this is my morning of war

LAURA SUSPIRIA PALMER

2012-01-13T22:29:49Z

yuleletter

2011-11-22T02:25:22Z

I am so grateful for you, dearest writer. Thank you for signing up for this year's Yuletide! A small disclaimer: there is no pressure to conform to these requests exactly. Merely take them as suggestions; I’ll leave the adventure of writing up to you.

Black Death
THIS MOVIE IS OUT OF CONTROL. I watched it recently and absolutely fell in love. It’s a film that pulls no punches in depicting how damaging certain manifestation of religion can be to the psyche. At the same time it shows that dogmatism without religious faith can be equally destructive. Langiva and Osmund are inextricably bound to each other. I’d love anything that further delves into the dark themes of the film, but if Osmund were to ever catch his witch their confrontation would be emotionally devastating for both of them. However, it could also lead to healing.

Swan Lake
True story: if you want an awesome exploration of the Odette/Odile relationship, don’t pin your hopes on Black Swan. I did and was sorely disappointed. Theirs is a story about duality to be sure, but to make them stark opposites denies the duality that is already present in an individual identity.

They fade into each other. Let us not forget that the women were turned into swans for faithlessness. Or that in some versions of the tale Siegfried is easily tricked into believing that the Odile is actually the same girl he met by the lake. Whether you prefer to take a romantic or more philosophical angle is your choice, I would just like a story that does them justice and celebrates transformation.

Kings
Possibly my favorite moment of the series is that flash of David as king and his cabinet composed entirely of women. It was an utterly fantastic translation of ancient myth into a more progressive context. And it made me want more. I would be thrilled with a series of vignettes incorporating some of the more infamous Biblical characters/moments into the world of the show, particularly Bathsheba and Absalom.

I’ll be honest, I haven’t read much fic for this fandom, so that sort of story might already exist. Even if it does, I’d still be thrilled to learn more about the evolution of David’s relationships with the Benjamin family after Silas has been taken by Death. Queen Rose especially fascinates me because she is vicious and knows her shit. I think there is much David could learn much from her.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MIR

2011-11-11T21:57:27Z

Hey, look! I found a previously unreleased IB promo picture! It's Shosanna and Fredrick, natch.

(You are the best, and I am so very grateful that we're friends. I LOVE YOU.)

that awkward moment when you want to start watching a show because of one character

2011-10-25T00:59:17Z

my backyard is magical

2011-09-30T01:41:56Z

It's rained here a ton over the past week. That means, MUSHROOM PARTY!!!!!

Demdike Stare

2011-03-08T00:14:25Z

I didn't know I needed this music in my life. Now I don't know how to live without it.

this was unavoidable

2011-01-03T01:41:58Z

I blame this entirely on tumblr, Ed Stoppard's face, and Persie's fabulous lipstick.

what you'd rather hear
Sir Hallam and Lady Persie.

He first met Lady Persephone Towyn when she was sixteen and he was thirty. His train to from Bristol to Cardiff had been late, and the whole journey there he could clearly picture Agnes’ pursed lips, her exasperation written plainly across her face. Never mind the fact that the late train had been out of his control, it was a wrinkle in her meticulously planned afternoon and she would not be pleased. She had wanted to arrange this meeting for months, insisting upon it with the same fierceness that gripped her when convincing him to attend dinner parties and balls for which he had no particular inclination. But he knew this was different, knew it was because she was eager to share more of herself with him, as she always had been. He loved that about her.

So, dutifully, he arrived in Cardiff on a wet Sunday in October, yet found himself alone when he finally reached the hotel--no Agnes with a bright smile, no solemn sister (for some reason he always imagined her as solemn and pale, a ghostly maiden wasting away in a forgotten castle). Confused, he had his bags taken up to the room that Agnes had arranged for them, took a table in the tea room, and waited.

He watched the rain for a while, distracted by thoughts of the APOC situation and all the work that required his attention once he returned to London. But after his second cup of tea, he noticed a slender young girl seated at the bar staring at him with an unusual directness. Hallam nodded to her, sighing with relief when she rose from her seat and walked towards his table. It was undoubtedly Lady Persie; he could see it now.

"Sir Hallam?" she said, reaching out her hand to shake his. He rose and took it.

"Lady Persie. It is a pleasure to finally meet you."

She settled herself somewhat awkwardly into across from him, slamming her handbag down on the table with unnecessary force.

"Where’s Agnes?" he asked, seating himself once more. "I must say I was very surprised not to find her here waiting for me. As I understand it, this meeting was all her idea."

Persie rolled her eyes. "Agnes wanted to meet you at the station--I elected to stay here, out of the rain--but she found out your train had been delayed. She phoned to let me know. She would’ve been back already, but she said something about surprising you with a gift instead. There, I’ve spoiled it now." She smiled at him widely.

He watched her mouth as she spoke. Her lips were bright red, a bold color he thought she was too young for. The alluring curve of them made him uncomfortable.

"So, Sir Hallam, you’ve dragged yourself all the way out here. What do you plan to do next?"

"Ah. I intend to let Agnes direct me. She does in most things."

Persie laughed at that. "That’s my sister for you. She always has her fingers in everybody’s business and gives out sage advice for free."

This girl is not what he had expected, to be sure, but not entirely inscrutable either. He’d gotten the paleness right, for her skin was snow-white, the red lips like a bloodstain on an immaculate canvas. And she did resemble Agnes in a way, though her beauty was of a capricious sort where Agnes’ was more serene and fragile. They shared also, he believed, a certain willfulness, though he could see already that each sister employed it to different ends.

"It’s half term for you, right?"

"Yes. I am glad too. I get so bored at Saint Canna’s, I can’t stand it."

"And are you bored now?" he asked good-naturedly.

"Maybe," she said demurely with downcast eyes, the illusion betrayed by a smirk. Hallam wondered where she learned it, this facetious coyness. Not from Agnes, surely.

"You know when I was your age, I disliked school too. It wasn’t the learning itself that I minded, but the thoughtlessness of the administration and some of the other students was...well, it was enough to make anyone hate it. Boarding schools are like governments that way."

"Corrupt."

"Inefficient."

She sighed and reached for the teapot. "Well, it’s no matter to me. I’ll be free of that place soon."

"This summer you mean?"

Her mouth twisted into a smile as she concentrated on the cup of tea she was pouring. "Just in time for your wedding."

The smile became a smirk once more, a playful one but with a hint of mockery all the same. It was maddening. And Hallam found he was suddenly worried about what Agnes had told her about him, if he seemed a sycophantic fool in this girl’s eyes. God knows Agnes has been patient with him, though at times it seemed his engagement was to the Foreign Office rather than her. But he knew that no matter what Persephone Towyn thought she couldn’t possibly understand all that stood between the two of them. He decided to rise to her game with a malice that surprised him.

"I’m afraid we won’t be seeing much of you, Lady Persie, which is why it’s good that you’re here now. Agnes and I will be leaving for America shortly after the wedding, you see. I’ve been offered a position in Washington."

He watched Persie’s face as it fell. He knew he’d struck his mark, and he regretted it a little.

"But I thought I would..." Her voice faded away, yet the word London, the idea of it, hung heavily between them. A broken promise.

Washington. It was something he hadn’t even decided upon until that very moment. He’d discussed it with Agnes, of course, and her initial reluctance had been overshadowed by her desire to help him in whatever way she could. He would have to tell her that evening when they were alone together.

Persie was not sullen for long. Only a moment passed and she was staring him down again, daring him to carry on the conversation gracefully. Twelve generations worth of hard Welsh winters were in that gaze, and Hallam saw that he had been wrong to think she could be frail.

"Darling!"

He turned to see Agnes in her green wool suit approaching with a dazzling smile and a rather extravagantly wrapped package clutched beneath her arm. He looked back to Persie, but it seemed the tempest had dissipated. She was applying a fresh coat of red to her perfect lips.

He greeted Agnes with a kiss.

Hermione Granger appreciation life

2010-11-21T04:12:05Z

Alyssa Rosenberg via The Atlantic:

My great love is for Hermione Granger, one of Harry's best friends, a girl born to human parents with magical abilities, who I believe is perhaps the greatest and most progressive popular romantic heroine of a generation. When makeover narratives were the single most prevalent romantic storyline in popular culture, Hermione got the guy in the library, dressed up for the Yule Ball, and returned placidly to her regular routine. Hermione didn't transform herself because she never particularly felt the need to be transformed.

Her concern for house elves—magical creatures who are essentially wizards' slaves—started out as comedy and ended up as the early articulation of the novels' great moral concerns for equality, as well as one of the most moving sequences (and some of the best writing) of Deathly Hallows. Ultimately it is she, rather than Ron or Harry, who undergoes real and prolonged torture at the hands of the Death Eaters, and it's she who survives that torture with her dignity and her friends' secrets intact.

The things that make Hermione a scold, a nerd, a pain, a victim in the early pages of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone are the things that make her a heroic, lovable woman. What changes is how she expresses her intellectualism and her social convictions.

2010 yuletide letter

2010-11-18T03:08:24Z

(My apologies for posting this so late! Thanks for your patience.)

SO, YULETIDE:

1. Yuletide is something I look forward to all year, so I can’t thank you enough for being involved. You rock!
2. I’m in awe of people who can construct intricate, well-paced, and gripping plots, but atmosphere and character are the two parts of storycraft that I really, really love. Play with them as you wish.

Twin Peaks
Twin Peaks is one of those viewing experiences that is going to stick with me forever. The Black Lodge is a terrifying and exhilarating concept, but there seem to be hardly any fics in this tiny fandom that make use of it. I requested Cooper and Laura because their connection was one of the most interesting and metaphysical, and in some ways I might even ship it. That scene with the two of them at the end of Fire Walk With Me is so cathartic. The first time I watched it I just sat there sobbing and smiling at the same time, much like Laura herself. What happens in the Lodge up to and beyond that point? How do Laura and Cooper interact with each other, the other spirits, the doppelgängers? The Lodge is a strange, dark, unpredictable place, so feel free to experiment.

The Town
I was initially only interested in seeing this film because I have giant crush Jon Hamm, but OH MAN DID I LOVE IT. Frawley was a dick, but he’s probably my favorite character. I like to think that this case got to him in way that others haven’t, and I’d like to see him dealing with the ramifications of that. However, I would also adore a story focusing on one of ladies because The Town was definitely a boys’ club. Let’s restore a bit of narrative agency and find out what Claire and/or Krista are going through. (P.S. Frawley/Claire, though unlikely, would be super sexy. Just, ya know, throwing that out there.)

Blade Runner
The world of Blade Runner astounds me. Despite that interminable rain, the Los Angeles of 2019 is beautiful with all the different gradients of light and grime, the mosaic of cultures, the cyberpunk decadence. It’s a dangerous world, but a replicant is well-equipped for danger. Roy’s (justifiable) madness is fascinating, but I think Zhora needs to have her story told. I’m always incredibly full of rage when Deckard guns her down in cold blood--she only was trying to make the best of her remaining lifespan and he rips it from her in the most horrible way. Maybe you can preserve some of that life. I want to know what her short time on earth was like and her memories of all that came before. What has she seen?

Brideshead Revisited
Unfortunately, I have not yet read Evelyn Waugh’s novel (which is something I hope to rectify soon!), but I fell in love with the Granada series when I watched it a few months back. Sebastian Flyte was the primary source of that love. Anthony Andrews plays him with such charm and sensitivity, and when we meet him again in Morocco it’s unsettling to see him so damaged. Sebastian is ravaged emotionally and physically, and I think he’s changed in ways that even Charles couldn’t understand. I wanted to see him on his drunken ramblings through the crowded streets, helping and hindering the monks, grappling with the distant ghosts of the Marchmain family and Charles Ryder. I’m also curious about the nature of his relationship with Kurt. Was it romantic, or was it merely a platonic, almost paternal, bond between caregiver and invalid?

LAUGHING THROUGH MY TEARS

2010-11-03T01:44:57Z

lol my life.

yuletidings 2009

2009-11-13T05:42:57Z

You are awesome. Yuletide is awesome. But you are especially awesome. Write whatever makes you happy and know that it will make me happy too. These are just some ideas from my demented brain should you wish to consider them. I apologize about only requesting obscure YA books...I LIKE WEIRD STUFF. I am also one of those people who thinks gen fic is the best thing since cherry cheesecake, but I am by no means opposed to shippiness!

On Fortune's Wheel
I owe my long-time love of this book to the fact that my babysitter once regurgitated the whole story to entertain me one afternoon. It's been stuck in my head ever since. I was pretty detailed in the request, but it's totally fine if you find the idea of writing an entire fic about Corbel unappealing. Anything is golden.

The Winter Prince
I am in awe of this story, its characters, the way it makes the historical setting come alive. It makes me pretty incoherent. SO MANY POSSIBILITIES! What would have happened to Lleu if Medraut had been successful in taking him to Morgause after all? Would Medraut have been vicious in his complicity or would he have same critical realization once he sees what Morgause plans to do? Agravain also intrigues me because at certain points he seems jealous of Morgause and Medraut's relationship. What's that about?

Deerskin
I'm glad so many people offered this. It's a great story but a painful one, and I know anyone who has read and loved it understands the delicate balance between hope and uncertainty it presents. Although I want to know what happened to Lissar on her continuing journey to healing and self-acceptance, I'm also interested in the other players. I'd like to know more about the Moonwoman, or how Lissar's mother developed that terrifying arrogance.

The Perilous Gard
This is my favorite Tam Lin retelling. I love Kate's strength and stubbornness and Christopher's good-natured petulance. I love the setting of Tudor England and the oppressiveness of the underground world. It's a story of the fantastic but Pope manages to give it a naturalistic quality, which I think is what makes it so well-crafted and engaging. While I would adore a story about Kate and Christopher making their life together, learning what became of everyone else would be fun. For instance, maybe Alicia has her own encounter with supernatural entities and learns to grow up in the process!

Fic: Still

2009-06-26T02:05:50Z

AN: Jesse/Riley fic for tl__dr, who is a beautiful, unique snowflake. This turned out a bit darker than I expected, but that's kind of the nature of this ship. I also apologize about the lack of porn. Unnnngh, Jesse is so FIERCE and manipulative. And hot. I should write more about her.

Still

Riley has nightmares about dust filling her throat. The darkness clogging her lungs. She's drowning in earth, and there's not a thing she can do until drawing even the smallest breath of fetid air is impossible. This is when she usually wakes, but occasionally her dream mind is a quiet, stretching blackness that she must wait alone in until the sun slides over her eyes.

Her mouth tastes of metal in the morning sometimes, like when she'd find herself inexplicably teething a tin can, a ruin of a girl. She brushes twice, uses a whole cap full of mouthwash. Jesse stands by the door and waits her turn, filing her nails or combing her hair. Riley tries not to watch, but glances in the mirror provide images of hands, lips, teeth, or collarbone, and she finds herself staring again. Jesse seems not to mind though, so when Riley decides to be bold and approach that solid sphere, that will that seems to surround her, she is not entirely surprised to find herself drawn in. Jesse pushes the hair back from Riley's face as she has done so often before, but this time it is to make room for her own face, her mouth landing squarely on Riley's chapped lips, her tongue sliding sweetly against Riley's own. Jesse pushes a hand inside the bathrobe and rests it on Riley's breast. Above her heart.

-

Each day at the foster home is worse than the last. Every shout and trivial argument is tortuous, and even simple, well-intentioned questions about school and GED tests make her anxious and resentful. Riley only wants the stillness of the hotel room, that calm, clean cell with white sheets warmed by the afternoon sun. It nearly makes her weep to find Jesse waiting for her when she returns – a mother, a sister, a lover. Perhaps a friend, though she's not sure she understands that concept yet. John is teaching her.

She's eager to take what Jesse will give her and dares not ask for more. But it's hard living with that secret too, and isn't she industrious now, isn't she clever, keeping it all to herself? Some days she just wants to tell John everything, beginning with her dirt dreams.

These days, when that blackness comes, she's not the only one there. She can sense Jesse next to her, though neither will speak. There’s a thin line of flame on the horizon, and they walk towards it together.

-

Sometimes the weight of heaven is too much to bear.

She dreams she's in the shower, except the water's turned to brown-black sludge that coats her body in sick, dark streaks. Jesse smears it over Riley's open mouth and smiles, pressing one thumb down on her blackened tongue.

Jesse is there, cleaning her gun, when Riley wakes.

Fic: Intermediate Astronomy

2009-06-04T18:44:01Z

Here's that Winona Kirk fic I started over a week ago and forgot to finish. Oops.

i.
Her mother blows out the stars with her dying breath.

Winona sits on the porch in the rust haze of the creeping evening, cricket-song in the long grass. She is waiting for the doctor to pack his bag and the pastor to close his book. She's growing impatient to watch their straight-backed forms retreat into the dusk.

Tomorrow will be a day of strained politeness and empty conversation. Her squalid-looking aunt, the one with dirty fingernails and too many children, will bring her more food than she will ever have use for; it will sit on a gingham table cloth looking pretty as a picture and she will eat none of it. They all will ask her how she's managing, if she needs anything, if there's any little thing they could possibly do to ease her suffering. The thought makes her grit her teeth.

The dark house will be filled with more human life than it has been in years. She hopes they trample it to tinder.

The recruiter arrives in three weeks. Winona looks up at the empty sky and knows she will find them.

ii.
If no one pays much attention to the skinny farmgirl from Iowa, well, she doesn't mind.

Her grades are good but not extraordinary. Her Andorian roommate talks too much. Most days she spends her free time in the observatory, charting constellations her peers have never heard of. Some of the newer techs give her sideways glances, but most of the professors simply ignore her and carry on with their own studies. She does the same and continues her search.

She still recieves transmissions from Iowa occasionally. They are largely neglected, but the tally of the months until her assignment is always with her.

There is an affair with a professor in her third year. She'd never tell him this, but the cadets were beginning to bore her. He is a tall man and solidly-built, handsome enough. He's nearly balding as well, and she finds his cringing attempts to please her pathetic though she has enough restraint not to mention this either. He should know better. After five months of sordidness he says he'll leave his wife for her. "No need," she says, and presses the apartment key into his outstretched palm.

iii.
The Kelvin is beautiful. Winona's eyes trace the silvered edges smoothing to the shell of the hull. The glow of the reactor bathes her in burning blue as she circles its perimeter, gazing up at its looming sleekness.

George Kirk winks at her as she boards the ship. She smiles ever so slightly, just a twitch of her cheek, really. It's not entirely for him.

Soon they will be shot into the silent void and she'll have come home at last.

not the killer butterflies!

2009-06-02T02:26:43Z

OKAY SO HERE'S MY REVIEW OF SCI FI CHANNEL'S THE BOOK OF BEASTS THAT NONE OF YOU ASKED FOR:

Once upon a time there was a hobo who lived in the woods named Merlin. He looked a lot like Gaius Baltar, but we'll choose to ignore that. He apparently used to be important to some guy called, I dunno, KING ARTHUR or something like that. This wino gets visited by four incompetent knights who want him to save Camelot from killer butterflies or some shit. Their leader is SIR GALAHAD, y'know the chaste, and his SON WITH A WEIRD NAME, and a kid named Tristan who apparently had famous parents. There's also this chick with a nice wig named Avlynn who is King Arthur's daughter, and she's super sad because she's not queen. A dark wizard, who turns out to be MORDRED in a SHOCKING PLOT TWIST, has taken over, oh noes! He's using a magic book that releases bad cgi! What's more, his evil plan is to impregnate his sister and make her a Pendragon babymama. (lol, token Arthurian incest, we has it)

This Mary Sue gets whiny, so Merlin decides to come with them and abandon his hobo ways. Now to be honest, this is a fairly decent interpretation of the character because he's all like F YOU, I DON'T OBEY THE LAWS OF MAN, I AM NOT SUBJECT TO YOUR MORALS and is slightly crazy. But then this plot happened and ruined it.

Anyway, they go to Camelot and get their asses kicked, then go to the ~LAKE OF DESTINY~ where Avlynn gets to retrieve Excalibur in what is actually a pretty cool scene and made me wish this were a better movie. Following that, it's ~~raping time~~, er, back to Camelot where Avlynn's a sex slave and Tristan gets it on with a gorgon. Yeah. THEN, after a pointless fight/magic scene, Merlin dies (for the third time), gets brought back to life, and becomes mortal. He is happy about this, unlike a certain other wizard *coughcoughGed* I know.

YAY, IT SUCKED.

Star Trek fic: Domains

2009-05-14T16:58:52Z

Their second voyage under the captainship of one James T. Kirk is a peacekeeping mission to Romulus.

The crew is uncertain, nervous even, all the jubilance of their first victory suddenly gone sour. McCoy's permanent look of skepticism is more pointed than ever, while the other officers are more deferential than usual. Kirk and Uhura are the only ones who will even look at him properly. Spock is not bothered by this. He finds this behavior oddly accommodating.

Pike had been the one who'd suggested it in the first place. He'd gone before the Federation Council; the mandate passed without opposition. Of course, Kirk had made some choice comments on the matter. "How do we know if they're all as chummy as our dear friend Nero?" he'd asked the Admiral, clearly disliking the whole affair. Kirk would never say a word against Pike, but it was no secret that he'd requested the Enterprise monitor and intercept a rather persistent Orion smuggling operation with a reputation for treachery.

"Jim, I think you know why this is necessary."

Kirk laughs just a touch derisively. "Yes, but don’t you think that it'll just piss them off if we drop in? We’re already on thin ice here."

"The Enterprise lends a certain legitimacy given the circumstances. Besides," he says, his chair already beginning to roll away, "Spock will be accompanying you. I think you’ll find that he is well versed in diplomacy."

Spock had looked after him silently, something very close to resentment settling within him.

"Do you drink?" Kirk asked.

-

Everyone knows how delicate the situation is - the Romulan Senate rarely accepts ambassadors. In early transmissions regarding this meeting, the tone had been curt, hostile even. Uhura's efforts to translate and relay the decidedly brusque Romulan messages had become frustrating endeavors, each one making her more aggravated. Leaving her quarters early one morning, Spock glanced over at the desk and noticed two open books on Romulan syntax and modes of discourse along with a pamphlet on Federation diplomacy that looked like it'd been crumpled up and smoothed out more than once. He said nothing, merely quirked an eyebrow and finished tugging on his boots before departing.

His duties on the bridge should command his attention, but he is uncharacteristically distracted. His head is filled with too many memories, too many half-formed notions that are affecting his focus. He feels almost ill. When they make the final warp to Romulus' orbit, he excuses himself and withdraws to his quarters. Kirk doesn't say a word, but Spock feels more than one pair of eyes boring into his retreating back.

Spock learned in his youth to control his anger. He knows he's been neglecting meditation, spending more time with Uhura than is necessary for interaction between the science and communications officers. But as he looks down at the swirling blue world below him he feels flush and raw, his hungry anger beginning to tear at the edges of his mind. What right does he have to feel wrath for a people who've done him no wrong? All except one.

He hears the door decompress and slide open, feels her standing at the threshold.

"Lieutenant Uhura." He greets her formally, his stance rigid even for a Vulcan.

"Spock. Speak to me," she says, her hand brushing his arm, her body pressed against his back.

"What would you like to discuss, Uhura? I believe all your communications are in order. You do not need to make a report."

"If you think I’ll just take that, you're wrong. I need you to talk to me. I know this is hard for you."

"I am merely fulfilling the duty given to me by the Federation. It is no difficulty."

She is laughing. Something he has never fully understood: she sometimes laughs when she is angry. He can feel her anger like heat rising from her skin, but the laughter peals out of her anyway, like she can't quite believe the emotion.

"Spock, I thought you would have known by now that you don't have to hide it from me. I'm not Vulcan. I understand. I accept."

He unclenches his fist. He faces the stars.

-

Romulus is nothing like Vulcan. Vulcan is - was, he corrects himself - a harsh planet, one of hard earth and tearing winds. Here it is nearly Terran, domed in bright sky and clear air. The breeze carries the scent of the ocean, and Spock remembers his mother talking about Earth's sea as if it were the greatest treasure in the galaxy.

He sees three pale moons above him and wonders how they'd appear in the Vulcan sky.

The Romulans are anything but cordial. They are made to wait an hour in the vast, empty Senate chamber, and finally, after Kirk has already begun making threats of aggressive behavior, three robed Senators appear looking rather displeased to see them. It is just the two of them, Captain and First Mate, medals gleaming on their chests. The Romulans make no excuses for being late, instead rattling off a slew of official salutations from the Romulan Star Empire. Spock and Kirk are likewise formal, extending greetings from the Federation and Admiral Christopher Pike in particular. Kirk begins to look sullen, and Spock hopes he's taken Uhura's advice to remain as reticent as possible - or, as she put it, "shut the hell up and let him do the talking." Spock decides it's enough.

He addresses one of the Senators. "Madam, if you'll excuse me, where--"
"The Praetor will not be joining us," she states blankly, as if it were completely obvious.

“"adam, I believe the purpose of this meeting was to discuss the Federation's involvement in the formation of a Romulan coalition for evacuation planning and preparation, a coalition which cannot exist without the Praetor’s input."

"I do not believe Commander Spock is qualified to determine how the Praetor is to act."

This is when Kirk decides to open his mouth.

"Well, whether he likes it or not, you've got one hell of a problem on your hands. You people have got to--"

Spock cuts him off before he can cause further damage: "The star is still set to supernova. It would be prudent to take precautions now, to start scouting for suitable colonies if another solution cannot be reached."

"Colonies? You would have our Empire reduced to a scattered diaspora, our unity and power destroyed? That will never happen."

"The Federation does not encourage this in any manner of political ploy, rather in concern for fellow beings. Nero's actions were an unfortunate and unique event that should not taint diplomacy between our governments."

Her companion turns on him now. "So they send us you, a green captain with a criminal record and his science officer? I do not believe that the Federation shows the proper respect our Empire requires. You," he says irritably, pointing to Kirk, "are only here because Pike is incapacitated. You have no qualifications."

The Senator who's mostly remained silent finally speaks. "And what about you, Commander Spock? Why do you not return to the Vulcan colony to rebuild your fallen race?"

It is a logical question. His response is not. He is inches away from the Senator, his eyes wide, nostrils flared. His green Vulcan blood is burning in his cheeks and he wants to feel soft flesh give way beneath his fist. It is only Kirk's firm grip on his shoulder and Uhura's voice shouting in his head, unbidden, that restrain him.

Their report to the Federation will not be well received.

-

He's not sure what to make of her reaction when she hears about it. She looks disappointed at first, her brow set in that line of determination he knows so well, but then she's laughing at him again and it's different this time.

"You are so stubborn!"

She leans against him, her frame still trembling slightly with contained amusement. He touches her hand and wonders if his other self ever sat with her like this, a quiet moment in the eternities of space. The colony is not for him.

He listens to engines' low hum as they glide through the stars. He presses a kiss to her temple.

I heart this dumb show

2008-11-24T04:28:55Z

THIS WEEK'S EPISODE WAS AWESOME, GUYS. Arthur went to save his boyfriend's village and the writers demonstrated that they haven't completely forgotten how the story actually goes.

GAIUS HUGS OMG

FEEEEEEEEEET

Arthur's having some performance anxiety.

Will is sulking because his ex found someone new.

THIS SCENE. I'm starting to like Gwen a lot (more than Morgana, actually O.o) because they're giving her less open-mouth-insert-foot dialog and letting her do stuff. AND SHE'S GOT SWORDS.

Arthur hates porridge. :(

"EAT YOUR GODDAMN PORRIDGE."

"Sorry, I didn't mean it."

"That's okay. We'll eventually hook up, so you can make it up to me then."

Yeah, I'm kinda maybe shipping them pretty hard right now. Then again, you can ship everybody on this show.

I love Merlin's mommy. She is wonderful.

Now they all ride off into the...Alps?

Next week on Merlin: ~*A UNICORN*~

YULETIDE

2008-11-13T02:55:10Z

Dear Yuletide writer:

First of all, thank you. No, really, thank you. If people didn't sign up we couldn't have this lovely exchange, and I for one know my Christmas would be less awesome without 15+ tabs open and different story in each one. This is the first year I've signed up, and I'm finding all this ridiculously exciting. Three of the fandoms I've requested are pretty damn obscure, so if you happen to write one of them I will probably internet stalk you till the end of time.

On that rather creepy note, here's the rest of my (hopefully helpful) letter!

The Winter Prince
The familial relationships in this book are complicated to say the least. Like having a blade pressed to your neck and not knowing whether it's going to sink in or slide smooth down your throat. Medraut/Lleu is just so, well, obvious, and I want to see how their relationship progresses before the battle of Camlan.

"I'll do it, Medraut," he said quietly. "I'll do it. But I will not let you take me." <----THAT RIGHT THERE IS AN EXAMPLE OF THE DELICIOUS POWER DYNAMICS I LOVE

Or if you'd rather write Medraut/Goewin, an acknowledgment of how easily Goewin can step into Morgause's role would be fantastic.

Texhnolyze
This whole series is staggeringly bleak and fraught with violence, but the fact that it somehow manages to end on a note of hope is what makes it so powerful. All the players interest me, but I loved Ran and Ichise the most, and some further exploration of their characters would be wonderful. Ichise learning that there's more to being human than raw force, starting to recognize trust and love. Ran taking control of her destiny by any means possible - Theoria triumphant. The two of them watching over each other. If an AU should happen to better serve your writerly purposes, go for it.

And if you can make some sense out of the whole Kano-Lux thing I'll be super impressed.

Sally Lockhart
I love these books and the fact that people have not read them makes me SO SAD. The characters are fucking phenomenal. Sally, Fred, Jim (!!!!), ADELAIDE. I love them all. Should you decide to write in particular about teenage Irish gangsters and their makeshift orphanage I wouldn't object!

What I enjoy most is how Pullman strips the Victorian era of the sentimentality it is often portrayed with and exposes some of the real darkness beneath. Take Bridie, for instance: orphan girl with a voice like an angel - sweet, right? Fuck no, she'll cut you with a shiv if you get in her way.

Pineapple Express
I had a huge grin on my face the entire time I was watching this movie.

Dale/Saul would be great, but Red is my favorite character. I think he's a storyteller at heart, and if you wrote about his former life as a prostitute or how he got his cat in a style akin to Danny McBride's inflection...just...oh my god.

Mechanolater

2008-06-06T22:15:13Z

Definition: n. - worshipper of machines

Set several years before the movie. Not a trace of Pepper Potts, but lots of high-tech weaponry, Rhodey, Obadiah Stane, and Howard Stark. Any and all feedback would be greatly appreciated.

It's a week before deadline when Rhodey brings him a Slurpee and a file you could get shot just for looking at a second longer than you were supposed to if you were the wrong sort of person. There are days when the Lieutenant Colonel doubts Tony isn't. This is one of them.

"What?" Tony asks from the floor by the desk, his head buried under a pile of ravaged circuitry, hands pressing against the joint of two massive interlocking chrome plates, testing it.

He disentangles himself and looks up; stands to greet his friend.

"Why didn't you get me cherry? I like cherry. Cherry's better."

Rhodey takes a sip and points to the computer screen.

"What's this?" he asks, his eyebrows already sloping in that determined furrow that Tony believes must surely have been featured on several recruitment posters.

"Look, I know I was supposed to be finishing the redesign on your shiny new toys, but then I started thinking about the shock absorbency and realized that if I was going to fully protect the nubile young flesh of our nation's finest, I would need to--"

"Tony." Rhodey laughs, but there's a warning in his eyes that Tony recognizes instantly.

Tony reaches for the drink and Rhodey ducks away.

"No. Not until you finish what you were contracted for."

Tony likes this game less than he's willing to admit. He plays his part, bides his time. Rhodes hands him the file and tries to smile, but he can't quite disguise the tension about his mouth, the tightening along his jaw. Tony stares at him, and shuffles the papers on his desk, tucking the sealed folder haphazardly under what must have once been a drinkable cup of coffee.

"Don't give me the wounded puppy look, Stark."

"No, no, I’m a healthy dog. I'm jacked up on kibble and electricity. See?" He holds up a stray spark plug for emphasis.

"Just finish."

It's a shame about the drink, really. He was quite thirsty. He goes back to work.

The garage hums with the low roar of machinery and the crackle of flying sparks the rest of the afternoon and well into the night. Tony falls asleep under the roof of the unfinished armor and does not wake until noon. He crawls out from his den and as he reaches for the mug perched above him, his fingers slide over the smooth surface of the file. Gingerly, he lifts it down and breaks the seal. Sucks in his breath.

-

It's crazy, but sometimes he thinks he can hear Jarvis laugh.

-

His father had been the one with all the plans.

But it was Obie who’d taught him to play cards. Bought him his first drink. Told him stories.

If there is one thing Tony understands completely it is that Howard Stark was a great man. When Tony thinks about his dad, more often than not he can't remember the details. There are impressions. Glimpses. Pieces of a myth. The photograph that had hung above the mantle for so many years: Stark, Groves, Truman. His father walked with giants.

In truth, he knows only what others have spoken of, their proselytizing sometimes exhausting, sometimes enrapturing. Knows only what Obie has shared. And, truly, what would Stark Industries be without Obie? After all, it'd been him who’d kept them afloat when the investors were on their backs complaining about profit loss and lack of focus. Obadiah Stane, with his charm, and ridiculous male pattern baldness, and the ability to make a troublesome supplier comply with just a dark rumble of his voice.

Yet there were places not even Obie could reach him. There the metal and circuitry and endless lines of code had no expectations, only potential.

-

At parties he feels the connection, his blood full of alcohol, his head buzzing, the laughs coming easy. He sees the movement between them, the touch of wire to wire. The hive of happy drunken bees. Tony loses himself in it and drinks more.

A path, how many paths, can more than one follow? If they were linked and given the directive.

It is as the mind of a god. The command that animates all things.

-

The meeting was a disaster.

Tony had been a little drunk, to start.

The directors, military liaison, Obie stern and formidable in his pressed suit, Rhodey looking hopeful. Hoping that Tony hadn't screwed it up yet again. Hoping for proof that his trust was well placed, defensible. He pretended not to notice the way Tony flinched slightly at the room's brightness.

They took their seats and the lights dimmed, for which Tony was silently grateful. Obie introduced the presenter, some young upstart Tony had never seen before and took an immediate, irrational disliking to. He provided diagram after diagram stitched with touch-responsive nodes that revealed paragraphs of design details and alternate internal and external views of what he personally considered to be the best prospective new weapon for America's soldiers. There were some comments about cost effectiveness, about practicality, but his eyes were closed and Tony didn't know who was saying anything anymore.

"Tony."

That was Rhodey. He slid one eyelid open and waited.

"Tony - Mr. Stark - is going to discuss his contributions to the design. He's the one who came up with the pressure-controlled fitting for the arm and chest cavities. Recently, he was asked to recalibrate the missile launcher on our prototype as well as explore ways to increase ammunition capacity. Mr. Stark?"

"Yes. Well."

Obadiah didn’t speak to him afterwards.

-

Something flashes on the screen.

"I saved them, sir," Jarvis says by way of explanation.

There are benefits to putting yourself in the design. Displayed in cool blue light are the remnants of a half-birthed idea, yet another he cast aside when he realized none of them understood or cared for the machine for itself. Knew the joy of it.

The garage is quiet, but in every corner there is one of them standing sure and silent and true. They will never betray him; he will never let them down. He knows Rhodey will come round soon enough, and they'll talk, he'll apologize, and they'll both get drunk and watch reruns until they both fall asleep sprawled on the floor, the too-expensive carpet. Maybe tomorrow he will drive up to Obadiah's place in L.A. and knock once, twice. Not tonight.

Surrounded by his idols, he waits to begin.

Selene

2008-04-22T03:26:18Z

Written for isagel in the Sarah Connor Chronicles Flash Fiction and Art Challenge. Set after the end of S1.

He knows she is there before he even opens his eyes.

John rolls over on his side, his back to her now. Exhales loudly. “What?” he asks groggily, knowing she will not reply. Her silence stands out in sharp relief against the quiet of the nighttime house, her gaze pressing into him like a phantom weight. He’s grown wary of these moments. John, he doesn’t look, but he knows exactly what he would see: Cameron perched on the edge of the bed, watching and waiting, wanting to speak but remaining mute until he will look at her, will see her.

“Cameron. Just tell me what it is. I’m trying to sleep.”

No response. Instead, only his muffled sigh against the pillow.

“You can’t keep doing this.”

She can’t, because it’s becoming almost too much for him. Sarah Connor, the legend, she still watches her baby boy sleep and fantasizes about a future where the jagged crown of a ruined cityscape doesn’t tear at smoke-stained sky. Where people are free to walk about, their hands free of weapons and their skin unbranded. This future is not for her, never can be, but for her son it may be within reach if only they are vigilant. That he can deal with. It is when this machine, this clockwork goddess, all apparatus and electricity, stoops to keep vigil over a mere mortal that he finds himself truly unnerved. John understands better than anyone the ambiguity that animates her, yet this particular behavior is something unexpected. And lately he’s been catching her at it more and more often.

“I saw you.”

He cracks open an eyelid and twists his neck to look at her, the film of sleep turning everything into a blurred, shadowy imitation of its true form. He’s in no mood for her cryptic half-messages, not tonight. Cameron’s always been one for secrets, but lately she’s been eager to tell, to share, to confess. Ever since the attack.

The explosion, when flame and scorched, twisted metal had left her bleeding but not broken, never broken—the terror of her endoskeleton wrenched through charred flesh. She’s healing fast, faster and better than any human ever could, but something’s amiss. After every alarm on the street started going off it didn’t take long for the police cars to arrive, their tires screeching black across pavement. But instead of retreating to the shelter of the house as mission protocols should have directed her, she kicked and pulled at John as he dragged her from the burning wreckage. Choking on smoke and struggling with her weight, he managed to get her inside the door just as she began, of all things, to scream. Disbelieving, he clamped his hand across her mouth, rocking her back and forth like a child woken from a nightmare while his mother dealt with the cops.

Sarah called them off with some story about a faulty gas tank she’d neglected to replace. Oh my god, officer, I am so sorry! It’s completely my fault! I left it running ‘cause I was about to go to the store and I had to pick up… I’ve been so stressed out with work lately, I got distracted. I didn’t really have the money to fix it either and they said it wasn’t likely to… God, we were so lucky. Oh, thank you. You understand, don’t you? I’ve got two kids. Oh, you have children too?

“Are you okay? Why did you scream?” he had asked in a terrified whisper, hands covered with grease and clumps of Cameron’s singed hair slick with blood.

“People scream when they are hurt. When they are in pain. Your hands are warm, John.”

Happy fucking birthday, John Connor. This is your life. Of course she’s wasn’t okay. Her burns are no longer sickly black-brown and have begun to fade. It has taken longer for the skin to close itself over the patches of exposed endoskeleton, but more disturbingly it’s as if some bit of code rattling about in her CPU is completely screwed up. Disjointed revelation rests on her tongue and turns nearly every statement into yet another mystery.

He’s sitting up now, t-shirt rumpled to shit, eyes still glazed. He rubs his hand across his face in dazed exasperation. Cameron just gives him that same wide-eyed, unwavering stare; her lips stretched thin over teeth and gums that are just starting to regrow, the metal plate beneath them glinting in the moonlight.

“Cameron, what is it? I—”

“With her.”

There. He’d definitely laugh if he weren’t so irritated. Cameron had been watching them.

Cheri. They’d just been talking—one of the few times he could get her to talk. They’d both stayed after school to work on their chemistry project. John didn’t want to spook her, and whenever she looked up from her lab notes, expectant, he’d chosen his words carefully. It started with valence electrons (nothing safer, he thought), but by the end of the afternoon they’d managed to work their way through everything from acid-base titration to favorite movie monsters. Afterwards, she had thanked him for helping her out with the project, but a moment later he found her lips softly pressed to his and her hand on his shoulder.

Obviously, Cameron had determined that his security required voyeurism. It isn’t what she was made to do, but in a way it’s a natural extension of her function. Termination and protection require the same focus and singular intent. It is the magnitude of her intent now that worries him.

“I know it’s your job to protect me, but give me some privacy every now and again, eh?”

Nothing. He feels his patience slipping.

“You don’t have to follow me everywhere I go. Besides, someone could have seen you! If Mom knew she would kill you—I don’t know how she’d manage it, but she would. You can’t go walking around like it’s nothing to have metal sticking out of your face.”

“We did that. Once.”

She’s gone before he can breathe again.

*

Cameron doesn’t mention it again. She no longer comes into his room at night, but he hears her constantly pacing the hallway just outside. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, the circuit on a loop, and he cannot sleep. In the mornings he glares at her from across the table, shoveling cereal into his mouth, willing her to explain herself, but she does not speak. Cameron Baum has been on the absentee list for more than a week—car accident, or so they told the administration. John, however, still goes to school every day feeling more vulnerable than he’d like to admit. He sticks to himself, avoids Morris and Cheri (especially Cheri), and waits for the day to end. Sarah is growing increasingly anxious that Sarkissian will strike there as well and sends Derek to patrol the area. Cameron, cloaked in an old sweatshirt three times too big for her, comes with him and observes everything from behind dark sunglasses and tinted windows.

“Morris misses you,” he tells her at dinner.

She pauses; forkful of baked potato halfway to her mouth, she jerks her bandaged face toward John and says succinctly: “That’s nice.”

“Yeah, he keeps asking about you. He actually wanted to come over and see you, but I told him it wouldn’t be a good idea.”

She chews meticulously, carefully mashing every bit of food before speaking. “It is normal for one to be concerned about his or her friend’s welfare.”

Derek stabs at his plate and violently spears a piece of broccoli. “You don’t have friends, you have pawns,” he barks at her. Sarah looks concerned, but her mouth is curving into a smile and John can see she’s amused more than anything else.

“We’re friends, John. Good friends.”

*

There is ferocity within him he cannot believe. He wants to tear at her, to dismantle her form piece by piece until only a pile of blood washed junk remains. Dig his fingers in and rip off all the remaining skin and finally convince himself that she isn’t and never will be anything human. Derek would do that. Maybe he would be right.

But John Connor knows he cannot blame her. It is Himself, his Other, that has forced them into this realm of half-truths and patterns he can never hope to decipher as they echo through endless permutations of time.

He falls asleep with his head tucked under his arm, the way he used to when he was very small, and dreams of the full moon above an immaculate city.

*

It is pooling on the floor in great white patches. Cameron steps through them like clear water as she approaches his bed. He shifts slightly but does not wake. It is better this way. Her smile is moonlight on a mirror.

“It was 12:46 a.m. Cold. Reese and Whistler were on recon. But your skin was very warm.”

TSCC fic: Senses

2008-03-03T23:51:21Z

How fucking excited am I for the finale tonight?

John Connor knows about the human body. He knows what it is to have your breath burst forth from burning lungs, the perfect machine in your chest thundering relentlessly. Sarah running him through the jungle with a gun at his back: this was his education. He knows about pain, about broken arms and bullet wounds, and the aches that hang around for months.

He knows what skin can cover, and the metal monsters hiding beneath.

Cameron is something else.

He remembers the smell of desert air, creosote and gasoline, and the taste of cool, clear water in a parched throat. There were times, rare but treasured, when Sarah would stop worrying at the weapons long enough to sit with him and watch the sun set over the New Mexico brush. Together they saw endless sky streaked with lazy paint strokes of blood and orange until the sphere slipped beneath the dusky horizon. The coming night brought silence and severity. John watched the dark alone.

His senses have always served him well. But Cameron had been something of a siren, and John only heard the voice speaking for him, not the nervous precision that should have tipped him off. So bright, all he could see was teeth and hair. He had looked away.

Fuck it. He watches her now in the orange glow of a street lamp, reloading as the moths flutter about like burnt paper. A dark future of secrets lies between and before them, unknowable and unavoidable, and John hates his stupid fucking teenage ineptitude. Cameron has anatomical knowledge enough to kill a man with a single jab of her arm to the right part of his body. Her CPU stores infinite recollections, forever defining the products of its calculations and permutations, but sunsets never factor into any of them. He marvels and fears, but some defiant part of him wonders if she can even taste the food she crushes between her perfect teeth. He almost hopes she cannot.

A chimera of a girl, beautiful and strange. Something else, but no less terrifying.

The shot. Two pairs of legs bound away into the darkness. One lags behind, astray. In time they run together.