A Mixed day
Mar. 6th, 2006 07:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
valarltdFirst and in the "Woot!" category: Torquere took my kinky cosplayers for the "Men in Uniform" anthology!
HOWEVER!
It needs a new title, since Emily Veinglory's Single Shot that premiered today is also called "Star-crossed."
So, The First Ever Help Angel Title a Story Contest.
Winning title gets a cameo role in an upcoming story.
Here's the premise:
Chris and Dave are cosplayers. Chris is a Luke Skywalker look-alike. Dave wears an Imperial Admiral's uniform. Chris has a fixation on Dave's uniform, esp. the boots. During some assigned playing at a con, Chris is captured by some unknown stormtroopers, hauled off to a room and chained to a bed. More kink ensues.
“It is a good day to geek.”
I smoothed the black leather glove on my right hand and practiced looking grave in the mirror. Everything was perfect, from atrocious haircut to polished boots. I swiped a handkerchief over the lightsaber replica hanging at my belt. It was the newest, and most expensive addition, to the costume. I’d had a cheap-looking one for too many years.
“You will bring Captain Solo and the wookiee to me,” I quoted to my reflection with a small wave of my hand, making sure the inflection was right.
Dave sputtered as he stepped out of the bathroom from his shower. “Jedi masters don’t feel the cold or what?” He went to the climate control and reset it, his teeth chattering very loudly. Drama queen. “Every time we stay in a hotel, you change the air to ‘Antarctica.’ My turn this weekend. We’ll keep it at a nice, comfy seventy-two.”
“Drop the towel,” I intoned, with the hand wave.
Dave laughed, slipping into character at once. A haughty sneer crossed his face. “Your mind-tricks won’t work on me, boy.” He went and pulled his own uniform off the coat-rack. “Like all officers, I’ve been trained in the arts of mind-control.”
I sat on the bed and watched him dress. The grey uniform tunic was perfect for his eyes and coloring. So many guys just looked washed out, but it suited him. He pulled on the boots and I watched, wanting. I’d polished them before we left and polished them again while he was in the shower. Nothing like a man in uniform. I blamed Lucas, yet again, for warping my mind at the impressionable age of nine.
Today's driving was mixed. I did okay on the highway, picking up on a couple hazards even the instructor missed. But I'm still cutting my turns too short. I didn't hit the shriner out practicing on his mini-motorcycle. I didn't hit anything at all. (Okay, the Yield sign exchanged a few molecules of paint with my trailer...) My shifting is a lot smoother.
Star trucking sent me a full-length app.
I'm leaning hard to US Xpress now.
HOWEVER!
It needs a new title, since Emily Veinglory's Single Shot that premiered today is also called "Star-crossed."
So, The First Ever Help Angel Title a Story Contest.
Winning title gets a cameo role in an upcoming story.
Here's the premise:
Chris and Dave are cosplayers. Chris is a Luke Skywalker look-alike. Dave wears an Imperial Admiral's uniform. Chris has a fixation on Dave's uniform, esp. the boots. During some assigned playing at a con, Chris is captured by some unknown stormtroopers, hauled off to a room and chained to a bed. More kink ensues.
“It is a good day to geek.”
I smoothed the black leather glove on my right hand and practiced looking grave in the mirror. Everything was perfect, from atrocious haircut to polished boots. I swiped a handkerchief over the lightsaber replica hanging at my belt. It was the newest, and most expensive addition, to the costume. I’d had a cheap-looking one for too many years.
“You will bring Captain Solo and the wookiee to me,” I quoted to my reflection with a small wave of my hand, making sure the inflection was right.
Dave sputtered as he stepped out of the bathroom from his shower. “Jedi masters don’t feel the cold or what?” He went to the climate control and reset it, his teeth chattering very loudly. Drama queen. “Every time we stay in a hotel, you change the air to ‘Antarctica.’ My turn this weekend. We’ll keep it at a nice, comfy seventy-two.”
“Drop the towel,” I intoned, with the hand wave.
Dave laughed, slipping into character at once. A haughty sneer crossed his face. “Your mind-tricks won’t work on me, boy.” He went and pulled his own uniform off the coat-rack. “Like all officers, I’ve been trained in the arts of mind-control.”
I sat on the bed and watched him dress. The grey uniform tunic was perfect for his eyes and coloring. So many guys just looked washed out, but it suited him. He pulled on the boots and I watched, wanting. I’d polished them before we left and polished them again while he was in the shower. Nothing like a man in uniform. I blamed Lucas, yet again, for warping my mind at the impressionable age of nine.
Today's driving was mixed. I did okay on the highway, picking up on a couple hazards even the instructor missed. But I'm still cutting my turns too short. I didn't hit the shriner out practicing on his mini-motorcycle. I didn't hit anything at all. (Okay, the Yield sign exchanged a few molecules of paint with my trailer...) My shifting is a lot smoother.
Star trucking sent me a full-length app.
I'm leaning hard to US Xpress now.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-03-07 01:56 am (UTC)*looks at ceiling, whistles*
Anyway..."Sleeping With the Enemy?" Too trite? It's probably already taken for an anthology on the uniform, theme. Meh. I got nothin'.
no subject
Date: 2006-03-07 01:56 am (UTC)Ooh! Ooh!
Date: 2006-03-07 01:59 am (UTC)Re: Ooh! Ooh!
Date: 2006-03-07 02:51 pm (UTC)