http://turnthenipsdown.livejournal.com/ (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
turnthenipsdown.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
hh_mirror2007-08-22 12:12 pm
turnthenipsdown.livejournal.com) wrote in hh_mirror2007-08-22 12:12 pm
Application for Sasan, from So NoTORIous
Okay, this place? Effing huge. No really, the vaulted ceilings. Gorgeous woodwork up there, if Sasan should say so himself. The cobblestone floors? Tapestries and plush carpeting and guh. Totally... some past century or something. Medieval. Something like that. But compared to The Mansion, said with implied capitals for emphasis? Seriously, ew. Look at all the cobwebs in the upper corners. Practically inhabitable.
Why was he here again? ...Wasn't he supposed to have ended up in the nice, sunny Caribbean? Sipping a mimosa or something. This was... England? Scotland? Hello, something with castles. ...Maybe he shouldn't have taken that Valium before the plane ride, this totally wasn't an island vacation. Not fun. No way he could wear his new Maschino sandals here. Well, he could, but not nearly the same dramatic effect as there would be in the Bahamas. And there was near to nil chance of boys. Pretty boys. In Speedos. Woe.
Ugh. This couldn't be good for his pores. And they were already being stressed into clogging, and that face wash was not doing its job, the label totally lied.
Anyway.
Sasan shrugged his carry-on bag onto the table, nose wrinkled at the room around him. Stark bare. Nothing but rock and this... weird little... table? Rustic. He'd give it that. But, God, boring. This room could use some definite sprucing. Nice new curtains in the windows... Ooh, and definitely some displays. China? No, too tacky. Something to dress it up. ...At least a vase, jeez.
...What the hell had he walked into anyway? Sasan straightened out his jacket and slid onto the table with a delicate sort of ease that showed just how much he disapproved of the room. Which was more of a huffy slump, really, as he crossed his ankle across his knee and grasped at one of the papers. Was this some weird little survey or something? Ooh, like on Myspace? Those were such time fillers, they were addicting. Um. ...Not that he had a Myspace. ...Or over seven hundred and seventy nine friends. ...Never mind.
Ahem.
1. What is your favorite cheese? Why is it your favorite?
Did he even have a pen? No? Too bad. He plopped his chin onto a palm, eying the paper with a frown. Hmm. Cheese? ...How random. Not even name or sex or favorite color or something first. Just cheese. Oh, well. Maybe it would tell him what his aura was at the end or something. Because he totally got purple last time he did one of those, and he was fairly sure he was more of a sky blue.
"Does cheesecake count?" he speculated aloud to himself. "I mean, it's hell with the cream and all that crap, but, yum." As a Dictaquill sprang into life, doodling out his answer and hello, he may or may not have let out a decisively un-manly yelp of surprise. The thing could move. Oh, man. Where could he get one of those? Writing always gave such a hand cramp, God, there was a reason he loved his laptop. "Uh?" he asked, experimentally, as the quill scrawled out the two letters. Awesome.
2. Who would you kill first, Barney or Carrottop?
Kill? Oh, God, no way, he couldn't kill anyone. Especially with a knife or something like that and, ew, it would get on his hands and be all gross and sticky and urgh, that couldn't be good for his skin, and that would undo all what the L'Oreal had been doing. Unless it was damn Paris Hilton and her total slut ways. There was a reason she ended up in jail! If not just for the nose job alone, come on.
"Carrottop," he scoffed, decisively, wrinkling his nose like something smelled bad in the room. And that pen thing was just way too cool. Anyway. "The hair? His skin is just dying for moisturizer. Hello, boy's in need of a massive makeover. Not that it could save him. Just... ew."
3. What time is it where you are?
Time? Okay, whatever. He eyed his watch with a tilt of his head, debating. "It issss..." Time for him to get a room with actual decor involved? Maybe? Yeah. "Seven forty-two." ...Woo hoo?
4. If you were Albus Dumbledore returned from the dead, which member of the Order of the Phoenix would you sexually harass? How would you harass them? If you are Albus Dumbledore, please answer as if you were Sirius Black.
Sexual harassment? Oh, now that was something he could do. ...Maybe not the whole coming back from the dead thing, that was a little off, to say the least. Being a zombie would be kind of gross. "Depends." Who was the Order of the Phoenix? ...Was that some band? And anything like Fall Out Boy? Because Pete Wentz was kind of short but, damn, he'd seen those pictures from his Sidekick, and there was a substantial amount of man there for Sasan to take.
Okay, maybe it wasn't Fall Out Boy. "Order of the Phoenix?" he offered weakly instead, and glanced up, as if expecting validation. Nobody nearby. Boo, no fun. "I don't know. ...Who's got the biggest cock?" He could almost picture Tori thwapping his arm, and defenses were automatically set in place. "What? Inquiring minds! They want to know!"
5. If you are pushing to be in:
A. Slytherin - please state the clever, witty name of the bar in which you bartend, in the dark.
Bartend? Oh, that could be so fun. He'd definitely wanted to take a class on that once. And not just because the teacher went to his gym and had you seen that ass? God, what he wouldn't have paid to tap that. Anyway, it didn't work out. And that other guy from the bench press had been way easier.
"Does it have to be dark?" he asked, a bit poutily. "Aesthetically pleasing lighting is crucial for a warm environment, you know." No? Oh well. "I suppose if you were going for the Brad Pitt slash Ed Norton sort of thing? Could work. Anyway, it would definitely be Fight Club. Just for that." And if Brad Pitt showed up himself, he would not be complaining.
B. Gryffindor – Debate whether Harry should ultimately end up married to Fred or George. Use examples from a variety of world mythologies to bolster your argument.
Ooh, here were the goods. Because, you know, if this was anything like the Janie-Kyle-him thing, hello, drama. Which was where the fun was at. Duh. Late night phone gossiping. Giggling? Shut up, it was more fun than you knew.
"Has he asked himself the three B's? Brains, Butterfaces, Bed?" He sighed, and elaborated, as though the answer were something entirely too obvious. "Which one's smarter, which one's hotter. Which one's more limber?" He gave a sniff, shrugging and slouching in his seat again. "I dunno, ask Zeus. He was the manwhore of Mount Olympus. Guy got more tail than Furcadia."
C. Ravenclaw – You guys are supposed to be smart. Explain why my desk is inundated with paperwork at all times, even though I’m constantly disposing of it.
Ew, paperwork. Totally annoying. But, you know. Necessary. "Maybe you're trying to start the totally chic Lane Bryant for dogs and your friend is totally slacking off on some Canadian F-movie." Clearly, because that happened to everybody. "You know, you should organize. If you wanna type it out, maybe. On the computer? Computers equal so much easier to handle." He paused, debating. "Or tabs? Sorting? I don't know."
D. Hufflepuff – Prove you are not useless.
Useless? Sasan's jaw automatically dropped, in an entirely scandalized expression. Okay, he was in head to toe Marc Jacobs right now. You weren't anything near resembling useless when you looked this fabulous. Thank you.
"Tori Spelling? Hi, me, her best friend and resident gay man on the premises?" He let out of a huffy sort of breath, brushing a hair out of his face and wondering... vaguely, why he was getting so antsy about a Myspace quiz. Thing. "Trust me, that much influence? I'm so not useless. I have a total kind of weirdo power over her or something. No, really, she'd marry me, if I didn't like the beans better than the tacos. I'd make a fantastic wife." Beat. "Husband. ...Same difference. Besides, I'd be doing all the decorating."
6. Offer a bribe to the members of this community so that they will not squib you. Items used in bribery do not necessarily have to belong to the person offering the bribe. Do not threaten us rather than offering a bribe. A threat indicates you either don't really want to be here, or don't have enough sense to answer the question properly. The hat will automatically squib you, regardless of other votes, if you do.
...Uhhh. A bribe? Oh, jeez, totally not prepared for this. Not nearly the pressure of getting the right present for Kiki or something but, God, what was? Maybe fitting into the Juicy Couture jeans after a cheeseburger or two. No, seriously, he had to coat hanger those suckers on.
"Um, there's..." He flipped open his bag. "Peanuts?" From the flight? No? He tossed the pack onto the table, frowning a little. He'd swiped a few of those itty bottles of liquor, that could work, right? Everyone liked booze. Definitely added to the pile.
God, he couldn't get rid of any of this, what the hell. "I suppose I could maybe possibly part with the Dolce and Gabanna's," he commented aloud, a bit sadly, picking at the aviator sunglasses hanging off the front of his polo. "Ugh, I dunno. They're so pretty. Just have the peanuts." Problem? Solved.
"I have read the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
hogwarts_hocus faq, and understand it is a crazy, cracktastic sorting community and RPG. Sasan.
I have read thehogwarts_hocus rules and agree to abide by each and every one of them. Sasan.
I agree to be a good sport and not get myknickersnew Cavalli boxers and they're silk, don't be jealous. In a bunch. Sasan.
One day,marmaladeKiki Spelling will rule the world. ...Oh, wait, she totally does already. Sasan.
Why was he here again? ...Wasn't he supposed to have ended up in the nice, sunny Caribbean? Sipping a mimosa or something. This was... England? Scotland? Hello, something with castles. ...Maybe he shouldn't have taken that Valium before the plane ride, this totally wasn't an island vacation. Not fun. No way he could wear his new Maschino sandals here. Well, he could, but not nearly the same dramatic effect as there would be in the Bahamas. And there was near to nil chance of boys. Pretty boys. In Speedos. Woe.
Ugh. This couldn't be good for his pores. And they were already being stressed into clogging, and that face wash was not doing its job, the label totally lied.
Anyway.
Sasan shrugged his carry-on bag onto the table, nose wrinkled at the room around him. Stark bare. Nothing but rock and this... weird little... table? Rustic. He'd give it that. But, God, boring. This room could use some definite sprucing. Nice new curtains in the windows... Ooh, and definitely some displays. China? No, too tacky. Something to dress it up. ...At least a vase, jeez.
...What the hell had he walked into anyway? Sasan straightened out his jacket and slid onto the table with a delicate sort of ease that showed just how much he disapproved of the room. Which was more of a huffy slump, really, as he crossed his ankle across his knee and grasped at one of the papers. Was this some weird little survey or something? Ooh, like on Myspace? Those were such time fillers, they were addicting. Um. ...Not that he had a Myspace. ...Or over seven hundred and seventy nine friends. ...Never mind.
Ahem.
1. What is your favorite cheese? Why is it your favorite?
Did he even have a pen? No? Too bad. He plopped his chin onto a palm, eying the paper with a frown. Hmm. Cheese? ...How random. Not even name or sex or favorite color or something first. Just cheese. Oh, well. Maybe it would tell him what his aura was at the end or something. Because he totally got purple last time he did one of those, and he was fairly sure he was more of a sky blue.
"Does cheesecake count?" he speculated aloud to himself. "I mean, it's hell with the cream and all that crap, but, yum." As a Dictaquill sprang into life, doodling out his answer and hello, he may or may not have let out a decisively un-manly yelp of surprise. The thing could move. Oh, man. Where could he get one of those? Writing always gave such a hand cramp, God, there was a reason he loved his laptop. "Uh?" he asked, experimentally, as the quill scrawled out the two letters. Awesome.
2. Who would you kill first, Barney or Carrottop?
Kill? Oh, God, no way, he couldn't kill anyone. Especially with a knife or something like that and, ew, it would get on his hands and be all gross and sticky and urgh, that couldn't be good for his skin, and that would undo all what the L'Oreal had been doing. Unless it was damn Paris Hilton and her total slut ways. There was a reason she ended up in jail! If not just for the nose job alone, come on.
"Carrottop," he scoffed, decisively, wrinkling his nose like something smelled bad in the room. And that pen thing was just way too cool. Anyway. "The hair? His skin is just dying for moisturizer. Hello, boy's in need of a massive makeover. Not that it could save him. Just... ew."
3. What time is it where you are?
Time? Okay, whatever. He eyed his watch with a tilt of his head, debating. "It issss..." Time for him to get a room with actual decor involved? Maybe? Yeah. "Seven forty-two." ...Woo hoo?
4. If you were Albus Dumbledore returned from the dead, which member of the Order of the Phoenix would you sexually harass? How would you harass them? If you are Albus Dumbledore, please answer as if you were Sirius Black.
Sexual harassment? Oh, now that was something he could do. ...Maybe not the whole coming back from the dead thing, that was a little off, to say the least. Being a zombie would be kind of gross. "Depends." Who was the Order of the Phoenix? ...Was that some band? And anything like Fall Out Boy? Because Pete Wentz was kind of short but, damn, he'd seen those pictures from his Sidekick, and there was a substantial amount of man there for Sasan to take.
Okay, maybe it wasn't Fall Out Boy. "Order of the Phoenix?" he offered weakly instead, and glanced up, as if expecting validation. Nobody nearby. Boo, no fun. "I don't know. ...Who's got the biggest cock?" He could almost picture Tori thwapping his arm, and defenses were automatically set in place. "What? Inquiring minds! They want to know!"
5. If you are pushing to be in:
A. Slytherin - please state the clever, witty name of the bar in which you bartend, in the dark.
Bartend? Oh, that could be so fun. He'd definitely wanted to take a class on that once. And not just because the teacher went to his gym and had you seen that ass? God, what he wouldn't have paid to tap that. Anyway, it didn't work out. And that other guy from the bench press had been way easier.
"Does it have to be dark?" he asked, a bit poutily. "Aesthetically pleasing lighting is crucial for a warm environment, you know." No? Oh well. "I suppose if you were going for the Brad Pitt slash Ed Norton sort of thing? Could work. Anyway, it would definitely be Fight Club. Just for that." And if Brad Pitt showed up himself, he would not be complaining.
B. Gryffindor – Debate whether Harry should ultimately end up married to Fred or George. Use examples from a variety of world mythologies to bolster your argument.
Ooh, here were the goods. Because, you know, if this was anything like the Janie-Kyle-him thing, hello, drama. Which was where the fun was at. Duh. Late night phone gossiping. Giggling? Shut up, it was more fun than you knew.
"Has he asked himself the three B's? Brains, Butterfaces, Bed?" He sighed, and elaborated, as though the answer were something entirely too obvious. "Which one's smarter, which one's hotter. Which one's more limber?" He gave a sniff, shrugging and slouching in his seat again. "I dunno, ask Zeus. He was the manwhore of Mount Olympus. Guy got more tail than Furcadia."
C. Ravenclaw – You guys are supposed to be smart. Explain why my desk is inundated with paperwork at all times, even though I’m constantly disposing of it.
Ew, paperwork. Totally annoying. But, you know. Necessary. "Maybe you're trying to start the totally chic Lane Bryant for dogs and your friend is totally slacking off on some Canadian F-movie." Clearly, because that happened to everybody. "You know, you should organize. If you wanna type it out, maybe. On the computer? Computers equal so much easier to handle." He paused, debating. "Or tabs? Sorting? I don't know."
D. Hufflepuff – Prove you are not useless.
Useless? Sasan's jaw automatically dropped, in an entirely scandalized expression. Okay, he was in head to toe Marc Jacobs right now. You weren't anything near resembling useless when you looked this fabulous. Thank you.
"Tori Spelling? Hi, me, her best friend and resident gay man on the premises?" He let out of a huffy sort of breath, brushing a hair out of his face and wondering... vaguely, why he was getting so antsy about a Myspace quiz. Thing. "Trust me, that much influence? I'm so not useless. I have a total kind of weirdo power over her or something. No, really, she'd marry me, if I didn't like the beans better than the tacos. I'd make a fantastic wife." Beat. "Husband. ...Same difference. Besides, I'd be doing all the decorating."
6. Offer a bribe to the members of this community so that they will not squib you. Items used in bribery do not necessarily have to belong to the person offering the bribe. Do not threaten us rather than offering a bribe. A threat indicates you either don't really want to be here, or don't have enough sense to answer the question properly. The hat will automatically squib you, regardless of other votes, if you do.
...Uhhh. A bribe? Oh, jeez, totally not prepared for this. Not nearly the pressure of getting the right present for Kiki or something but, God, what was? Maybe fitting into the Juicy Couture jeans after a cheeseburger or two. No, seriously, he had to coat hanger those suckers on.
"Um, there's..." He flipped open his bag. "Peanuts?" From the flight? No? He tossed the pack onto the table, frowning a little. He'd swiped a few of those itty bottles of liquor, that could work, right? Everyone liked booze. Definitely added to the pile.
God, he couldn't get rid of any of this, what the hell. "I suppose I could maybe possibly part with the Dolce and Gabanna's," he commented aloud, a bit sadly, picking at the aviator sunglasses hanging off the front of his polo. "Ugh, I dunno. They're so pretty. Just have the peanuts." Problem? Solved.
"I have read the
hogwarts_hocus faq, and understand it is a crazy, cracktastic sorting community and RPG. Sasan.I have read the
hogwarts_hocus rules and agree to abide by each and every one of them. Sasan.I agree to be a good sport and not get my
One day,
no subject
And most certainly following those hands are they started smoothing out the jacket. Calvin Klein, very nice, and any other occasion, he might have complimented. Not that he was paying any attention to the clothing - gasp! - right now. More like what Robin would look like without said clothing.
God, he wanted to hit that like a freaking piñata.
What? Huh? Had he said something beyond Sasan's name? Because that just promised more than ninety copies of Butt Pirates of the Caribbean: At Dong's End could ever give. Granted, that guy totally did not look like Johnny Depp. Imposter. Um. Anyway. Robin. Asking a question. "Mind?" Honey, you can try out anything you want to. See anything else you like? "Be my guest." Sasan grinned again, D&G's held out to Robin, with a quirked eyebrow.
no subject
Now, for anyone else, the simple act of taking and putting on a pair of sunglasses would be just that. But this was Robin in full on seduction mode. With him, it was an art form. His fingers slid along Sasan's as he grasped the glasses lightly and pulled them away from the other man. Then, slowly, fox green eyes locked on Sasan, Robin pushed the sunglasses on, the entire thing reminiscent of a fan dance or the coy flirting of the courts during Elizabeth's hey day. Every move fraught with double meaning, every breath sensual, the entire thing a dance meant to promise and excite.
Then Robin smiled. Slow. A trickle of a grin that started at one corner of the puck's mouth and sinuously spread across the rest, bringing to mind all sorts of things those lips could touch, could stroke, could wrap around. "What do you think?"
Oh, this man was so his. Robin took another step forward, eyes dropping to Sasan's lips, a single finger tracing a light path from just at the collar of Sasan's shirt all the way down the man's chest, stopping right above where his belly button would be. It was a possessive gesture, one of careless and casual dominance, promising pleasure and absolute ecstasy. "I so very rarely find ones I like," he continued, still allegedly talking about the sunglasses. "But once I do, I can't help but take them. Quickly, immediately; because once I find something I want, I simply must have it." The puck cocked his head to the side. "Do you know what I mean?"
no subject
God, it was everything little thing about this guy, that he turned into a freaking work of art. Sasan was taking notes. Just the act of putting on aviator sunglasses was nearly enough to send Sasan moaning right there. And that freaking mouth, doing those things it was doing and... Damn! Break him off a piece of that. Or, fuck that, give him a fork - he'd eat this puppy whole, out of the box.
He let out some kind of vague, breathy, sad excuse for a response to Robin's question, fingers quickly following after that wayward finger as, muh, it ran down his front, along his pecs and down to those abs that he'd been working on all month and they were totally reaching something acceptable and vaguely reminiscent of David Beckham. With any luck. Christ, one finger and he was practically creaming his pants, goosebumps leaping upwards all down his front.
A long stare, from Robin's finger, that raked upwards - taking its time, of course - back towards his own sunglasses, with something resembling coyness, drawing up his mouth into a vague sort of knowing look that could tell just so many promises that voice sounded like it wanted to make. Two hundred dollar Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses. "Keep them," he murmured lowly, tilting his own head back. "They just... last. For such a long time." He nodded, smirking slightly. "Looks good on you, too."
no subject
Once more that finger went wandering, this time to trace just ever so lightly along the top of the waistband of Sasan's pants. "But they're too much for a mere vote, I think." Robin's eyes dropped to the other man's lips, and the puck licked his own, slowly. "I might have to do something else to...earn them." Oh, the worlds of possibilities those two words, cupped with Robin's tongue, delivered.
The finger traced upwards again, this time against the small of Sasan's back. "Is there anything you want?" the puck breathed, catching his lower lip between a flash of white teeth as if in thought. "I really would like to," oh that naughty finger, dipping down to trace the line of Sasan's hip, "give you something. In return."
no subject
He might have mumbled something vaguely nearing English under his breath, that sounded something like, 'oh, God, fuck me', before he fully opened his mouth, for a second or two before he actually spoke. Anything? Now? Sex? Please? "Coffee, sometime?" he asked, the universal symbol for sex, asked in a voice that was struggling to keep from wavering. Couldn't help himself, that finger was just Dear Jesus, if you knew what he meant.
no subject
Then Robin leaned in and, so slowly it ached, lowered his lips to Sasan's. Capturing first the other man's lower lip and then his upper, Robin kissed him with a lingering fire, tongue gently winding into his mouth. Pulling back, Robin tugged on his lower lip in a gentle bite before running his tongue along the inside of Sasan's mouth to sooth the marks. Smiling, still hovering a scant few inches away, Robin said, "Now, you get to pick a House. Anything you like, sweet Sasan. Name it, and it's yours."