enabling: (Default)
enabling ([personal profile] enabling) wrote in [community profile] bakerstreet2013-01-21 02:46 am

show and tell

A Picture is Worth.... Meme
This ain't your mama's meme. Forget your RNG, forget your tired old prompts.
A picture is worth a thousand words.
It's easy. Comment with your character. Then go comment around.
But instead of pre-filled prompts with words or numbers, you find a gif or image (any gif/image from any canon or scenario you please) that sets the scene.

The picture is the prompt.

WARNING: THIS POST WILL BE IMAGE HEAVY. AND POSSIBLY NSFW AND THERE MAY BE TRIGGERS.
Some images will not be able to be hidden behind cuts, so please be aware that triggery material may be found within.

If you post an image that is violent or sexual in nature please LINK it, do not embed it into the comment.

Feel free to use this template to stick your image in there.


Good resources for images/gifs are weheartit or tumblr. For not so safe for work gifs/images go here and here.


original meme here
unstirred: (Default)

James Bond | Craig Films

[personal profile] unstirred 2013-01-21 08:56 am (UTC)(link)
unstirred: (with models in the V.I.P.)

TW: Slight mentions of gore.

[personal profile] unstirred 2013-01-21 10:01 am (UTC)(link)
[ They shot him in the head.

It's been said that he's immortal, that people (or things, or weapons, mutants, it depends on your perspective and just how much you know) like them are unstoppable. It's not true. James Bond is just as stoppable and as fallible as any other man, made of flesh and bone. He's just as full of blood.

And when James Bond is shot in the head with bullet that goes through his forehead (through the windshield of the van) and explodes out the back of his skull, he dies just like anyone else. Just as pitiful and useless, his body jolts with the impact before slumping into the seatbelt like so much raw meat, and there's a conical hole through his head where his brain used to be whole a second ago.

The only difference between 007 and any normal man is that he doesn't tend to stay dead for long. But it's enough.

The van careens and flips on the road, screaming its wheels and chunks of metal off its side before coming to a halt and spewing gouts of flame. Not quite a minute later, Bond wakes up again, gasping smoke into his lungs and feeling the hole in him more potently than the fire beginning to char at his skin. There's not a lot of time to pause for agony, though, if he wants to stay alive. Lucky enough, the windshield's been mostly shattered by the bullet and the impact, allowing him to punch through the remainder and heave himself free to flop onto an almost equally unforgiving street. He's not done yet. ]
debts: (Default)

[personal profile] debts 2013-01-21 10:10 am (UTC)(link)
[ A lifetime ago, Natasha thinks, years and years before, she would have been the one to take that shot.

She's felt that before. The seconds before the impact stops all those nerves and reactions in your body, that tiny moment of oblivion — when you want to get out of your head, when you live forever, it's not a stretch to have died more than once. So it's oblivion and so it's pain, sharp and clear when you wake, and beyond moral reasoning the physical aspect is what drives it home.

You tend to keep tabs on people, when you've been alive this long. Natasha tails him halfway through Spain, doesn't warn him of anything either — what she wants is the man behind the operation, not James. It's been twenty years since she's last seen him, but years don't count for much, being who they are.

A black jeep, rental, comes squealing around the corner. It pulls up and the door flies open; Natasha peers at him over her sunglasses, jaw tight.
]

Get in.
unstirred: (feel the earth move and then)

[personal profile] unstirred 2013-01-21 11:14 am (UTC)(link)
[ She probably did take that shot at some point, but unlike Natasha, Bond tries not to dwell too far back in the past. Oh, sometimes it bounces back up and nips him in the heels, but if he spent all his time holding grudges and letting himself dwell on his failures, he'd never get any work done. Regret is unprofessional.

As it stands, James doesn't hesitate for a second. He hears a door open nearby and a woman's voice telling him what to do and he obeys. Staggering up, he manages to clamber up into the opening and fumble the door shut behind him. His head falls forward, leaking blood and bits of other matter right down his shirt and into his lap. There's a groan as he slaps a hand over the hole, digs his fingers into his temples like that's going to help the fact a lot of the inside of his head and the back of his skull is missing. ]


God, my head -- it's killing me.

[ Very Bond. Natasha, did you miss him?

His free hand reaches back, gingerly begins to feel around the new air-hole he's got in the back of his head. ]


I can't see a bloody thing. Who is that?

[ He has a good idea of who it is. He knows she's been tailing him, and he's been waiting to see where the score is between them now. Friend or foe, though, he's with her now for better or worse. Someone, a lifetime ago, told him he'd be led anywhere by any woman, and it's probably still true. ]