Comment fic? CHALLENGE: location
I have of late, the wherefore I know not prelims are evil incarnate lost the ability to write.
In honor of recently passing prelims (YAY!) and nearly dying of the plague the end of a particularly bad bout of flu, I want to do a few comment fics ( Read more... )
In honor of recently passing prelims (YAY!) and nearly dying of the plague the end of a particularly bad bout of flu, I want to do a few comment fics ( Read more... )
Comments 18
Feel like writing any more musicals AU or in the Singin' in the Rain fandom? Location, Paris?
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When Eames had insisted they stop for the painters--literally, he had tugged and said, "But, darling, for the painters" as if that was any kind of rhetorical strategy--Arthur had assumed they were stopping briefly. There was art everywhere and they weren't exactly in a profession that ever let them move all that far away from art in the first place--Paris, city of lights or love or giant iron structures looming over the cityscape, was a general busman's holiday to Arthur. More art, different setting.
But Eames. He was acting like Montmartre had been created specifically to tug at the strings of his heart and play him expertly.
"I'm tired, Eames," Arthur insisted (not whining, not quite). "It's just a bunch of trellises." The artist glowered at him and he added--unsure if the man had understood him or had just taken offense at the timbre of his voice-- "No offense. Obviously ( ... )
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I'm not any sort of religious but it really struck me as a place of reverence and I've wanted to go there for 12 years now.
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The way things were supposed to go was this: (1) someone hires an extractor, (2) the extractor collects his team, sending them summonses to appear at some abandoned warehouse at an ungodly hour on some obscure date, and (3) they got the damn job done and disappeared. Arthur had known that was how things would go down on his first job, knew it just from the practical simplicity of it.
Of course Eames--who was supposed to be a simple (emphasis on the simple) Forger, no thinking required--would decide to flip the process on its head.
His text was direct at least: Córdoba. Noon. Two days.
No mirage of choice--there never was a choice, Arthur took all jobs and built, brick-by-brick, the mortar of the kind of reputation that would someday buy him Armani suits and the ability to sometimes say No, I think I'll ( ... )
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Dominic/Cat Deeley - This couch at the W Hotel.
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There were lots of people around them--the sort of crowd that hummed at a pitch that made casual conversation impractical and no one ever had anything but casual conversation to offer. Dom had seen her when he came in; of course he did, she was seven feet tall and blonde like an British (not French, definitely not French) Amazon. You couldn't miss Cat in a crowd.
But she was over there and he was trying to pretend to be interested in the thread-count of curtains because otherwise he was going to do what he always ended up doing anyway, he was going to end up hovering somewhere nearby her ( ... )
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"I was just telling Evan how you looked like you'd lost your budgie. Apparently you don't say 'budgie' in the States," she said conversationally.
"I will if you want me to," Dom said honestly. It sometimes amazed him how he could say these sentences and everyone would laugh like it was a joke--he always meant every word.
Cat's eyes crinkled at the corners. "Oh, Dom," she said, her tone all affection and--possibly--she already knew that he always meant every word ( ... )
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Specific? You asked, I give you: Mandarake bookstore on Otome Road in Ikebukuro, Tokyo, Japan. XD I recently went there during vacation to satisfy the yaoi fangirl within.
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