Random Thoughts

John Crichton 20 in 20

shermel — Wed, 07 Oct 2015 22:00:55 GMT

Pretty pretty boy icons...

THEMES

Role	Strong	Passion	Looking Down+Dark	Promotional


Confident	Yellow	Full Body+Distant	Smile	Last

CATEGORY-FADE AWAY

#1	#2	#3	#4	#5

ARTIST'S CHOICE

#1	#2	#3	#4	#5

Farscape Season 2 - All the Icons

shermel — Thu, 24 Sep 2015 21:26:20 GMT

All the icons for S2 made for various challenges...

S1x1	S1x2	S1x3	S1x4	S1x5 Trust


S1x6	S1x7	S1x8	S1x9	S1x10


S1x11	S1x12 - Shoot	S1x13	S1x14 - Demon	S1x15 - Medcine


S1x16- Evidence	S1x17 - Home	S1x18 - Gore	S1x19 - Defiance	S1x20 - Enemy


S1x21 - Nightmare	S1x22 - Heart	Extra	Extra	Extra

Farscape Season 1 - All the Icons

shermel — Fri, 21 Aug 2015 19:50:09 GMT

All the icons for S1 made for various challenges and some just for fun...

S1x1	S1x2	S1x3	S1x4	S1x5


S1x6	S1x7	S1x8	S1x9	S1x10


S1x11	S1x12	S1x13	S1x14	S1x15


S1x16	S1x17	S1x18	S1x19	S1x20


S1x21	S1x22	Extra	Extra	Extra

shermel — Fri, 24 Jul 2015 20:08:36 GMT

THEMES

cheeky	cozy	dressed up	first time...	glow


gold	healthy	inner darkness	inspired by	second choice

CATEGORY - Favorite Color + Spin Around

front	profile-right	back	profile-left	front

ARTIST'S CHOICE

#1	#2	#3	#4	#5

CHALLENGE #07: Off the Clock

shermel — Wed, 15 Jul 2015 19:11:31 GMT

Description Pick a character (or several characters!) and write a fic or meta set in their off-work hours. How do they spend their time when they're not at work or school? Recreational sports leagues? Karaoke nights? Binging on Netflix? Do they actually escape work, or does work sneak in on them despite their best intentions?
For gameofcards

Fandom: Farscape (Meta)
Character(s): Pilot
Word Count: ~350

It’s an unfortunate fact that Pilot doesn’t actually get any time off. As a bonded symbiont of the Leviathan ship Moya he is always working. However, he is an excellent multi-tasker and often, in quiet periods, finds time to pursue interests beyond his normal duties.

Manily what he likes to do is read. Pilot has an insatiable curiosity and so reads anything and everything from galactic politics to art history. He is always conscious of his inexperience, and the difficult circumstances by which he and Moya were joined, so he feels he has to prove his worth and always works hard to be better.

Since visiting Earth he has greatly enjoyed learning about Earth culture. The various governments of the planet furnished him with vast databases of information and literature. Pilot has now read the complete works of Shakespeare, the plays of Isben and the Fifty Shades of Grey Trilogy. He loves the documentaries of David Attenborough and has seen every season of Buffy except the last one. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he’s also become somewhat addicted to The Apprentice.

Pilot got himself a pretty heavy fandom obsession during his Earth visit. He loves Stargate and thinks their treatment of wormhole tech is so much more sensible than the way Crichton does it. He ships Sam/Jack…he’s also quite likes Cam/Vala (it’s not canon, but he thinks something about those two just sparkles! He can't quite put his claws on why.)

He wouldn't thank me for letting this slip, but he's a total RP shipper…he's obsessed with Aeryn Sun. He mainly ships her with John, but he’s got some good Aeryn/Crais fanvids from Talyn that are pretty hot. He hasn't fallen down the rabbit hole of making his own vids yet, but he’s written some fic. Lots of people thought was pretty hot, but it got deleted in the last FFN smut purge so he just keeps it to himself now.

Lately Pilot has been reading up on babies. He has a lot of Human baby care books and has found some similar ones for Sebacaen children. He tries to give John & Aeryn advice on how they should best approach parenthood, but for some reason they don’t seem to want to listen.

shermel — Tue, 23 Jun 2015 18:56:24 GMT

THEMES

b&w	blue	blurry	candy	dish vs. scrubs


eyes	no face	sepia	sexy	summer

CATEGORY - Hugs & Kisses

#1	#2	#3	#4	#5

ARTIST'S CHOICE

#1	#2	#3	#4	#5

CHhallenge #6 - Big Hero Six - One

shermel — Sun, 07 Jun 2015 23:01:52 GMT

For gameofcards phase long challenge:

I chose to do option ONE, which was an easy choice given that, while I like many things, I really only have ONE fandom and ONE ship....

A Bucketload of Scaper Shippiness

Twenty Super Shippy Icons

Twelve Sigtags

(for gameofcards and for tv_universe

Six Times John and Aeryn Didn't Say Goodbye
(10 Gifs.)

2 picspams (18 images) = 45pts
20 icons = 100pts
12 sigtags = 60pts
10 Gifs = 100pts

Total = 305pts

Musemuggers #595 Broken Nights

shermel — Fri, 03 Apr 2015 22:26:53 GMT

Cross posted from musemuggers
Prompt #595
Open #1 - Broken Night
500 words exactly

Broken Night

“You go, it's your turn,”

“Why is it my turn? I went last time.” Anna’s face peeked out from under her thick quilted blanket which she had bundled around her. She pouted at Gary as sat up in the bed.

“And I went the two times before; so it's still your turn.”

“Do I have to? I just got warm.” Anna tried not to whine, but she found it so hard to get warm lately, “tell you what; you go this time and I'll do all next week.”

“You say that, but I bet you wont.”

“Pleeeasse!” Anna begged, “you know how hard it is for me to get comfortable at the moment.”

“Fine, fine. I'll do it. but you do all next week.”

“Deal.”

Anna snuggled back down into the blanket as Gary heaved himself up and padded out of the room. She listened to the swish of the door as it opened; scraping against the thick carpet. She squeezed her eyes shut and listened to the sounds of screaming at they floated down the corridor. It was the screaming that was the worst; Gary promised it would die down after the first couple of months, but they were six months in and it was no better. It was worse. Almost every night one of them go deal with it. Each trip eroded away that little bit of normalcy that the night offered.

At length the screaming ceased and silence moved in, but Anna knew she wouldn’t sleep until Gary was back.

She opened her eyes and stared into the black; no light seeped in through the cracks around the doorway and she was grateful for that.

He would be back soon.

But time eked on and Gary did not return.

Anna, wincing at the pain in her leg, extricated herself from the blankets twisted around her body and headed for the door. She grasped her thigh as the aching muscle protested each time she put weight on it. It would be impossible to get comfortable again tonight.

She pulled open the door and ventured slowly down the corridor; eyes fixed on a distant glow from the room at the end of the corridor. When she reached it she gazed through its open door. A full moon shone bright light through the window; casting its shadow through the bars of the empty crib against the far wall. Anna sighed, turned from the doorway and began to descend the stairs.

She didn’t call out.

As she rounded the corner her eyes took in the scene below.

There he was.

Sprawled out.

The front door hung on its hinges; their barricade broken.

They gathered around him; pulling, tearing, biting. She listened to the wet sound of jaws working against warm flesh as she crouched on the stairs.

She couldn’t run. Her damaged leg guaranteed that.

She didn’t want to anyway. Another flight. Another search for another refuge.

Alone.

Anna slowly rose and descended the stairs.

She had had enough broken nights.

#594 Modern Life is Rubbish

shermel — Mon, 23 Mar 2015 21:21:11 GMT

Cross Post from musemuggers
Challenge #594
Option 3 -
Respite in the Midst of Repetition.
Losing oneself in the redundancy of life can be like a slow drowning

The prompt calls for a breath of fresh air, but I'm a pessimist so no dice.
It is quite silly though...

Modern Life is Rubbish

Alarm, thump, alarm, thump, alarm, thump. Groan.
Shower, towel, clothes, lotion, dryer, make-up. Sigh
Tea, toast, email, facebook, mail, bills. Oh.
Bag, coat, lunch, keys, car, traffic. Why!

Office, tea, chat, email, facebook, meetings. Moan.
Files, keys, car, traffic, daydream, drift off. Fly.
Home, tea, laundry, facebook, pasta, telly. Zone.
Wash, teeth, nightdress, lotion, bed. Sex? No.

Sleep.
Repeat.
Add children.
Subtract parents.
Grow old.
Die.

Challenge #588 - I Am Boffo

shermel — Sun, 15 Feb 2015 01:13:27 GMT

Cross posted from musemuggers

Challenge #588
Option 3 - Unlikely story
The prompt was the for The Journal of Unlikely Academia, but reading through the details on the website I was struck by the one before that The Journal of Unlikely Coulrophobia (the fear of clowns) and couldn't shake it.

Fair warning; what follows is rough and weird...

I Am Boffo

Day One

It starts slowly, subtle, a persistent squeak just out of earshot.

“Did you hear that?” she stops in the stairwell and leans over the balustrade listening.

“Hear what?”

“I don’t know. A kind of squeaking sound. I keep hearing it.”

He listens for a moment.

“No. You must be imagining it.”

They continue their climb.

The squeak follows.

Day Four

She hands out the books and each one lands on the desk with a slap making a sophomoric student jump.

“Probably the most animated they’ll be all day,” she thinks.

She instructs them to open at chapter four and begins to teach. As she speaks she studies their faces.

The girls are going for ultra pale, almost white, foundation, too much bright eyeshadow and lurid red lipstick. It’s like being surrounded by goths on Prozac. She smiles, remembering the ludicrous things she wore at that age; if you can’t dress like a pillock when you’re a teenager, when can you?

At the end of the class the students file out, pushing and shoving in their eagerness to leave, and she notices colour peeking from under the hems of the girl's skirts; reds, blues and greens. Girls wear underskirts now?

Some of the boys are wearing colour too; sticking out of their blazers and the backs of their skirts.

She shakes her head in amusement.

The squeak follows her as she walks to the staffroom.

Day Six

“What the matter dear,” her mother asks, voice full of concern, “aren’t you hungry?”

She stares at the bowl in front of her and slowly raises her eyes to meet her mother’s gaze.

“It’s not that,” she says, hesitant, “it’s just…I wasn’t really expecting this.”

Her mother shakes her head, not comprehending; it makes the bright red curls that form the halo around her head bounce.

“I thought we were having Sunday dinner?”

“Yes?”

“This is a custard pie.”

“Yes.”

She opens her mouth and then closes it again. She has nothing to say.

Her father sighs and folds his newspaper, placing it on the table.

“She always was a fussy eater,” he says as he stands up.

He’s wearing blue and white striped trousers made ludicrously wide by a big hoop and held up with braces. He leans over the table, picks up her bowl and solemnly slides the contents down his trousers. He wiggles a little and kicks his legs until custard begins to dribble out over his too large shoes. Then he sits down and disappears again behind his paper.

The squeak is a now a constant tinnitus vibration in her brain.

Day Twelve

Eyes turn to watch her as she walks along the street; painted surprise etched on every face.

She wear jeans, a t-shirt, trainers, but feels naked surrounded by a rainbow of colour.

She tucks her head down into her shoulders and keeps her eyes on the ground.

Day Twenty

“I need to talk to you about a very serious matter.”

She looks up up and shrugs for her to go on. It’s difficult to speak; she hasn’t slept in some time.

The head of department looks at her with concern; a painted frown.

“We’ve always valued your work here,” she says, “you know that?”

“Yes,” she says in a small voice.

“Good,” the head of department nods and scratches her big red nose nervously, “well we’re becoming a little concerned about your appearance.”

“What?”

“It’s just that…there are certain conventions in a professional environment. We try to be flexible, but there really is a limit.”

“I don’t understand.”

The head smiles kindly and passes her a booklet, “here, take this. It’s just a little reminder of the school dress code. Have a read and, if you have any questions, come back to me.”

She gazes at the booklet; a lurid array of colour, big shoes and pom poms.

Pupils mill around in the corridor outside. They walk frog like in their floppy shoes.

Squeak.

Squeak.

Day Thirty

She’s hungry.

She stands in the aisle in the supermarket, her empty basket clutched at her chest, and stares at the shelves.

Eggs, milk, sugar, vanilla, squirty cream, flan cases.

There's nothing else.

She takes one of each and focuses on controlling her breathing.

At the till she catches the eye of a man dressed in black satin. He wears a white ruff around his neck and a little white hat perched on his head. A line of blue painted tears trickle down one cheek.

Something about his rich, liquid brown eyes catches her attention.

When he walks away he does not squeak.

She follows him when she leaves the store.

Day One Hundred

“Alison’s gone.” He says as he sits down on the edge of the bed.

“When?”

“Few days ago.” He buries his face in his hands.

She sighs, crawls over the bed to him and wraps her arms around his shoulders. The cotton t-shirt is warm and soft under her hands. His skin, bare and brown, smells fresh and clean. She hates the smell of grease paint.

“We have to do something.” He says, words muffled by his fingers.

“What?”

“I don’t know,” he says, “I think…I think I may be able to contact someone.”

“Who.”

“I’d rather not say. It’s a long shot. Risky.” He turns into her embrace and buries his face in her hair, “let me find out a bit more first.”

Worry ripples through her belly, but she nods her agreement.

There are so few of them left.

Day Three Hundred

She stands in front of the mirror and begins.

First the pancake; she spreads the paint over her skin in slow deliberate strokes. Then the eyes; a black pencil makes high arched brows and crosses over each lid. The lips, also black, are thin and turned down at the corners.

Finally she paints on the tears.

It’s a futile gesture; she hasn’t seen another line of blue since he disappeared.

She takes a deep breath and smooths her hands over the black satin suit, white ruff and adjusts her little black hat.

She stares into the mirror and repeat the words she says every day.

Wills herself to believe them.

“I am Boffo.”

***

TVU Challenge 7x10 - 3TP

shermel — Thu, 12 Feb 2015 23:38:38 GMT

Part One: FAMILY
Title: Blowing Bubbles
Fandom: Farscape
Characters: John Crichton, AerynSun, D'Argo Sun Crichton
Rating: G
Words: 650
Warning: Contains tooth rotting sweetness

Blowing Bubbles

Aeryn stopped to catch her breath at the entrance to the terrace. She arched her back—stretching out her aching muscles—and ran a hand over her vastly swollen belly…not long now. She remained quiet for a moment; happy to watch the little scene unfolding before her on the deck.

“You gotta catch all of them!” John called as he waved his arm in a wide arc over the small chuckling child toddling under his feet. A shower of bubbles streamed from a home made bubble wand, and the boy skipped and clapped to catch them before they fell to the floor. They’d been at this game for almost an arn.

“Pop!” D’Argo squealed as he got a big one with the tip of his finger. He spun around in unsteady circles and beamed as he caught sigh of his mother, “Pop Mama!”

Aeryn folded her arms across her bump and smiled indulgently at her boys.

John loaded the wand with mixture and, walking backwards toward her, waved another waft of bubbles for the boy to catch.

“Hey,” he said, planting a kiss on her cheek, “you come to take over? I’m beat!”

“What, at blowing bubbles?” she smirked at him, “It’s hardly advanced training, John.”

“It’s exhausting. He’s exhausting…he never stops!” D’Argo bounced in front of them, demanding attention, and John offered another wave of bubbles in appeasement.

“One wonders how you’ll cope when there are two of them?”

“It’ll be fine,” he said with a grimace and looking thoroughly unconvinced, “two of them…two of us. No problem.”

He shrugged and handed her the wand, “here, you have a go.”

Aeryn took the wand with a wary frown. She wasn’t good at this kind of thing but she did try to make an effort; it seemed to please them both. She dipped the wand into the pot that John held out for her and took a few steps forward.

“Would you like some more bubbles?” she asked, crouching down, feeling silly and self-conscious.

“Pop!” D’Argo squealed and clapped.

Aeryn, guessing that meant yes, waved the wand and conjured bubbles for a delighted boy who jumped to catch as many as possible. When all the bubbles were gone he looked up at her expectantly; chubby fingers clutching at her leg.

“You did very well,” she said, “you have very good reflexes. If you concentrate on controlling your movements more precisely you’ll have a much higher success rate.”

She heard a bark of laughter from behind her and she looked round to see John watching her; his thumb at his lips and eyes crinkled at the corners.

“What?” she asked with a shake of her head.

“Nothin’,” he said as he stepped over to help her up out of her deep crouch. He wrapped an arm around her, “I wonder why you were never so patient with my performance assessments.”

“Well, you never showed as much promise.” She smirked at him.

He pulled her into a hug, awkwardly negotiating around the belly, and Aeryn relaxed into his embrace. After a few moments Aeryn became horribly aware of something subtly wrong. She pulled back frowning.

“What’s wrong?” John asked.

“It’s too quiet,” she said.

They twisted around looking for D’Argo; worried that he’d escaped and gone wandering the ship on his own…again. Instead they spotted him standing right at the edge of the terrace. He gazed up through the screen at the black of space beyond; still and silent. His small arms raised above his head in open greeting to the stars.

“Deke?” John called to him and the boy turned slowly to look at them, “what’ya doing buddy?”

“Pop!” he said, and pointed out into space, “Pop Daddy!”

In that moment—on a trajectory along the line of that chubby little finger—the black of space flexed, rippled and collapsed into a white whirling wormhole.

Challenge #588 - The time is twenty two minutes past four in the afternoon

shermel — Thu, 12 Feb 2015 16:22:06 GMT

Cross-Posted from musemuggers
Challenge #588 - Take ONE MINUTE to write a found poem using the Text Clock (prompt by the Found Poetry Review)
http://www.foundpoetryreview.com/blog/poetry-prompt-the-time-is/#comment-4749

Words 57

The time is twenty two minutes past four in the afternoon

I never sit in the centre
Always at one side or the other
from the field of battle
and so perhaps
am too much of a humour for fire

However, all mildness has its iron limit
I confess I regret to this day
The hot memory of her night's vigil
A desperate resistance
That was long ago

Like a Time Capsule

shermel — Thu, 05 Feb 2015 22:02:10 GMT

I am stunned this journal still exists.
It's bizarre reading all the things I posted over a decade ago...and then made private because hot damn I was annoying a decade ago.

Checks flist...tumbleweed...

Earth 2.0.04

shermel — Wed, 06 Oct 2004 06:19:26 GMT

Done for museteasers
Prompt #68 Sunrise
Originally Posted 10/10/2004
344 words

Earth 2.0.04

*ring ring*
*ring ring*

*click*

-ABBA: Dancing Queen
-Various Artists: Panpipe Moods Vol 6
-Chris De Burgh: Lady in...

GOD: Okay, I'm Hanging up now.

*click*

OPS: Hello, operations.
GOD: Yes, hi. I'm having trouble rebooting my planet.
OPS: Right Sir, may I take your name.
GOD: Which one?
OPS: Well, how many do you have?
GOD: One hundred.
OPS: Um, okay, your real name.
GOD: Oh, no. I can't tell you that one. You don't even wanna know what would happen.
OPS: Okay *sigh* what operating system are you using?
GOD: Earth 2.0.04
*OPS stifles a snicker*
GOD: What!
OPS: Nothing sir. Have you checked the power source?
*GOD looks for sun*
GOD: Yes, it says it has another 10 billion years left.
OPS: Hmm, okay. Have you tried switching it off and then switching it back on again?
GOD: No. I tried wiping the system with the flood command, but remnants of the bug were missed and I can't get rid of them.
OPS: You have a bug?
GOD: Yes, it keeps replicating and using all the system resources. I can't get anything done. I powered down the sun last night and I can't get it to come back up again.
OPS: It sounds to me like a corrupted disk. You'll have to replace it.
GOD: Oh, no! Will I lose my stuff?
OPS: I'm afraid so. You can try and save the uncorrupted data if you can start up in safe mode, but other than that...
GOD: Damn. How do I stop this happening again?
OPS: Well sir, I really do recommend switching to either Heaven 1.05 or Utopia 3.4. Both are much more stable than any of the Earth operating systems. Utopia supports a better graphics card; good if you're a gamer.
GOD: I used to bit of a gamer, MMORPG and that, but I haven’t really been able to since I switched from Eden 1.0. Yeah, Okay I'll try Utopia.
OPS: I'll send you a disk out straight away sir. Is there anything else I can help you with