walks down the stairs and into the first of the habitats he's created for his beasts through countless spells. it's a path he's walked so often that he knows it by heart now, that he could walk it blind. that's a good thing, likely, because newt is not particularly observant right now, more caught up in his mind and replaying the events he'd observed at macusa while there to consult on a case. he'd brought lunch from jacob's bakery for both himself and graves', too, but had left graves' part of it on his desk for lack of finding the man in his office. he'd found him in the end, after he'd said all that needed to be said on the matter of the rampant pixies on the outskirts of new york. they'd refused to let him join the party, but macusa has been quite good about listening to him in these matters as of late, so newt hadn't been too worried about the pixies, so he hasn't insisted. instead, he'd wandered through the building, taking a meandering path back to the exit in the hopes of finding graves after all.

and he had, but graves hadn't been alone and newt hadn't wanted to disturb, but he hadn't been able to keep from overhearing some of the compliments paid, from seeing how graves had looked at the woman he'd been speaking to, how his hand had landed on her upper arm and stayed there.

newt is not a jealous man; it isn't anger that's driven him into the suitcase, but the bitter thought that he'd known this day would come. the woman had been beautiful and even more beautifully dressed, her accent and clothing and jewellery had all spoken of wealth and class to rival graves' own. the kind of person graves should be with, really, instead of a magizoologist more content with the company of beasts than the company of people.

he tells himself that it's quite all right, that he's content with his beasts after all, that alone does not mean lonely at all. newt knows how to be without other humans around him; he's done it before and enjoyed it. he tells himself all this, yet it doesn't ring as true as it used to. ]
fujita: (— 005)

[personal profile] fujita 2017-02-03 08:22 pm (UTC)(link)
[ sylvie is taken by the wizardguard. they don't know why, but they do know where they've taken her. lucas says they'll probably move her again in the morning and that's the best opportunity they'll have to get her back, that they need to be strategic about this and rest or they'll be of no use to sylvie. dorothy understands that, she even knows he's right, but the urge to do something, to save sylvie right now still burns hotly under her skin. ]

Fine. [ she finally says, more harshly than she means to. lucas is only looking at her steadily, quietly, the way he gets sometimes. it makes dorothy uncomfortable, how she's all he really knows, or it should make her uncomfortable. instead, it steadies something inside her. in this world, he's the only one she really knows, too, isn't he? and there's some magnetic pull to him.

she rescued him. she named him. there's responsibility in that, but it doesn't feel like a burden. after a moment, jaw still clenched and shoulders still tense, dorothty unclenches her fists and rubs a hand over her face. ]
Sorry. I know you're right. We can rest here, right?
fujita: (— 051)

[personal profile] fujita 2017-03-02 09:36 am (UTC)(link)
[ dorothy runs from glinda's fortress, leaving lucas and sylvie behind. they're not lucas and sylvie anymore, though, are they? they've both chosen glinda over her, and so dorothy runs. she's done with oz, done with all this — but she still doesn't have a way home unless she helps the wizard, and he isn't a good man, he doesn't deserve her help, either.

she returns to the farmhouse where things had been simpler, better. happier, with lucas' arms around her, and as she stays there, thinking about her next steps, one thing becomes abundantly clear to dorothy: their night here wasn't without consequence. it's something she's suspected, something she'd wished for in the moment that they'd delivered the baby, it's something she really should have thought about because now it feels like damnation. and yet, dorothy already knows that she'll never give up this baby the way her mother had given up her. she won't do that to a child.

lucas comes after her in the end, not because he's chosen her over glinda after all, not because he's come to understand that war with the wizard is going to hurt children, but to kill her. and maybe without the life growing inside her, dorothy would have let him. maybe she would have egged him on, looked him in the eyes and told him to do it.

now, she doesn't. ]
You can't, [ she sobs, and ] Lucas, stop. [ and when she can barely breathe anymore, his hands around her neck, she forces out the words: ]

I'm pregnant.
modcloth: (15)

the american B(

[personal profile] modcloth 2017-03-07 08:16 pm (UTC)(link)
[ The mission had gone — badly? Poorly, maybe, but not a total disaster. They had salvaged it, to the satisfaction of all their handlers but most importantly Waverly's. This team exists because of him and his faith in them and for all that their methods veer on the edge of unconventional, there's no denying they get results. The trick comes in making sure those results outweigh the headache that follows in cleaning them up (only fifty percent of the time, maybe less, they might argue).

But this one could have gone better. Gaby's cover had been blown by no mistake on her part, she'd been kidnapped — and not intentionally this time! — and the shit, as they say, had hit the fan. They'd escaped with the information they'd been seeking but the mission slightly compromised so Illya had remained behind to wipe all traces of their presence in the city (and possibly to let his temper simmer to a low heat; best to take it out on the men responsible and be productive about it). Solo and Gaby had escaped to the rendezvous point on the outskirts to await him and, later, extraction.

She could be upset, even embarrassed, by the turn of events. But instead, she's furious. ]

I didn't need to be rescued, [ she snaps as soon as they're in the safe house, door slamming behind them and curtains drawn shut. Both of them are rumpled, dirty, mussed. Her wrists bear angry red welts from the rope used to bind them and she rubs at them with irritation, whirling away from Solo and towards the ancient, overstuffed sofa. When she throws herself onto it, it erupts in a cloud of dust and it tickles her nose. She scowls to stave off the sneeze. ] I had it under control until you two came barging in like you always do.

[ A beat to let that land. Then: an abrupt, delayed, sneeze. ]
modcloth: (14)

forgive my rust

[personal profile] modcloth 2017-03-24 06:49 pm (UTC)(link)
[ They're in Santorini — a little pitstop on the way back to London after a mission completed. Waverly would sigh, roll his eyes, consider this taking the scenic route to headquarters or, even worse, a premature holiday. But they are a team that likes their own ideas just as much if not more than their handlers' and who are they to pass up a Grecian summer? Just for an extra few days. For her part, Gaby considers this an exercise in getting to know her team better. It's curious that she can read their stoic Russian friend like an open book but perhaps it's because he's written in a language meant for her. But Solo — he's the mystery, all easy smiles and shuttered eyes. More than that: she doesn't know where they stand. Not after Rome, not after Turkey. Not even the mission after that or the one after that. It's been a few months.

So... Santorini.

Their villa overlooks the water, now a deep midnight blue shot through with the last rays of the blazing sunset. Gaby had spent the oppressively hot afternoon stretched out by the pool and she's only just now coming back in — bold yellow bikini, overlarge sunglasses on top of her forehead, and complexion a glowing bronze with sunburned cheeks. She's smiling as she passes the radio to turn up the volume on the song, feeling almost drunk on sun and the cool cocktails she'd been nursing at the poolside. She skips over to Solo on bare feet and slides her arms down his shoulders from behind, leaning in to whisper, ]

Dance with me.

[ Because she may not know where they stand, but now's a good time to try and figure it out. ]
wardrum: (15)

text ][

[personal profile] wardrum 2017-05-25 09:41 am (UTC)(link)
It's been a while.
wardrum: (Default)

this is just for later

[personal profile] wardrum 2017-05-27 12:56 am (UTC)(link)

mindtricks: (⚖ B L E E D)

[personal profile] mindtricks 2017-06-27 03:28 pm (UTC)(link)
[ the hut is small -- and it isn't really a hut, is it? when anderson thinks of huts, she thinks of straw and clay or other natural materials, she thinks of history lessons and a time when people did not live in mega-blocks. their place (for lack of a better word) is not constructed from natural materials so much as it is made from the remains of the ship they were in when they crash-landed on this planet. it isn't a mega-block, either: it's only them, at least as far as human beings are concerned.

there's a lot of wildlife surrounding them, though. anderson has never seen as much green before in her whole life; the gardens aboard the ship don't compare.

it could be lonely. it is, sometimes, and anderson feels more adrift than she ever has. how can she make a difference when there's no one to make a difference for? of course, there's the soldier (james, she gets to call him now, or even bucky), but she can't put all that on him.

they survive. they live together and they thrive together, both suited for survival out here. they sleep together, too, and that's still a new development, but it isn't something anderson would ever want to take back or give up. not when his kisses leave her breathless, the weight of his body over hers a comfort instead of a threat, not when she can feel how hard he is, how much he wants her -- both when she wraps her legs around his waist and pulls him closer, their clothing doing little to hide his erection, and because his mind is right there, his pleasure urging her own on. ]
modcloth: (13)

well then

[personal profile] modcloth 2017-08-06 04:21 pm (UTC)(link)
[ It was probably meant to poison them, whatever it was. But just because they're professionals doesn't always mean the people coming after them are of the same caliber — in other words, someone fucked up. Solo and Gaby had come back from a day's shopping trip to a gift basket in their shared suite with an exceptional bottle of Italian red and a note from the concierge: with their compliments. Their mistake, perhaps, was not suspecting it. Drinking it.

It doesn't feel too much like a mistake now.

Gaby had felt it, first. The warm flush to her cheeks, the electricity under her skin, the fluttering of her stomach. Makes sense, she's much smaller than Solo's broad form — one she'd practically climbed onto on the sofa with her dress hiking up her thighs in the process. Or maybe her dress is riding up because Solo's hands are helping it along. Either way, she's got this insatiable burning for him and she's kissing him before she even realises it, fingers threaded in his hair and knees bracketing his hips. ]
hemispheres: <user name=harlem> (i'm a wreck what i love most)

for nightingale (ㆁᴗㆁ)

[personal profile] hemispheres 2017-08-17 09:57 pm (UTC)(link)