steady rollin'

yay for creative commons

pond@ponderosa121.com — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 16:45:39 GMT

Mercedes Lackey is now welcoming the production of fanworks provided they're released creative commons.

This makes me happy in several ways, and slightly inclined towards redoing some abandoned fanart. I still don't believe in the need for permission, but the encouragement is nice. If only I hadn't been utterly disgusted by her self-insert and washed my hands of all her novels.

Now if only Robin Hobb would stop being full of crazy and anti-fan so I could start buying her books again.

two midterms down, two to go...

sometimes all i really want is crack

pond@ponderosa121.com — Tue, 13 Oct 2009 03:10:29 GMT

Blue refuses to write me Logan having Victor's mutant kittenbabies.

;_;

I'm sure iniq would back me up in declaring that she is wrong to refuse.

[ART] A Song of Ice and Fire - Loras

pond@ponderosa121.com — Mon, 12 Oct 2009 04:47:28 GMT

Fooling around with portraits and tone and new brushes.

A Song of Ice and Fire. Loras. G.

At work today, I made vegan ginger carrot cake cupcakes. They were awesome.

[ART] Original - Gideon

pond@ponderosa121.com — Wed, 07 Oct 2009 03:46:37 GMT

Gideon is one of the main characters in the historical novel blue_soaring is writing. He ended up with a resemblance that I wasn't aiming for originally, but I like it. Drew this pretty quickly and extended the canvas downwards so the anatomy is a bit crap, but I learned quite a bit fooling around with this, especially as far as painting hair goes. Also I shocked myself once I realised I drew this in about an hour. Level up!

Original. Gideon. PG.

a complete lack of interesting things

pond@ponderosa121.com — Tue, 06 Oct 2009 18:22:27 GMT

I have absolutely nothing to chatter about.

Been wanting to play things, but ogame is about all I have time for. It's nice being able to queue up things and then just sit back and wait as my empire grows stronger.

[FIC] Harry Potter - Snape/Harry - The Briefest Touch

pond@ponderosa121.com — Wed, 23 Sep 2009 06:32:46 GMT

I keep forgetting to post this. I'm sure dungeons_master has forgotten they even left me a prompt. Which was, for the record: Snape/Harry, skinnydipping ^^;

The Briefest Touch
Harry Potter. Snape/Harry. R. 575 words.
This was their life now, simple, quiet, free to swim naked in the middle of the day should they wish it.

The Briefest Touch

Severus rolled his trousers midway to his knees and sat himself down on the edge of the dock. The lake was a pool of ink, black as his robes. Ripples edged to the reed-choked shore, radiating from the slide of his feet beneath the water's calm.

A fat bubble broke the surface, followed by a flurry of dozens more, tiny as champagne bubbles. They floated like stars until disturbed by the emergence of a dark crown of hair, slick and gleaming in the wan moonlight.

"Join me," Harry said, hanging in the water for a long moment before he surged up to prop his arms on the planks beside Severus. Droplets slid from his naked skin, pooled dark on the smooth wood. He looked for all the world like a muggle merfolk idealised--his chest smooth and strong and perfect narrowed down to ghostly mystery beneath the water. But if Severus looked carefully, he could see Harry's legs gently scissoring.

"I'd rather watch you swim," Severus said.

"Is that really what you'd rather do?" Harry lifted himself out of the water, lean muscles of his arms going taut as he held himself high enough that his mouth flirted near Severus's shoulder.

"For the moment." This was their life now, simple, quiet, free to swim naked in the middle of the day should they wish it.

"Liar," Harry said. He sank back into the water, vanishing for the blink of an eye before bobbing to the surface again. His hand, chill from the swim, curled around Severus's ankle and tugged. "Come in or I pull you in. Your choice."

Severus yanked his leg free. "Offering choices that aren't. Like father like son." He winced as soon as the words spilled free into the quiet of the night, waited for the flash of anger or pain in Harry's eyes he'd seen so many times before.

But Harry's mouth just pulled into a smile and he caught Severus's leg again, grip firm and unyielding. He had changed so much in the past few years while Severus struggled to keep pace. Some days he worried that Harry would tire of this game, tire of him and his inability to hold his tongue. "You'll complain, but secretly you want me to." Harry braced himself against one of the moss-slick pylons, the threat of hauling Severus into the lake looming as black as the water. "Last chance...."

"Very well." Severus shifted, lifted his hands to undo the row of buttons at his throat, and before his fingers had finished with the second, the world dropped out from under him.

Watery dimness closed in, his robes ballooning around him one moment and a smothering weight the next. He choked on a mouthful of water before instinct snapped his mouth shut, and he jerked away from the press of fingers at his mouth. Harry's fingers swept over his lips again, air gathering in the wake of his touch. Severus's feet found the slick bottom of the lake and he swayed from the push of water and the stronger push of Harry's foolish impulses. He let Harry strip him down, free his robes to the whim of the water.

"Not so bad, is it?" Harry asked, pulling him away from the shore to deeper water where they floated together, connected sometimes by only the briefest touch of their fingers.

In the cool, clinging darkness, Severus permitted himself to agree.

*
End

[ART] Original - Creature Design - Concept sketches

pond@ponderosa121.com — Wed, 23 Sep 2009 05:53:57 GMT

I have a creature design and modeling class this semester. Our first assignment followed standard procedure and had us doing a bunch of thumbnails. I did about 50 thumbnail sketches in silhouette form last week and tried to stray from humanoid since that's something I tend to draw naturally. We narrowed down our silhouettes in class to two and so my homework was to take those and further develop them. I went the concept art route as it was the easiest way for me to come up with features. Creatures aren't something I find at all comfortable to work on, especially since I tend to like horror/grotesque art over fantasy/alien so I really had to push myself here. Ended up doing one humanoid figure since that was one of the thumbnails my teacher suggested, but I'm far more likely to do one of the others. Tomorrow in class, I'll pick finals and then need to draw up the underlying muscle structure and properly narrow down skin/surface type and all that fun stuff. I wish I had started actually painting before this afternoon, but once I know which creature I'll be modeling, I can go in and do something more detailed.

My thumbnail sketch, silhouette style, and a few concepts of how the head could look. Went for variations of predator versus herd beast, with the tentacles on a separate layer so I could turn them off and on.

I knew I wanted the creature to live in an environment with a lot of lava. Originally I was going to go for more of a demon mount, but stretched myself away from the horror to try and make a creature that looked like it would actually exist in an area that was primarily lava flows.

Taking the same basic shape, I worked this one away from insect/crustacean to a creature with an obvious muscle structure. I liked the head more in the individual concepts than how it ended up looking here. Comparing this head to the insect-like head, the other is far more striking and interesting. If I go with a muscular bodytype, I'm definitely going to have to do more versions to come up with a better headshape.

Explored a humanoid here and trying to represent a lot of mass. Originally my concept was again mentally veering towards horror themed, combining elements of two different thumbnails. Both were zombie/grotesque creatures, with baroque filigreed items on them. Took out all the horror, so there's not quite so much of an interesting contrast with the props, but he looks like he could be a temple guard or something. :3

This class is tough. Moreso once I actually have to start sculpting a physical maquette of my creature in clay, but I'm having a surprising amount of fun.

[ART] Inglourious Basterds - Donny - Batter Up! - NSFW

pond@ponderosa121.com — Mon, 21 Sep 2009 01:57:38 GMT

I am weak to the Bear Jew. ...and to anonymice saying things about his bat where I can see them. Thus, a quicky. Now I get back to work on the other image that makes me feel just the slightest bit dirty. Witness my restraint in not titling this happy new year. Ohohoho.

Inglourious Basterds. Donny. NC-17. Large insertion. Non-con. Violence.

omg fringe

pond@ponderosa121.com — Sat, 19 Sep 2009 07:04:26 GMT

I don't really have time or energy to say anything interesting, just aah and squee and I love everyone on this show so very much. :x

also maybe eventually I will have to cave and write a bit of olivia/rachel

[ART] Harry Potter - Snape/Harry - In the Fire-lit Shadows - [NSFW]

pond@ponderosa121.com — Thu, 17 Sep 2009 15:35:40 GMT

This was only slight deadline fail.

A gift commissioned by accioslash for dementordelta, of a scene from Delta's fic The Place in the Dark.

Harry Potter. Snape/Harry. R.

Happy belated birthday, Delta! I hope you had a great day!

...and on-time birthday wishes to blue_soaring, even if her present will be equally late.

deadlines fail

pond@ponderosa121.com — Thu, 17 Sep 2009 15:25:53 GMT

I missed a work deadline earlier this week on top of completely not understanding what it is the client was asking for. Got that sorted out the next day, but am still slightly irritated at myself. And I just clued in on that I missed a fannish deadline this week too. Gah. (The lovely mods just gave me an extension though, yay!) My sense of time has been completely fucked lately. I think it's a combination of adjusting to my new schedule coupled with this stupid cold that has decided to live almost entirely in my sinuses to the point where wearing featherlight glasses is painful. It's been a week and a half and it's going away, thankfully, but I'm still catching myself with moments of complete bzuh.

Going in to my second week of classes, I'm wondering just how much free time I'll have with the amount of homework I'm looking at. I was hoping to sail through my online English class, but the instructor is actually good at structuring the discussions and putting up interesting materials (if on infuriating subjects), so that's taking up more time than any online class I'd taken previously. I am equal parts boo and yay about this. All three of my on-campus classes are project intensive, although I'm very, very happy to be nailing down what I need to model early on and not floundering around like I was last semester.

Driving down to my mom's today and visiting folks, which is cutting out almost a full day of homework, but is necessary on a few levels. I'm hoping I'll be able to get the online stuff out of the way while I'm down there though, and this weekend I'm not on opening shift anymore so when I get home from work I shouldn't be quite as exhausted as usual.

No segues here

pond@ponderosa121.com — Thu, 10 Sep 2009 01:01:37 GMT

- My classes are awesome this semester. All of them except english. I took the same exact class two years ago, only when my credit transferred in, it did so for the prereq. Thanks, AAU, for fucking over my transfer credits in as many ways as possible.

- I have a cold. Hopefully this won't be a repeat of the billion day cough of the cold I had last year.

- Did I mention my classes are awesome? I get to sculpt a maquette! And need to buy a few artbooks I've been wanting for ages but hadn't gotten around to. Yay for fun required texts.

Fun thing of note:

- There is a Watchmen Kink Meme running on Dreamwidth. Even if I haven't played on one of these for ages, I encourage prompts as I am /so/ wanting to doodle.

[ART] Inglourious Basterds - Donny & Aldo - Going to the Movies

pond@ponderosa121.com — Tue, 08 Sep 2009 05:08:20 GMT

Guess what I saw today? :D And now that I've gotten this out of my system, I ~~think~~ hope I'm good. \o/

Inglourious Basterds. Donny&Aldo. R. Blood n' corpses.

[ART] X-men - Logan/Remy - Go Easy

pond@ponderosa121.com — Fri, 04 Sep 2009 02:43:53 GMT

X-men. Logan/Remy. PG.

OMG WHAT AGAIN

pond@ponderosa121.com — Thu, 03 Sep 2009 02:21:27 GMT

I'm not fuckin intentionally trying to be fucking spammy, but OMFG.

omg boys. Boys with their Da. Finally. I am less D: about the protege than I was in all the years prior to actual filming.

\o/

omg what

pond@ponderosa121.com — Thu, 03 Sep 2009 01:47:58 GMT

death_bingo! How very appropriate for several of my fandoms. Yes.

Apocalypse square? Extra win.

Homicide (filicide)

Premature burial/Immurment

Decaptitation

Crushed/Pressed

Attack (supernatural being)

Poisoning (intentional)

Overdose (accidental)

Suicide (general)

Dehydration

Homicide (general)

Illness (sexually transmitted disease)

Temperature (hyperthermia)

FREE DEATH

Crash (automobile)

Execution (hanging)
Borden/Angier

Man vs. Vehicle (automobile)

Martyrdom

Overexertion (other)

Crash (train)

Device (Rube Goldberg)

Overdose (intentional)

Illness (sudden)

Apocalypse

Illness (cancer)

Electrocution

[FIC] Smokin' Aces/Supernatural - Jeeves/Dean - Last Call

pond@ponderosa121.com — Thu, 03 Sep 2009 00:45:44 GMT

Basic heat I can deal with for the most part, but this humidity thing has got to go.

And now here's the first of the not-drabbles that I took like a month ago. Aharhr. For stewardess who asked for a Tremor brother(s)/a Winchester brother(s). Weaponry.

Last Call
Smokin' Aces/Supernatural. Jeeves/Dean. R. 1900 words. Non-con of the unwanted groping variety.
A thousand successful hunts and more wounds than scars, and this is how it was going to end?

Last Call

"Nai guhh."

Dean's crawled through every state at least twice, spent more than enough time in the kind of bars where it takes a dozen guys to come up with a full set of teeth between them, and he still can't understand the mash of sounds coming out of the guy towering over him. Could be part of the block between Dean's ears and his brain is that the guy's got neo-Nazi fuckhead written all over him. Literally, turns out, when the guy drops a hand on the top of the bar and rolls up his shirtsleeve. He slugs Dean in the shoulder in what Dean hopes was meant to be a friendly gesture, but either way it's going to leave a bruise.

"Forry five. Bih boom. Big. Bigbig."

So that one, Dean understands. Almost smiles until sliding up on the other side of him comes the skinnier, shorter, equally tattooed version of the skinhead mountain pawing at him.

Bright blue eyes skim over Dean's face in a way that makes him feel like he's really in the wrong damn kind of bar. "What he means is he likes your gun."

"Yeah, I got that." Dean tugs his shirt down over the lump of it at his spine and wraps his hands around his beer, hoping they'll take the hint and leave before Sam tracks him down. Dean's here to avoid trouble, not up the ante.

"I think my brother Jeeves there wants a closer look at that fine piece of weaponry." Blue-eyes pulls the pick out of someone's abandoned glass and twists to lean his back against the bar. He starts cleaning his teeth, and under the flap of his ratty, sleeveless, black denim jacket, he's got more guns strapped to him than the Impala has trunkspace for. "How about you go with him to the little boy's room."

Dean flinches when a big hand claps to his leg and runs up his thigh to squeeze him none-too-gently in the crotch. "Bafroom. Good for ya." Another squeeze, firm enough to make him see stars.

"Do I have a choice?"

Blue-eyes turns his head lazily, beams a big smile at him. "The good Lord says we all got choices, friend."

"C'mon." Jeeves takes a fistful of Dean's jacket and hauls him off his stool, gives him a shove towards the back of the bar and smacks him upside the head when he doesn't move.

"I'm going, I'm going." Out of the corner of his eye, Dean catches the bartender looking edgy. Dean smiles, tries to assure the few people tossing looks his way that he's got things covered, and there won't be trouble. But his blood runs hot, then cold. There's something about the vibe in the joint that's changed enough that a quick takedown in the bathroom and a getaway might be the best plan of action.

He glances back to see if Blue-eyes is going to follow, but his new, giant-sized buddy blocks his view and gives him another smack. "No time. Gon' get dark," he grunts.

Dean scowls and rubs the back of his head. Guy is bigger than his freak brother, but Dean bet he landed on the far end of the spectrum when it came to smarts. All bulk and no brains, and Dean hates the type. "Dark? It's half past ten. The sun's been down for hours."

"Gon' get dark." Right.

The bathroom is a tiny one stall, one urinal, one sink affair, and the moment they're both inside, Dean ducks down out of reach and springs back to deliver a swift punch to Jeeves's nuts. Pain rockets up Dean's arm, his hand numbed, and the next thing he knows he's being picked up into the air, the world does a few spins and then he's flat on the floor with no air left in his lungs.

Jeeves pulls a goddamn butcher knife out of his pants and Dean blinks away stars and the sudden flicker of his life flashing past his eyes. A thousand successful hunts and more wounds than scars, and this is how it was going to end? Down and out, just like that, chopped up by a crazy asshole with a stupid looking mohawk and left to bleed on a dirty bathroom floor. Dean's breath comes back in a loud gasping rush just in time to see Jeeves drive the knife into the plaster and leave it in the wall.

"Shuddup," Jeeves tells him, putting a boot to his leg to swivel him around on the tile. Two-hundred odd pounds of muscle drops onto him, wriggles back to sit on his shins, and Dean's eyes bug when Jeeves goes straight for his fly.

The hard edges of his gun dig into the base of his spine, impossible to get to. Jeeves slams a hand down onto his shoulder, pins him effectively and grins when his hand wriggles its way into Dean's boxers. Dean squirms, eyeballs the gun just a little too far out of reach and considers that maybe being chopped to death wasn't such a bad alternative after all.

When the lights cut out and the shooting starts, Dean's mind takes another 180. He renews his efforts to reach his gun, but it's no use. Adrenaline rips through his veins, and if the groping he could do without, at least he's got a pretty effective meat shield between him and any rounds flying this way. It sounds like a war's going on, screams interrupted by shotgun blasts and the cough of automatic rifles.

"Done soon," Jeeves says, and Dean can't tell if he means he's going to come from rutting against Dean's leg like a goddamn dog, or if the firefight is almost over.

Either way, Jeeves shifts his weight, his hand skids off Dean's shoulder to the floor, and Dean's chance glimmers like a beacon. One hard twist that wrenches his shoulder to screaming earns him his Colt in his hand, and Jeeves grunts when the muzzle hits his chest.

"Get off of me or I shoot." Dean flicks the safety, and the last thing he expects to hear is a shuddering moan. Humans, he'll never understand them.

Jeeves moans again, takes Dean's wrist and Dean's too fucking stunned to pull the trigger. Shooting people isn't what he does, and for all Jeeves's enthusiastic rutting, he's clearly not a jizz-sucking incubus.

The door bangs open and for second Dean thinks the sound and the sudden flare means somehow his finger squeezed the trigger, but the light stays. Jeeves's eyes are glittering, his teeth bared, and Dean's treated to the sight of the guy twisting his head down to lick at the barrel of his gun, lewd and wet, and for chrissakes if he gets out of here alive, the thing's going to need to be disinfected.

"You ain't done yet?" Blue-eyes keeps the door open with his shoulder, a flare sizzling in his hand. There's bits and chunks of gore all over him, everywhere but around his eyes, left clean from the goggles hanging loose at his neck. Even if Dean's seen messier, it's always been something nasty and otherworldly doing the damage. He swallows hard thinking about what went on out there.

Jeeves grinds against Dean's thigh one last time before stopping unsatisfied. He puts a hand to Dean's face and thumbs at his lip, lightly slaps him once more across the face as if to say if you didn't shoot me already before he stands. He steps over Dean, yanks his knife back out of the wall, and rubs at his cock through his jeans. Dean's never felt more invisible in his life, and thankful for it.

"Can I keep 'em?" Jeeves asks, muscling in close to his brother. "Perty gun. Perty face."

Dean's skin crawls like it's stretched over a ball of snakes as the two assholes look him over like he's a piece of meat. The gun in his hand might as well be a rock for the good it's doing him. Dimly, in the back of his mind, he hopes that Sam's still at the motel. If he shows up now, things are only going to get messier.

"No pets." Blue-eyes claps a hand to Jeeves's neck, pulls him down to touch their foreheads together. "But I won't put him down if it'll make you feel better."

Jeeves looks disappointed as he tucks the butcher knife back into his pants, looks less so when a grenade gets slapped into his palm. He tosses Dean one last, unreadable glance, and then the two of them are gone, the door swinging to clap shut and a final, teeth-shattering blast shaking it on its hinges.

The whine of sirens finally gets Dean up on his feet. He does his pants back up and shivers, staring at the heavy weight of the gun before tucking it back into place. Surreal doesn't begin to explain the whirl of what-the-fucking-fuck going on inside his skull. He catches the handle of the door and pauses, gauges the size of the window instead and makes up his mind.

Whatever's out there, he doesn't want to see it. There are some nightmares he can live without facing.

And shit, but Sam's probably riled up over all the red and blue lights howling this way.

The sweeping beam of a flashlight skips through the crack under the door and Dean freezes. They've had a lot of shit pinned on them, but he's not keen on getting caught and having a barroom massacre added to the list.

He inches slowly away from the door, but not fast enough to avoid the hard smack of it into his face. Christ, it's like the universe has decided that tonight is the night to slap him around.

"Dean!" Light shines in his face and he shies away. "Dude, what happened? Are you okay?" Sam flips his grip on the flashlight to take him by the face, turn his head towards the faint glow of the streetlamp coming in from the window. "What the hell did you find?"

"Freaks," Dean says, shrugging away from Sam's concern. "Can we not talk about it and get out of here before the cavalry arrives?"

"The back door's blown to bits, we can go out that way, so you know...." Sam nods towards the front and no, Dean doesn't know, and he'd like to keep it that way.

"Next time I'm sticking with a six-pack in the room," Dean mumbles, praying that whatever he just stepped on hadn't been someone's finger. He's going to need a shower. A long one.

"I'll remember that."

"Please do."

"Freaks?" Sam asks as they burst into the cool night air and away from the stink of blood and bullets. Dean starts to take back his earlier assessment of Sam's brains, because his brother just doesn't know when to shut up.

"You remember the Benders?" he says. "Add a bigger arsenal, a Hitler fetish, and a disturbing tendency for— Let's just say these guys made those hillbillies look like the Hiltons."

"Oh." Sam's face flushes.

"Yep."

"Oh," Sam repeats, the colour draining away just as fast. "So, we skipping town? Nothing's panned out so far."

"Thought you'd never ask. You pack, I shower, and tonight never happened, got it?"

Sam opens his mouth, pauses and nods and tosses Dean the keys. "Got it."

*
End

I went to Canada and all I got was a lousy stick figure

pond@ponderosa121.com — Tue, 01 Sep 2009 23:36:15 GMT

Just got back this morning from visiting with blue_soaring and attending the SPN con in Vancouver. I only cared about a single autograph, so the rest of the time I just got extras of Blue's stuff signed for her. I got all the actors aside from Jared and Jensen (who were too behind schedule) to draw stick figures. I think Alona's was my favourite, mostly because she very adorably went "you mean like a four year old's drawing?" and then the stick-gun she drew just ended up looking like a dildo. Misha's was rather hilariously awkward as he tried converting a letter. Alas, Blue's going to have to post those because this is the sole autograph I took home with me...

From here on, stick figure Bobby's gonna guard my ~~Macbook Pro~~ porn. I very briefly considered changing its name from War Machine to something else, except...it's silver and black and always has the best name in the listing whenever I'm on a public network.

All in all, it was an experience. I've never been to that sort of convention before. I will post my ~~bad prom photo~~ badass photo op once I scan it and eradicate that horrible cloudy backdrop in Photoshop, aharharhr. I encourage everyone to get Blue to post her photo ops too, since I talked her into getting air guitar and exorcisms. Fun.

Gotta say that the next time I spend 20 hours on a train I am going to be much better prepared for it, but J and I met some interesting folks. Boarding the train in Seattle for our return trip was like a life saver after a week of adequate coffee. Thank you, Zeitgeist. *_* The best cappuccino I had while in Vancouver, I watched the barista add milk to a pitcher that still had hot milk in it. I cringed.

Home again though and busy with all the things that piled up after a week's vacation. School starts for J this week and my online class begins tomorrow, but I at least have until next week before my on-campus classes start.

Still a little wtf about the Marvel thing. Still a little tired. Cons are hard work. Hi.

district 9 and legion

pond@ponderosa121.com — Thu, 20 Aug 2009 02:38:54 GMT

J and I went to see district 9 today. I'm a little torn. It was very good for the most part, but maybe I'll make a spoilery post about it later. For now...

ALL MY SQUEAL IS SHOWING BECAUSE THEY SHOWED THE TRAILER FOR LEGION.

Oh, Kevin Durand, please continue with the hotass. Unf.

I don't even care if it's probably going to be a shit movie. Because it's KEVIN DURAND. WITH A SPIKED MAUL. IN A COLLAR. WITH FUCKING WINGS.

DO WANT.

If the internet doesn't supply me with Michael/Gabriel fic when this movie comes out, I'm going to have to lodge a formal complaint.

perhaps not smart

pond@ponderosa121.com — Wed, 19 Aug 2009 02:01:35 GMT

Celebrated finishing up my six day work week and that J can now eat solid food by going to Pyramid Alehouse for dinner. I got their seasonal IPA Grifter. It was awesome. So awesome it has taken me forever to weed out all my typos.

As soon as I sober up, I have a last minute design gig to revise. Oi.

[FIC] CSI - Greg Sanders/Mike Keppler - Pantomime

pond@ponderosa121.com — Tue, 18 Aug 2009 05:17:17 GMT

For once, I'm not the one with the backlog of stuff to beta. Mwahaha. Also, omg this makes a bingo, I did it! :D

Pantomime
CSI:LV Season 7. Greg Sanders/Mike Keppler. R. 2400 words. Follows Candyass by Blue Soaring. For the striptease spot on my Kink Bingo card.
At this point, Mike could suggest just about anything and Greg's head would bounce like a bobble-doll.

Pantomime

This hadn't been part of Greg's plan. For one, Greg hadn't had a plan, and maybe that's the problem. His very lack of plan could be a key factor in why he's about to break a dozen rules governing proper workplace behaviour.

"Slowly," Mike says, leaning up against the lockers. His arms fold over his chest and the strain of his shirt over his shoulders is practically an invitation to maul him. Greg manfully restrains himself, though he can't take all the credit as he's helpfully rooted firmly in place. His feet, always the contrary ones. "And do the buttons one at a time."

At the low, vibrating purr of Mike's voice, the floor turns to sand. Greg wobbles as he plucks at the hem of his sweater. "You mean like a striptease?"

The corners of Mike's mouth twitch into something resembling a smirk. "Exactly like a striptease."

"Just because this is Vegas doesn't mean this isn't a little, you know...." Unconventional? Degrading? Greg's not at all sure what it is or how he feels, and his lips thin but he already knows his resolve has gone the way of the floor and spilled away in so many tiny particles. He tosses a look over his shoulder, but it's another quiet night and running into Mike had been fate shoving the opportunity into his face. Who was he to turn down that kind of shoving? "Okay, but I'm not doing a little shimmy. If you want to see my moves, you're going to have to come home with me."

"Fair enough." Mike's gaze skims Greg head to toe. Greg has only started removing the first article of clothing and he already feels naked. So much so that he's got his sweater peeled up to his neck before the implications of Mike's answer sinks in.

Mike in his apartment. There's a thought.

It clings to his brain like his sweater clings to his shirt, thoughts tugged in one direction along with the drag of his oxford. The cool air coming out of the vents licks at his belly, tightens his skin and his nipples. Taking off a freaking sweater at the pace of a snail is like trying to get free of a straitjacket. Greg might complain if not for the satisfied sound Mike makes, a little whuff of breath that says he isn't showing too much too soon.

"Start from the bottom," Mike says, when Greg's done peeling his arms free of clingy knitted death.

Greg takes the time to pull his sweater right-side out and fold it. The task was supposed to give him room to think, figure out if this really is a good idea and if he really is going to follow through. Sure, he wants to play dirty sex games with Mike, but waggling his hands at Mike through the windows while cocking an eyebrow is one thing and stripping down to his birthday suit in the middle of the locker room is comparing apples and oranges. Do you know what's tame in comparison? A handjob in a locked office, that's what.

When the sweater sits in a fuzzy lump on the bottom of Greg's locker, he's no better off in the thinking department. He considers leaving the door open, but it's a flimsy amount of privacy and doesn't obscure any of the important bits if someone were to walk in. Not that there's anything he's ashamed of when it comes to his important bits, but a boner in the locker room is bad etiquette even if it's not your fault. And right now, it's emphatically not his fault, 'cause the fault is standing four feet away near the towels in a pressed-shirt and slacks and holy shit is Greg thankful he's not the only one with bad etiquette right now. His pulse shoots back to rocket-speed again and his brain gives up on the bothersome task of generating thoughts to start up a looping mantra of, Please, no one walk in...please, no one walk in....

Funny how it feels wrong to undo his shirt from the bottom up. All the years of muscle memory doing the reverse has him stumbling at the simple task. Knowing Mike is watching him isn't helping put any points in his dexterity stat. Greg glances up when he reaches the midway point, and the look in Mike's eyes completely melts him. Yes, it's true, Mike Keppler has laser eyes.

"I, uh." Greg is positive that there's something he wants to say. His tongue makes a game attempt at it, but it falls out of his mouth in a garbled moan. He fumbles at the next button, nerves shredded because he still has his shirt on, his pants and his jockeys and his socks and shoes, and at this rate, someone is bound to come in. Greg's pretty sure that the door staying shut this long is some kind of laboratory record.

Mike tilts his head as he says, "Slower," and somehow that punctuates the order. Seriously punctuates it, like gives it a triple-strength underline.

Butterflies explode in Greg's chest cavity. "Can't be much of a show if you're the one giving the stage directions."

"Spontaneity has its place, but in this case, I have a plan." The butterflies aren't calmed by Greg's relief that at least someone does, and they swarm down to occupy his belly when Mike lifts a finger in the universal gesture of 'get a move on'.

"What is it? See how long it takes Greg to crack and drag you around the corner into the showers for some fun with soapsuds?"

"Could be. Do you think I'm toying with you, Greg?" Mike's arms go to his sides, hands slipping just past the welts of his pockets.

Greg's fingers freeze on the topmost button, the leaves of his shirt brushing lightly against his belly. His heart pounds so hard he's sure Mike can see the thump of it shiver through his chest. "Well now I'm suspicious." And really fucking turned on. At this point, Mike could suggest just about anything and Greg's head would bounce like a bobble-doll.

"Keep stripping."

Greg draws his shirtfront open, oddly self-conscious when it parts enough to reveal his nipples. What he'd like to do is yank the cuffs over his wrists and just pull the whole thing off instead of suffer the whispering slide of cotton over his shoulders. It's soft as a kiss and entirely a tease. Mike's hands—those big, thick-fingered, ridiculously well-manicured hands—should be pushing his shirt aside, not that lousy bitch gravity.

His shirt hangs at his elbows, swoop of cotton rustling at his lower back as he loosens the button cuffs. He's got one button down and three to go when Mike's gaze skips past him and Nick's cheery, "Hey guys," sends him spazzing right into the locker door. Metal bangs on metal and Greg starts mentally filling out his own coroner's report.

"Jumpy," Nick says, his locker open in a flash.

Jumpy is a pretty good adjective for Greg's heart, because it's gone and leapt straight into his throat. Anatomically impossible or not, he's choking on it right now.

"I already know what's got Greg's tail in a knot, how's your night going?"

How Mike can carry on a normal conversational tone right now is so far beyond Greg's ability to comprehend it might as well be astrophysics. Alien astrophysics written backwards in shorthand. He tugs off his shirt while Mike is distracted, and that was a stupid idea because now he really should take off his pants or risk coming off as unnatural. How the hell do people manage to act naturally when they know they're doing something they're not supposed to be doing? This is exactly why he'd make a terrible criminal. Mike, on the other hand, would probably be a crime boss if he hadn't taken up the badge.

Shoes, Greg reminds himself, shoes before pants.

"Eh, been better. Glad I've got tomorrow off." Nick's locker slams shut and Greg jumps all over again. He can practically feel the upwards crawl of Nick's eyebrow. "Hey, keep an eye on Twitchy there, would you, Kep? He's looking a little peaky."

Greg's indignation trumps his mortification. "I'm in the room."

"Don't worry, I've got it covered," Mike says, and about two seconds after Nick is gone, he looks pointedly at Greg's pants.

"He called you Kep." Greg hooks his thumbs into the waist of his pants, slides his hands aimlessly in a gesture that's got to be more nervous than sexy. Unless Mike enjoys the nervous look, which he very well might, and that'd make Greg the sexiest bitch on the planet right now.

"And you're stalling."

"What if he comes back?"

"What if."

"Answering a question with another question is a bit of a dick thing to do, don't you think?"

Mike grins, one eyebrow arching pointedly. "Is it?"

Greg's fly is peeled open with his jeans inching down toward the tops of his thighs and now, thanks to Mike's absurd sense of humour, he has what seems suspiciously like the giggles. They crescendo towards a hiccup that Greg chokes on when Mike catches his arm just above the elbow and drags him stumbling forward. Next thing he knows, Mike has him by the shoulders and shoves him up against the side of the very last locker in the row, the sharp bang of metal as loud and violent as the kick of his heart.

"Mike?" Panic seizing him, Greg cranes his head around the corner. His eyes fly towards the entrance to the locker room, start rolling up into his skull when Mike grabs him by the jaw, forces his head forward, and Mike's mouth presses to his, soft, wet, dangerous. They could get written up for this, and Mike's the new guy, he's only got so many mistakes he can make before his first review. Greg puts a hand to Mike's chest, intends to push him back, but the slick wriggle of Mike's tongue against his own has him curling his fingers into the front of that neatly-pressed shirt. If he's lucky, he'll leave a few wrinkles, mess Mike up a little the way Mike is doing to him.

"Do you want me to stop?" Mike asks. He licks his lips as he pulls away, one hand dropping to Greg's chest. His knuckles skim down Greg's body, end at his waist and then it's Mike's wide palm burning a brand just left of centre. Fuck if anyone comes in now, he is so screwed.

"I don't know." The truth seems the safest avenue, or at least the only thing that pops to the surface. "This isn't exactly...clandestine."

"No, it is not." Mike's tone of voice is neutral edging towards aroused and every nerve in Greg's body lights up one after the other like a row of sparklers. Latex might be Greg's thing, but exhibitionism has never floated his boat until now. The calculating gleam in Mike's eyes just does things to him that his last string of hookups couldn't even come close to. He presses his hips forward eagerly as Mike's hand wraps around his dick, pushes it up to his belly and squeezes the length of it.

"I'd like to suck you again," Mike says, and that's the end of it. All of Greg's fear gets blasted out the back of his skull, the slam of lust hitting him so hard there's nothing but an impact crater left where his good judgement should be.

"Okay," Greg says, reddening slightly when his voice cracks on the word and the following groan is loud enough that he's sure it must've echoed out into the hallway. But Mike's not moving, not dropping down with the same confidence-laden ease that Greg had seen first hand. Oh boy had he seen it first hand. "I said okay."

"No, you were right." Mike pulls his hand away, steps a full foot back and Greg's too stunned to react to Mike licking a wet smear of precome right off his thumb. "I apologise, Greg. It was presumptive of me and a little overbearing."

Presume! Overbear! tries to claw out of Greg's voiceless throat, but only a thin, wavering sound escapes. He'd really very much like to have his cock sucked as promised. The whole lab could come in right now dancing in a conga line and he wouldn't care.

"Maybe we can continue this later." Mike reaches down to adjust his cock.

"But-"

"Somewhere more appropriate."

Greg scrambles to pull up his jeans when Mike continues to be bound and determined to blue-ball him. "What about now? We could--"

"Go rent a room?" Mike's arch look turn Greg's cheeks red all over again.

"Well, no, but I'm off shift in an hour and, you know, if you want to really see my moves." Greg wiggles his hips, which probably would've looked a lot sexier if his dick wasn't still hanging out. He stuffs himself back in his pants, saddened as his best puppy-dog look doesn't seem to be working at all on Mike.

"Unfortunately, I've got a mountain of paperwork."

Greg opens his mouth to offer to help, but Mike's already shaking his head. "Next time," he says, and looks Greg over, gives him a faint smile and leaves. Just like that.

"Next time. Right," Greg mutters, feeling like a victim of Hurricane Keppler as he turns back to his locker and retrieves his shirt. He holds it by the shoulders and shakes it out. "Well that'll give me time to work on my routine."

"What routine?" Catherine says, and Greg earns himself another bruise by slamming into his locker all over again. Christ on a pogostick, was everyone in the lab working on their ninja stealth skills?

"Just trying to work out more. Build up my guns." Greg does a curl and grins. "Now that I'm in the field more, the next time a pack of crazy teenagers comes at me I'll be ready for 'em."

Catherine gives him the sort of crooked smile that says she's torn between trying not to pity him and trying not to laugh. "You do that," she says, slinging her coat over her arm and flipping him a little wave. "See you and your guns tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," Greg echoes, slipping his shirt on. A faint whiff of that light spicy scent that follows Mike around still swirls in the air and it hits Greg how much of a close call that was. His knees go weak as the dump of adrenaline filters out of his system.

Next time, he is so going to need a plan.

*
End

longest day ever

pond@ponderosa121.com — Tue, 18 Aug 2009 03:47:19 GMT

Today was a ridiculously long day at work. It was just one thing after another with some new accounts and special orders needing attention. I didn't even get my deposit finished until a half hour before the bank closed. Squeaked that one in! I didn't finish everything, but got all the major stuff squared away. The amount of filing I have to do tomorrow though is epic, and I have an early morning dentist appointment.

On the fannish front: David Wenham rumoured for the Warcraft movie as Arthas? Yes please. *_* Gimme. I loves me some good boys gone bad.

j is turning into a zombie robot

pond@ponderosa121.com — Sat, 15 Aug 2009 02:13:48 GMT

So despite working desk and technically not needing to be in the office until 9-10, I was up extra early to take J to his ridiculously early appointment at the oral surgeon. He was training a new morning baker, so I ended up putting together a fruit platter for a morning catering. I was proud of myself, as I managed to make it look very pretty and kaleidoscopic. After that was all taken care of, I drove J in, and was able to arrange to pay half the bill now and half at the beginning of next month (whew!) and headed back to my concrete box.

He texted me when he was all done, and it went really fast. Tim was nice enough to pick him up and take him to the pharmacy. J's doing well and healing up from his crazy bone graft. The dental literature tells me that the bone can come from several sources, and if you choose not to use chunks of your own bone, it can come from a cadaver. Exciting! After his jaw heals in a few months he'll be getting a titanium implant. Step one towards turning J into a zombie robot is complete.

In other news, while I was trying not to go crazy working on a design gig, I decided to put my restless energy to good use and threw together some poster comps for blue_soaring's latest fics. I love poster design. They're my favourite gigs to do. :3 Typically I get ultra inspired by the typography on a lot of the promo posters for bands I like, and my typography geek is in fine form these days.

Blue posted em over on her journal, so you can see them in this post. Worksafe imagery, but some fic quotes used in the designs.

I want to do more! :3

in the sweatbox

pond@ponderosa121.com — Thu, 13 Aug 2009 20:44:52 GMT

Am working the desk for the next six days, which is a nice chunk of hours to help combat dental bills. The office is the same miserable concrete box that I remember and I stupidly wore pants instead of shorts or a skirt. To be fair, all my clean laundry was downstairs still in the laundry bag since I got home so late last night. Tomorrow, I shall not make that mistake.

My drabbles are...not drabbly. On the next set I'm going to have to wrangle myself at least under 500 words. Oops?

Trying to use this opportunity now to reply to emails and comments and such. Good luck, me.

five tv shows meme

pond@ponderosa121.com — Tue, 11 Aug 2009 17:16:13 GMT

Meme time! On the heels of having clearly forgotten how to write drabbles as everything so far just wants to be fic. I'm going to have to brutally retrain myself. :p

As stolen from makishef

Pick your five favorite TV shows (in no particular order) and answer the following questions. Don't cheat!

1. Fringe
2. Battlestar Galactica*
3. Supernatural*
4. Flight of the Conchords
5. Dexter

* Note that if you want to chatter at me in the comments, keep in mind that I still haven't seen the last 4 episodes of BSG and the last 4 of SPN and I remain unspoiled. :3

01. Who's your favourite character in 2? (BSG)
Colonel Tigh hands down. He hits my loyalty kink with a sledgehammer, and the angst just seals the deal. I love how he's not a nice character and yet he's essentially good (with flaws!). I'm fascinated by the variety of relationships he has with others rather than there being a sort of standard.

02. Who's your least favourite character in 1? (Fringe)
D: I love them all! If I had to choose from the main cast and not arc-specific characters (like Loeb) I'd probably say Astrid, which is really unfortunate as I adore her, it's just that she really hasn't gotten to /do/ anything yet and while there's a lot of speculation and curiosity in my head, she hasn't had an episode really highlighting her and her awesome plethora of studies. So in this case, she's my least favourite due to lack of fleshing out rather than any dislike.

03. What's your favourite episode of 4? (Flight of the Conchords)
I want to say that it's Bowie for Jemaine's song about Bret, but it's probably s1e02 Bret Gives Up the Dream, if only for the classic breakup and makeup. Oh boys.

04. What's your favourite season of 5? (Dexter)
Season one. The main arc and endpoint were so much tighter and all the characters I hated were the love-to-hate types, as opposed to S2's Lila. Ugh.

05. Who is your favourite ship in 3? (Supernatural)
Sam/Dean. I don't really read it anymore and I'm more interested in writing other things, but they're still my OTP and I never want to break them up on the core level.

06. Who is your antiship in 2? (BSG)
Hm. I don't know if I have one. For a while there they were losing me on the Adama/Roslin, but that got back on track. Maybe uh. Lee/Helo? Which is less of an antiship and more that I just don't get it beyond the pretty factor.

07. How long have you watched 1? (Fringe)
Picked it up a few months ago on recommendation by Tim and haven't put it down since. At this point I've probably seen each episode about 5 times. Olivia is the first female character I've fallen so hard for in ages, she's got everything shiny.

08. How did you become interested in 3? (Supernatural)
I think stormcloude is to blame here. Started watching it maybe mid-way through first season? I think I was sold on it by Asylum.

09. Who's your favourite actor/actress in 4? (Flight of the Conchords)
Probably Rhys Darby who plays Murray. He makes me squirm in that I am almost too embarrassed on his behalf to watch and yet somehow I still manage despite my embarrassment squick. Probably because he manages to make Murray likable despite everything. XD

10. Which do you prefer: Show 1, 2 or 5? (Fringe, Battlestar, Dexter)
D:

Probably Fringe, as it has the benefit of only one season so far and so there isn't like half a season that I wish had never existed as I do with the other two. I also find it more rewatchable. Dexter I love following but am not really fannish about, and BSG I sometimes have a love/hate relationship with...although I would SO COSPLAY it.

11. Which show have you seen more episodes of, 1 or 3? (Fringe, Supernatural)
Considering it's 1 season versus 4, I've seen more Supernatural. I still haven't watched the last four episodes of SPN though, so I'm completely up to date on Fringe and lacking on the SPN. ...considering that the con is around the corner, I'm going to have to suck it up and watch shortly. Love/hate I tell you. Love/hate.

12. If you could be anyone from 4, who would you be? (Flight of the Conchords)
This is possibly the hardest show to answer this question for. XD Maybe I'd have to say Mel, since she already indulges in dirty sexual fantasies about the boys, and has her slave-husband to work for her. I'd be slightly less creepy stalker though, and there'd be a whole lot more than just the one bit of fanart on the walls of her house.

13. How would you kill off your favourite character in 1? (Fringe)
Gah. I don't think I could answer this without spoilers. Let's just say Olivia would go atomic and the shit would come down.

14. Give a random quote from 1? (Fringe)
"I thought you might have teleported to New York in your sleep and killed her. Wouldn't that have been wondrous?"

So very, very quotable.

16. Would a 3/4 crossover work? (Supernatural, Flight of the Conchords)
In the most hilarious of ways. However, I'm not going to speculate further as my brain my asplode.

17. Pair 2 characters in 1 that would make an unlikely but strangely okay couple. (Fringe)
Hm. I could probably rationalize most anything including the Not Okay couples. Maybe uh, Walter/The Observer? That seems unlikely, but strangely okay.

19. Overall, which show has a better cast, 2 or 4? (BSG, Flight of the Conchords)
FotC has a tiny cast while BSG is a powerhouse and the genres are so different it's tough to even compare. FotC does what it does very well, and all the cast members fit their roles perfectly, but Battlestar definitely wins as it has the advantage of several very strong and charismatic leads and a variety of emotional range, even if some of the cast can be iffy or have serious bouts of fail.

20. Which has better theme music, 3 or 5? (Supernatural, Dexter)
Dexter. If we're talking actual theme, since SPN doesn't really have one and they're hit or miss on licensing tracks.