veils
in
crookedhalt
james bond, his dark materials, kate/leo rpf
so i wrote three fics for the porn battle vii?
a poker-faced queen of hearts. james bond, bond/vesper -- deception, one-upmanship.
He realizes as he looks at a plain black bag of her belongings that he never really knew anything about her, that he loved her because she had the ability to deceive without being found out.; 281 words, r.
It feels like centuries and centuries, hundreds of years as he dives to pry open the coffin she has chosen for herself; cold metal bars that sting his skin raw.
But he can't save her -- she's paying her pound of flesh.
There's a hotel in Venice with a ballroom, filled to the edges with the perfume of polished wood and floor-length dresses. Vesper's opinion is accountants don't dance, and his involves young dogs and new tricks. Even as she takes the bait he sees her thinking on how she can raise the stakes.
It's a habit, almost.
She has always been careful with him. He will throw men off staircases while she has a hair's breadth escape, redden her hues with his aggressiveness, but she only ever wounds when she speaks to him.
That is, until he manages to get her out of her clothes. She is like livewire around him, thrumming and narrow, and her nails crease his skin as she meets his thrusts.
The bruises from her heels don't disappear for weeks.
It feels so cliched, pulling his (cover) girl into a doorway and whispering can't wait can't wait, and it also feels like maybe he just wants to feel the catch and slide of her mouth under his again.
If only the bug were in his other ear.
She is intriguing, this miss vesper lynd, and he wonders what her mystery is.
He realizes as he looks at a plain black bag of her belongings that he never really knew anything about her, that he loved her because she had the ability to deceive without being found out.
All the markings of good liar, just like him.
________________________________________________
a strange kind of light. his dark materials, marisa coulter/serafina pekkala -- power, revolver.
"You are one of the witch queens?" Mrs. Coulter's voice was light and musical; though as a contradiction, her expression said danger; 474 words, pg.
The witch Serafina Pekkala swore, once, to kill the bright, beautiful woman she saw torturing one of her own in a room full of enemies. Such hatred she had never known in the long years she had lived among spies and liars and all manner of disdainful beings; this calculating woman with the kind of beauty that radiated power and almost matched that of witch kind filled her with an unfamiliar loathing she longed to be rid of.
An arrow from her quiver would pierce Mrs. Coulter's throat.
At least, that was the one thought she had before she met the woman. It was not only men, it seemed, that were drawn to her. There was a certain allure she had, her and that slinking golden monkey, that Serafina couldnt help but feel as she stood, captured, in her presence.
"You are one of the witch queens?" Mrs. Coulter's voice was light and musical; though as a contradiction, her expression said danger.
"I swore to myself that the next time I saw you I would kill you."
Mrs. Coulter gave a soft laugh, and a sad, beautiful smile. Serafina was caught slightly off guard until she noticed the golden monkey's face. He was judging her, measuring her strength to fight off Mrs. Coulter's will, and Serafina knew that the woman herself would be doing the same.
The witch felt that making Mrs. Coulter hostile towards her was not going to get her out of this alive. So she tried something else. Her expression turned gentle, though wary and reserved, as though she had seen some hidden pain in the woman in front of her. She took a step forwards, "Lyra is safe." She was careful to keep her voice edged with distrust, this woman was holding her prisoner, but something like a peace offering needed to pass between them.
Serafina was surprised to see Mrs. Coulter looked genuinely relieved to hear something the witch no longer knew to be completely true, but she didn't let it show.
"You know of the prophecy about her."
"Perhaps."
Mrs. Coulter stepped towards her, the perfume she wore somehow enticing while still keeping Serafina on guard.
There was a moment where she thought maybe, and there was something electric -- the thought of finding out just how vulnerable the woman in front of her was. She could know by a simple press of her lips to Mrs. Coulter's mouth, by her fingers running over her skin, just how strong she was. Witches with their years upon years knew ways that humans didn't, their values in society leading them to discover things that humans rarely did.
She didn't touch her, though. There wasn't even a whisper of fabric upon the clothes Mrs. Coulter wore.
The revolver in the folds of her coat was the one thing that stopped her.
________________________________________________
my better side of you to admire. rpf, kate/leo -- finally, fight.
and he doesn't doubt she loves what he did, nor, even, that she truly loves him; there is just something not there that he can't place.; 403 words, pg-r.
there is an awards show in two thousand and nine, where she stands on a stage with her voice tightening in front of colleagues and critics, and says, i love you, leo-
that's how he really knows.
she rushes up to him with an oh my god, i love you, you shouldn't have, the flowers that say "we're almost there!" dripping petals from her fingers. and he doesn't doubt she loves what he did, nor, even, that she truly loves him; there is just something not there that he can't place.
they fight in interviews, married couple squabbles about love scenes and subject matter, and he feels her fingers twined through his, moving with her words; the fine bones strong and worn beneath callused fingers. of course i love leo - her eyes brighten after a question that feels obvious. she seems almost indignant, how could anyone even think otherwise? the press of her hand, her elbow sliding towards his thigh makes him think yes, she must.
but then, people in love is good press, and kate is occasionally prone to hyperbole. why does he even think these things?
there is a moment, april and frank wheeler will know what he's talking about, when they look at each other and think i love the person standing in front of me. and that should be enough for him, but somewhere, for some reason, there remains a teardrop of doubt.
they're drunk for no particular reason, late after filming, and she leans across an expanse of air to touch her lips to his. she's there barely five seconds and then there are only puffs of air from her giggles. she looks at him from under her eyelashes, a hand creeping along the sleeve of his shirt and says conspiratorially, the accent from reading, england heightened by inebriation, i do love you, you know.
he lends a kiss to her temple and agrees: i know, though at the same time he's blaming a bottle of gin for her wandering sentences.
he thinks back to those days sometimes, when they were young enough to be stupid and thought sex was a kind of character development. however, it means he has that memory of the slow, smooth slide of her around him, and it all led to the first i love you.
-with all my heart. it's this, and he finally knows (even if he did all along).
________________________________________________
um, tamest porn battle entries ever, i know.
a poker-faced queen of hearts. james bond, bond/vesper -- deception, one-upmanship.
He realizes as he looks at a plain black bag of her belongings that he never really knew anything about her, that he loved her because she had the ability to deceive without being found out.; 281 words, r.
It feels like centuries and centuries, hundreds of years as he dives to pry open the coffin she has chosen for herself; cold metal bars that sting his skin raw.
But he can't save her -- she's paying her pound of flesh.
There's a hotel in Venice with a ballroom, filled to the edges with the perfume of polished wood and floor-length dresses. Vesper's opinion is accountants don't dance, and his involves young dogs and new tricks. Even as she takes the bait he sees her thinking on how she can raise the stakes.
It's a habit, almost.
She has always been careful with him. He will throw men off staircases while she has a hair's breadth escape, redden her hues with his aggressiveness, but she only ever wounds when she speaks to him.
That is, until he manages to get her out of her clothes. She is like livewire around him, thrumming and narrow, and her nails crease his skin as she meets his thrusts.
The bruises from her heels don't disappear for weeks.
It feels so cliched, pulling his (cover) girl into a doorway and whispering can't wait can't wait, and it also feels like maybe he just wants to feel the catch and slide of her mouth under his again.
If only the bug were in his other ear.
She is intriguing, this miss vesper lynd, and he wonders what her mystery is.
He realizes as he looks at a plain black bag of her belongings that he never really knew anything about her, that he loved her because she had the ability to deceive without being found out.
All the markings of good liar, just like him.
________________________________________________
a strange kind of light. his dark materials, marisa coulter/serafina pekkala -- power, revolver.
"You are one of the witch queens?" Mrs. Coulter's voice was light and musical; though as a contradiction, her expression said danger; 474 words, pg.
The witch Serafina Pekkala swore, once, to kill the bright, beautiful woman she saw torturing one of her own in a room full of enemies. Such hatred she had never known in the long years she had lived among spies and liars and all manner of disdainful beings; this calculating woman with the kind of beauty that radiated power and almost matched that of witch kind filled her with an unfamiliar loathing she longed to be rid of.
An arrow from her quiver would pierce Mrs. Coulter's throat.
At least, that was the one thought she had before she met the woman. It was not only men, it seemed, that were drawn to her. There was a certain allure she had, her and that slinking golden monkey, that Serafina couldnt help but feel as she stood, captured, in her presence.
"You are one of the witch queens?" Mrs. Coulter's voice was light and musical; though as a contradiction, her expression said danger.
"I swore to myself that the next time I saw you I would kill you."
Mrs. Coulter gave a soft laugh, and a sad, beautiful smile. Serafina was caught slightly off guard until she noticed the golden monkey's face. He was judging her, measuring her strength to fight off Mrs. Coulter's will, and Serafina knew that the woman herself would be doing the same.
The witch felt that making Mrs. Coulter hostile towards her was not going to get her out of this alive. So she tried something else. Her expression turned gentle, though wary and reserved, as though she had seen some hidden pain in the woman in front of her. She took a step forwards, "Lyra is safe." She was careful to keep her voice edged with distrust, this woman was holding her prisoner, but something like a peace offering needed to pass between them.
Serafina was surprised to see Mrs. Coulter looked genuinely relieved to hear something the witch no longer knew to be completely true, but she didn't let it show.
"You know of the prophecy about her."
"Perhaps."
Mrs. Coulter stepped towards her, the perfume she wore somehow enticing while still keeping Serafina on guard.
There was a moment where she thought maybe, and there was something electric -- the thought of finding out just how vulnerable the woman in front of her was. She could know by a simple press of her lips to Mrs. Coulter's mouth, by her fingers running over her skin, just how strong she was. Witches with their years upon years knew ways that humans didn't, their values in society leading them to discover things that humans rarely did.
She didn't touch her, though. There wasn't even a whisper of fabric upon the clothes Mrs. Coulter wore.
The revolver in the folds of her coat was the one thing that stopped her.
________________________________________________
my better side of you to admire. rpf, kate/leo -- finally, fight.
and he doesn't doubt she loves what he did, nor, even, that she truly loves him; there is just something not there that he can't place.; 403 words, pg-r.
there is an awards show in two thousand and nine, where she stands on a stage with her voice tightening in front of colleagues and critics, and says, i love you, leo-
that's how he really knows.
she rushes up to him with an oh my god, i love you, you shouldn't have, the flowers that say "we're almost there!" dripping petals from her fingers. and he doesn't doubt she loves what he did, nor, even, that she truly loves him; there is just something not there that he can't place.
they fight in interviews, married couple squabbles about love scenes and subject matter, and he feels her fingers twined through his, moving with her words; the fine bones strong and worn beneath callused fingers. of course i love leo - her eyes brighten after a question that feels obvious. she seems almost indignant, how could anyone even think otherwise? the press of her hand, her elbow sliding towards his thigh makes him think yes, she must.
but then, people in love is good press, and kate is occasionally prone to hyperbole. why does he even think these things?
there is a moment, april and frank wheeler will know what he's talking about, when they look at each other and think i love the person standing in front of me. and that should be enough for him, but somewhere, for some reason, there remains a teardrop of doubt.
they're drunk for no particular reason, late after filming, and she leans across an expanse of air to touch her lips to his. she's there barely five seconds and then there are only puffs of air from her giggles. she looks at him from under her eyelashes, a hand creeping along the sleeve of his shirt and says conspiratorially, the accent from reading, england heightened by inebriation, i do love you, you know.
he lends a kiss to her temple and agrees: i know, though at the same time he's blaming a bottle of gin for her wandering sentences.
he thinks back to those days sometimes, when they were young enough to be stupid and thought sex was a kind of character development. however, it means he has that memory of the slow, smooth slide of her around him, and it all led to the first i love you.
-with all my heart. it's this, and he finally knows (even if he did all along).
________________________________________________
um, tamest porn battle entries ever, i know.