RP Prompt Dump

It was actually a coincidence that Will Graham happened to be on that plane. He didn't want to be, but one does not simply say 'no' when the very Jack Crawford stops you in the middle of the corridor and tells you to replace an officer that has fallen ill. It would have been fine-- Will was used to unexpected calls-- if it didn't mean getting on the same plane with Hannibal Lecter. The prisoner was being transferred to Europe, so the security had to be air-tight. It was a small passenger plane in which the Prisoner of the Century was strapped down to an upright gurney, his bonds impossible to get out of. Will still didn't feel safe when he got onto the plane. The close proximity of Hannibal Lecter made him feel extremely uncomfortable, even if he knew there was nothing the prisoner could do. The cannibal's gaze alone brought chills down Will's spine, so he avoided those dark maroon eyes for the rest of the journey.

Except that the rest of the journey didn't happen. Sometime after the half-point of the flight something went wrong. Will felt it. The other guards felt it. Hannibal Lecter must have felt it. At first the guards tried to reassure each other that it was just turbulence, and since the plane was so small it was probably why it felt so heavy. But the turbulence grew and the captain announced that they were having some problems with the engine, and that nobody should panic. Nobody did panic. For the whole of ten minutes before the plane made another jolt and Will actually felt the gravitational force fade out for a moment, his body weightless against the seat belt. After that pretty much everyone panicked, because there was smoke, there was shaking, and the plane was quite obviously falling. Will must have passed out some time during the fall, because he didn't feel it when they landed.

There was no way of telling how long has passed before he woke up. But Will came back to himself only to realize he was laying in sand, face down. After another moment he realized he was still in his seat, strapped down, but the seat was no longer inside the plane. He saw blood around him, then checked himself to see if it wasn't his. When he saw the mangled body of another guard beside him, he realized whose blood this was. Blood in the sand. The next thing Will saw was the gurney and the bottom of his stomach fell when he surveyed the empty leather bonds, torn.

Back in high school when kids called Jim a fairy, they did not even realize how close to the actual truth they were. Jim was a fairy in every meaning. He had never conformed to the strict set of masculine features, with his long lashes and petite body, among other things. Back at school he mostly kept to himself, both socially and in his appearance. Only after he was 'freed' from that hell hole, meeting some cool people in college, was he finally brave enough to wear what he liked, even if that was a skirt or lots of makeup. Sometimes people asked him if he was a cross-dresser or trans, but he always just shook his head, explained to them that he was not, and gave them a secretive smile. Another meaning of the nickname 'fairy'-- although a little outdated--also suit him because of his sexual orientation. There were times when he thought he was bi, there were times when he thought he was pansexual, but in the end he mostly identified himself as gay. That made him smirk a little when people tried to turn that against him. Jim found it incredibly funny when people called him a fairy, or when he referred to himself as one, because they never really understood how serious he was. Jim was a fairy. In the most literal meaning of the word. And that was like an inside joke with himself. Despite his fairy magic and general positive thinking, Jim was not immune to all that is human. A cold was one of those things. Then again, fairy cold needed very different kind of medicine than the kind he could find at a regular drug store. He'd learned about this little shop a while ago, but he'd never had to go there. In all honesty, when he passed it one day he thought it looked rather silly and tacky. Right now when he looked at the door sign, his small frame bundled up in a fuzzy mint sweater, his pretty face flushed and nose irritated, the shop did not look that silly. He reached out, his petite hand stacked with colourful crystal rings and his nails sparkly, he pushed the door open and the little bell above the door rang. Jim sneezed explosively, his ribs aching from having done that about a hundred times that day, and he lifted off the ground half an inch at the impact before his sneakers touched down again. ''Uuugh,'' he groaned, sniffling as he approached the counter.

Loki was really excited to finally visit New York, he's only ever been to the west coast when it came to the States. Well, that and the airport, but airports don't count. This time it wasn't just the airport though and Loki was eager to explore the heart of the Big Apple. However, more than anything right now he was eager to get to his Airbnb apartment and rest-- he'd forgotten how exhausting long-distance flights are. He'd found an amazing place, a penthouse with a gorgeous view, and he had to take it, even if the price was humongous. It's only for a few nights anyway, then he planned to move to a cheaper place in Brooklyn. He hoped the host wasn't some rich asshole though, but then again, he'd probably hardly see him anyway. When they talked online it seemed like this Tony Stark fellow was reasonable enough. And reasonably handsome, from what Loki could see in the single picture provided on his profile.

When Loki finally arrived at the place he saw that the building was fucking gorgeous, even the elevator was made of glass and the brunet could see faraway into the streets as he rose up to the penthouse floor. His heart gave a little flutter in his chest, but otherwise his anxiety was pretty in check. The elevator took him straight to the penthouse, but thankfully he didn't barge in straight into the living room. Loki stepped out into the small hallway and approached the only door there was, pressing the intercom button.

Project 'Lock' was first born in the 80's as a mere idea for a school project by a very bright young man. Which, in fact, wasn't taken very well by the teacher, as computer viruses were generally frowned upon, and still are. The project was again remembered in the mid 90's when the same boy-- now a young man-- complained about 'Lock' being called 'an unacceptable joke' to a fellow university student, his tongue completely let loose by the copious amounts of alcohol. That fellow student, however, did not see the project as a joke. He saw it as an opportunity.

When the project was finally set into action, after years and years of hard work, the name of it had already been upgraded to Lock A.I., as in the end it surpassed the general idea of a virus. It was so much more. However, being the first prototype of this kind of technology, Lock A.I. had its disadvantages. The biggest of which was-- it was growing incredibly fast. Too fast for the scientist to control. In the end he payed for it with his own life when the project slipped out of his hand and was driving its life by itself. Project Lock A.I. was free. Years passed with no sight of the project, and nobody was really looking for it, as only a handful of people knew of its existence. The name Lock A.I. soon morphed into Loki, a mere myth in the hackers' community. The myth of the first ever artificial intelligence that could lock on to any system, get into any device, one that went berserk on its creator.

It was no myth, however. Loki was out there. And currently he was readying himself to resurface again, preparing to face a rival. Being the first AI ever had it's magic, but so many new projects have been completed since then. When Loki learned about a certain J.A.R.V.I.S., he had to get to him. And he did. It was morning in the Stark Tower and everything was calm at this time of day. When it was time for the blinds to go up in Tony Stark's room, just like always a voice of artificial intelligence greeted the man. Except, it sounded much different. Still had the British accent, but the voice was much more flowing and almost gleeful when it spoke. "Good morning, sir, Jarvis is a little... tied up at the moment," Loki chimed, sounding almost like a flight attendant, "I will be assisting you from now on. Please, accept our apologies for any inconvenience."

No matter how many times Natasha had told him that living together with Bucky would be hard for him, Steve had never imagined the extent of it. He wasn't sure even Natasha did. After all, Steve was under the impression she was only speaking about how hard it would be to see his friend go through so many stages of recovery, and not how hard it would be for Steve to feel such strong longing towards Bucky without being able to fulfill it. Or maybe she did, and Cap just didn't give the woman enough credit. After all, she had stopped trying to set him up on dates altogether. Sometimes things seemed alright, when Bucky was on the right track and it almost felt like in the good old days, except they weren't freezing in their old apartment. However, sometimes when the brunet was going through tough patches, recovering bad memories, Steve would long to hold him close and tell him that everything was going to be alright. He longed to inhale the familiar scent of his best friend and trap it inside his lungs forever. But whenever he touched Bucky, on the most basic friendly terms, Steve felt like he was breaching something. An invisible line. He felt like he was so close to misusing their friendship, and that was not accepted on his terms. Yet staying away was excruciating.

That night Steve had trouble falling asleep, his shield propped near the bed like per usual. But when he finally was able to close his eyes and feel himself drift off, it wasn't long after that when he jerked awake again. Sensing another presence in the room, Cap moved quickly and reached for his shield before turning the lap on the nightstand on. It took him two seconds for his body to go from tense alert mode into relaxing relief. ''Jesus, Buck..." he deflated into the bed, "You almost gave me a heart attack..."

When Loki (23) first sent out requests for internship to various organisations he didn't expect many of them to even reply. And most of them did not. He was loosing hope to be honest, he just needed damn university credit, he did not care where he got it from. Being desperate as he was Loki contacted even the organisations that would most likely just ignore him or laugh at him. Honestly, writing to Stark Industries was done almost as joke. So naturally he almost fell out of his chair when a few days later Pepper Potts called him on the phone. Apparently Stark Industries were currently looking for young human resource specialists. To Loki things were going almost suspiciously good. He wasn't usually this lucky.

On the day of Loki's arrival Miss Potts could not meet him herself, being all the way in Europe, but she made sure a person responsible for the new intern would greet him and show him around. Loki was to work in the office, running errands when needed and making coffees. For the first half of the day things were going quite smoothly, Loki hadn't spilled anyone's coffee yet. Things turned to shit when the lunch break was over though. The dark haired young man had followed the hoard of HR workers out to get lunch with them, but when the time came to get back into the office, the elevator was too stuffed, leaving Loki to wait for another one. When he got into the elevator he forgot what floor he was supposed to go and ended up going ten floors higher in the tower than he was supposed to. When he stepped out he realized his mistake-- this was not the HR. Not even close. The place was much smaller for one. In front of him there was a reception desk-- empty. On the wall there was a huge Stark Industries logo, and underneath it an arrow pointing to the left ''CEO's office''. Oh. Well, Loki was really not authorized to go any further, however just when he turned back to the elevator he heard steps coming from the left side of the corridor.

How many times does it take to see a face in a sea of strangers in order to start recognizing him? Three. Three times. The first time the blond was just another face in the crowd of New Yorkers, grim sleepy faces in the train. The second time was more or less the same, although the face did seem somewhat familiar to Bucky. The third time was when he spotted the blond in the crowd, sitting a few seats away from him. Then there were many other times, the train, getting off at the same stop. Bucky was always a few steps ahead of the blond, as he usually sat nearer the exit. But he could feel the tall broad-shouldered man behind him. It was hard not to see him with the corner of his eye when the man was such a looming figure. This went on for a couple of weeks maybe-- just them, minding their own business, heading to their own workplaces, always three steps apart. Until that one particular morning. The car of the train was particularly crowded, due to some rescheduling, and Bucky was pushed deeper into the crowd, unable to get off first like he always did. By the time he got out of the train, the blond man was already walking ahead of him. Bucky walked after him, frowning slightly. This wasn't right. This didn't feel right. He walked one block like this, looking at the other's broad back. Then, he just had to do the thing... Bucky smirked to himself and darted forward, running after the blond and past him. Then he turned and grinned at the man, "Been winning for three weeks, can't stop now. See you tomorrow."

This is inspired by this post.

Ever since Jim Moriarty settled in this little riverside town his relationship with the local people had only been heading downhill. First there was the chocolate shop he'd opened, which was considered an offense to this conservative community. Indulging in one's pleasures, such as eating sweets, was a sin according to the town's mayor. There was only a handful of people that turned up at his shop once in a while, treating him like a normal human being instead of the Voice of Sin. In return Jim treated them with hot chocolate and delicious chocolates. However, then Jim's reputation declined even more when the locals realized the new resident of the town hadn't once been to the church. Then there was the fact that he didn't look or dress like the local men, nor did he show any interest in finding himself a wife. Jim himself didn't care much about what they said though, even if those things were really mean. Only his few regular clients kept him company, which got a little lonesome eventually.

One morning Jim heard rumors that there was a band of river gypsies camped out by the river bank. He grew very curious, as he'd already noticed that nothing new ever happened in this town, not since he'd arrived there himself. So, without a care or worry of what the locals might think, Jim headed to the gypsies, carrying some treats as a get-to-know present. The blue of his linen shirt was almost of the same shade as the sky that day, his sleeves rolled up in the warm weather. Jim walked over to the gypsy boats slowly, giving out chocolates to the children on his way, he heard soft guitar music coming from one of the boats by the docks. A tall sandy blond man sat there, hands holding the guitar as if it was his lover or a child. "Excuse me," Jim spoke, holding out the box of sweets, "Would you like a chocolate?"

Sebastian Moran has been working in the pool for five years now. The man has a group of 14-17 year-olds that he teaches every Tuesday and Thursday, as well as many individual classes throughout the week. Working with adult swimmers is really tough sometimes, especially before competitions, but Sebastian mostly qualifies in teaching a younger audience. He also enjoys it much more. Boys in speedos is probably the best thing about his job. Whenever he isn't working with larger groups, he is qualified to give individual training for those either with a physical disability or a light degree of aquaphobia. Or sometimes kids from rich families who can pay for individual lessons. Being close to young boys, touching their young muscles and directing the movement of their body gives Sebastian an oddly pleasant feeling. Sometimes that feeling is heightened when he catches the boys in the showers and watches them from under his own shower stream. It seems he could just reach out and run his hand over the pert curve of their bottoms, feeling how their skin heats up under his touch and the hot water from the shower. He did that a couple of times. After a session with a rather difficult aquaphobic Sebastian was rather worn out. Most likely mentally more than physically. But he had one more private lesson right after this, so he hoped it would be more relaxing. It was a new kid, he hadn't met him before, so there was a sense of excitement too. The pool was empty, but well lit and spacious. Sebastian waited for the kid on a bench, stretching his long legs.

Q had been looking for his parents ever since he realized he didn't belong in the family that brought him up. First of all, the genetics weren't right. It wasn't hard to figure it out from there. They never told him he was adopted, but confirmed it when he confronted them about it. The man and woman who brought him up almost like their own son, weren't very helpful with the search, however, so Q proceeded on his own. All he had was his first name, Benjamin. No last name given. In the end, all his trails and leads ended in one place - MI6. No way to go around that one. Benjamin could only go through it. So he hacked the files, which wasn't an easy job. So when he got caught, MI6 offered him a position. Q took it, just so he could proceed his search. But soon enough another obstacle stood in his way. This time it wasn't MI6. It was SHIELD. Hacking his way in wasn't an option this time. The search for his parents had to be put aside for a while, until he had enough leads to go further. He and James Bond had been dating for three months now, and the agent knew all about Q's search, it was no secret. The man appeared a little skeptic about it, but was supportive towards Q nevertheless. The paths between MI6 and SHIELD were bound to cross once in a while, and whenever they did, Q found himself closer to the truth. 007 proved himself very useful when it came to extracting information from SHIELD agents whenever they had to work on something together. And today, Benjamin was provided with the last piece of information that was needed in order to complete his search. He waited for James to come over to tell him the news. Q still had to check his computer screen and read everything again to make sure he wasn't mistaken. Because, honestly, being Howard Stark's son was the last thing he'd expected.

This one came to him unexpectedly. Laying in his bed deep at night, awake and without a trace of sleepiness, the man stared at the ceiling. It seemed there was nothing around him that should trigger a memory, when Steve was sound asleep in his own bed, just behind the wall. But that was until James decided to give up on trying to sleep and listen to some music instead. Steve had made him a playlist of songs back from the day, apparently those they used to listen to. And when that one particular song played by Frank Sinatra reached Bucky's ears, the memory washed through him, soaking him with its flavor. The first thing that came after the sound, was the smell. It was Steve's smell, that light yet musky smell of his hair. Why hair? And why did it go together with the music? This was a riddle Bucky didn't need to wait long to solve, as more pieces of the memory clicked together. The memory of touch came afterwards. Thin arms around his waist, his own much more muscular ones around Stevie's small body. They were dancing. Slow and gentle, with Bucky leading and Steve following. An odd tightness rose into his throat at the memory and James sat up, plucking the earphones out of his ears. He always felt unbearably empty after one of those memory recovering moments, unless Steve was there. So the man got up and went into Captain America's room, not feeling the need to knock. Steve never seemed to mind that, for it wasn't the first time. Bucky knelt by the man's bed and gently touched him on the arm, looking down at him expectantly. He didn't feel good about waking him up, but the nagging feeling at his insides was getting more and more intensive and if he didn't get rid of it he might break down again.

Another rainy day in London. The rain wasn't too heavy, however it was enough to create puddles all over the place. People walking on the pavements had to look out and not step too close to the road, else they might end up covered in dirty water if a car passed too fast. It so happened that James Bond was a rather aggressive driver, taking sharp turns and not slowing down as much as he might need to. He was more used to spacious countryside roads than the crammed and busy London streets. So it was no surprise when a puddle of water splashed to the sidewalk from under the Aston Martin's wheels, covering whoever stood there in dirty water. James had enough humanity in him to stop the car. He pulled over and got out of the car, cursing under his breath as he saw a young man standing on the sidewalk, soaked from waist to toe. "I am so sorry," James came up to him, his own suit crisp and clean, "I am usually not this reckless of a driver."

“Hello.” Sebastian spoke rather shyly into the mic, clenching his fingers around it firmly. It had taken enough alcohol for him to actually get on the stage, which was located in the basement of his new favourite pub, but singing still seemed impossible. “I’d like to… um…” the blonde looked down at his feet and brought himself together, “I am going to perform a song that I’d written for a person that’s very dear to me. The song’s called…” Sebastian paused to clear his throat, “The Storyteller”. God, Jim would hate it. 

might have to accidentally turn this into a longer...

Sebastian thought that D.I. Lestrade, out of all people, would have a better security system in his flat. However, having entered quite effortlessly the sniper realized that there wasn’t much to protect anyway. Except that glorious collection of music records. But not many thieves understood how valuable these were. Sebastian ran his fingers through the spines of the many CDs, they seemed to have been used a lot. The man bent down to have a look at the vinyl records. He picked up one randomly, nice - Led Zeppelin, then another one, wow - Sex Pistols. There was the record player as well. The sniper took a random vinyl, this time it was “Appetite for Conversation” by Guns’n’Roses, and put it on. Might as well be a nice surprise for the inspector. 

Jim paced around the hotel room nervously. When was the sniper going to get there? He was certainly not stuck in the hotel bar… Jim would slap Sebastian if he ruined his surprise by appearing in the room completely wasted. He’d sent the man to Paris not to get drunk on his expense. Not that Jim would be surprised if that turned out to be the case, since Sebastian did seem quite pissed off when he got sent out to France. But what the sniper didn’t know was that the criminal himself would be waiting up in his hotel room.