Tartanshell's Journal

Bingo card for AtLA ficlets

tartanshell — Mon, 21 Feb 2011 06:33:42 GMT

For atlaland.

tea	Iroh	Lu Ten	rage	dance
I could not stop for death	fear	Learning to be Silent	day in the life	hope
crossover	dreams of lies	WILD CARD	alternate universe	compassion
the stories people tell	love	night land	first test	garden
Fire Nation courtship	The Moon Cannot Be Stolen	greatest hole in the ground in the world	making jewelry	earning tattoos

I see it as a nifty motivational tool to write fics.

tartanshell — Mon, 14 Feb 2011 06:05:01 GMT

Um, apparently I'm going to be doing this:

atlaland is an Avatar: The Last Airbender challenge community, where you join a team and get points by playing games, writing fics, making graphics, and stuff. They only require you to participate once every two weeks, so, it's pretty low-stress. I'm pimping it partly to get points/participation, but also because I would really, really love if some people on my friendslist were playing, too! ♥

I'm on team Earth Kingdom. The signup post is here. If you apply, please mention that tartanshell sent you.

Come play with me!

Still starry-eyed!

tartanshell — Sat, 05 Feb 2011 07:41:17 GMT

Uh, I seem to have acquired a new fandom. Oops?

While I'm trying to formulate replies to the comments on my Avatar post that aren't just "SQUEE SQUEE SQUEE," I hope you don't mind if I ask for recs.

In general, I'm just looking for good AtLA fics, and am really not picky. Post-series epics that seem like canon would be awesomesauce. Anything at all featuring Zuko, Iroh, or Toph, because they're my three very favorites.

I am predictable like a predictable thing, I know. But I would really love to read fics like this:

- Anything after Zuko joins Team Avatar, or Zuko-centric post-series.
- Hanging out at Iroh's teahouse, oh please yes YAY. Hanging out! Drinking tea! Being awesome! Hugging!
- Missing scenes from episodes
- Iroh pastfic
- Zuko/Toph (ship or friendship)
- Zuko/Katara, during the series. (Or post-series, but with believable fallout from Zuko/Mai and Katara/Aang) [or friendship gen]
- Team Avatar bonding adventures
- Toph kicking ass! Particularly older!Toph. Older!Toph topping someone in a sexual way would be pretty awesome.
- Anything fun that sounds like canon
- Awkward teens fumbling with romance/sex
- Iroh giving advice or being fatherly

God, I haven't fallen this hard since...I don't even know. :D

If they sparkle, I'm going to scream.

tartanshell — Tue, 23 Nov 2010 05:23:01 GMT

Warner Bros. Buffy. Reboot.

Oh, HELL(mouth) no.

Fic: "Five Reasons Why (We Don't Mention the Elephant in the Room)" [Daredevil/Iron Man crossover]

tartanshell — Tue, 14 Sep 2010 22:11:25 GMT

Title: Five Reasons Why (We Don't Mention the Elephant in the Room)
Fandoms: Daredevil/Iron Man 2
Characters/pairing: Matt Murdock (Daredevil)/Natasha Romanoff (Black Widow)
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 3368
Notes: Written for marvel_crossing, for wabbitseason, for the prompt, What's a beautiful ex-Russian spy doing in Hell's Kitchen?

Feedback is, as always, very much appreciated! ♥

( Five Reasons Why (We Don't Mention the Elephant in the Room) )

Because all the cool kids are doing it

tartanshell — Wed, 09 Jun 2010 02:44:41 GMT

And I love hurt/comfort, and I need to find my fanfic mojo.

poltergeist	sexual extortion: to protect someone else	wings (always there)	broken bones	hookers
tentacles	torture	unexpected consequences of planned soulbonding	headaches	sore muscles
imprisonment	zombie apocalypse	WILD CARD	grief	assault
burns	stroke	embarassment	loss of job / income	coma
unwanted superpower (sudden onset)	hazing	bodyguards	head trauma	loss of hearing

This meme is awesome.

tartanshell — Thu, 20 May 2010 01:58:43 GMT

It's a love meme in which you post your username, and then fictional characters (or, y'know, other LJers posting anonymously in-character) are the ones who give you love and ego-boosting. Fun!

MY THREAD HERE

More awesome (fannish)

tartanshell — Fri, 19 Mar 2010 03:38:09 GMT

Pimpity pimp: lgbtfest is now taking prompts! Submit yours (or peruse the nifty ideas of others) right here.

Favorite character moments

tartanshell — Mon, 22 Feb 2010 01:45:50 GMT

From fannish5: Five canon moments that turned a character into a favorite character.

1. Snape at the end of GoF, in the moment that launched a ~~thousand~~ million fanfics. (Harry Potter)
2. Saul Tigh on New Caprica. (BSG)
3. Ellen Tigh revealed as the fifth. (BSG)
4. Foggy Nelson in the Daredevil movie: "I take salsa dancing lessons on the weekend, but you don't see me shaking my ass to pay my phone bill." (Daredevil)
5. Wesley joining Angel Investigations. (Angel)

2009 Writing Roundup

tartanshell — Fri, 01 Jan 2010 03:01:43 GMT

2009 Fanfic Totals (not including my mystery Yuletide story)
Fics/ficlets/drabbles written: 7
Fandoms written: 6
X-Men Movieverse: 2 (inc. 1 crossover)
Fantastic Four Movieverse: 1 (crossover)
Daredevil: 2 (both crossovers)
Battlestar Galactica: 2
Merlin: 1
Stargate Atlantis: 1

Crossovers
A Thousand Pages (Daredevil/X-Men Movieverses; Scott Summers and Matt Murdock)
Whisper Your Name Into the Sky (Daredevil/Fantastic 4 Movieverses; Matt Murdock and Ben Grimm)

X-Men Movieverse

The Story of a Wave Unfurled (Scott and Rogue)

Merlin

Trousers First (Merlin/Arthur)

Battlestar Galactica

Endsong, End of Line (Sights of the Hybrid Sun Remix) (Sam Anders/Kara Thrace)
Like Water on a Stain (Something Borrowed, Something Blue Remix) (Bill Adama/Laura Roslin; Saul and Ellen Tigh)

Stargate Atlantis

Nothing's Fair in Fifth Grade (even if you skipped it) (Jennifer Keller)

I had an incredibly unproductive year for writing, both original fic and fanfic, but here's hoping that will all change in 2010! Even so, I think I produced some of my best-written fanfics this year (certainly not most popular, but most polished, maybe? ones that most successfully did what I wanted them to do?), so, I won't complain.

SGA fic: "Nothing's Fair in Fifth Grade (even if you skipped it)" [Jennifer Keller gen]

tartanshell — Thu, 31 Dec 2009 04:40:12 GMT

Title: Nothing's Fair in Fifth Grade (even if you skipped it)
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Character: Jennifer Keller
Rating: G
Word count: 1775
Summary: The summer before seventh grade, Jennifer has a lot to learn.
Notes: This is sort of sketching backstory for Another Project. Title is taken from the novel Nothing's Fair in Fifth Grade by Barthe DeClements.

Jennifer was nine going on ten, the summer after sixth grade. It was mid-June, and school had been out for a few weeks, and it was one of those perfect summer days where the trees lining the streets of Chippewa Falls looked extra green because everyone was so used to seeing them without their leaves, or with skimpy spring foliage. Maybe they had extra chlorophyll in the summer. And the sky was real blue, with clouds that looked like the white cotton candy you could get at Chucky Cheese's or the zoo.

Her t-shirt was the color of the sky, with glittery neon stars on the front. It was her favorite shirt, and she had little hot pink star earrings with green centers that matched, and a pair of blue jellies that matched, too. It was her favorite outfit this summer, especially with her jean shorts with the pink cursive that said Guess on the back pocket. It all matched, and she liked things to match, or go together in some way that made sense. It was fun to put her books in alphabetical order by author like the library, and her Trapper Keeper was blue with flowers on it, so, the pencils and folders she kept in it were the same colors as the flowers.

This summer, since she'd finished elementary school and was going to be in junior high in the fall, she got to walk or ride her bike to the shopping center near her house, if she wanted to. There was a Burger King and a drugstore and a bank and a Radio Shack, a vacuum cleaner repair shop and a store that sold clothes for grandmothers. She liked walking there better than riding her bike, partly because you couldn't read on a bike, but mostly because she wasn't very good at riding her bike yet. All of the other kids in her neighborhood zoomed up and down the street and around the circle on their bikes and scooters and skateboards. A bunch of them had ten-speeds, or mountain bikes, and the boys did wheelies and rode without using their hands. Her bike was hot pink with swirly purple designs on it, and her dad had only taken off the training wheels last year.

But she was good at walking and reading. She was good at reading pretty much anywhere. In the bathtub, in the waiting room at the dentist, even at dinner, flipping pages one-handed while she ate, and in bed with a flashlight. Her mom didn't like her to read at the table, but she was so used to doing it in the cafeteria at school that she kinda missed it at home.

She was reading a Boxcar Children book now, which she put down when she got to Burger King. The rush of air conditioning when she pushed the heavy door open gave her goosebumps, but it felt good. Since it was the middle of the afternoon, there weren't a lot of people in the dining room, and there wasn't a line. The skinny boy with pimples at the register read his magazine while she decided, then got her Coke and small fries while she counted change from her coin purse.

She felt really grown-up taking her tray to a plastic table by the window, like the girls in Sweet Valley High, going to the Dairi Burger. Or the girls in the Baby-Sitters Club. I'm going to be in junior high, she thought, smiling as she bit into a fry. It was going to be so different, just like all the high school books. She'd have a locker and could put posters in it. There was one at the drugstore she liked, a kitten on a piano with a rose. And she'd change classes, have study hall, go to pep rallies, finally make some friends...

She licked the salt off her lips and took a drink of her pop, then opened her book again. The Boxcar Children were on a mystery island this time, making do with the food and supplies they could find around their campsite in the woods. Henry was building a shelter in the trees while Violet and Jessie built a fire, and in no time, the air-conditioned Burger King faded away.

A few chapters later, she was jolted out of the book when the bell over the door rang and a bunch of loud teenagers came in. She recognized some of the older boys and girls from her neighborhood, as well as Carmen, who used to babysit for her. Carmen's long hair was permed, and she had part of it in a ponytail with three different-colored scrunchies in it. She was wearing leggings and a big t-shirt tied into a knot on her hip, with bright yellow ballet shoes and a bunch of bracelets. And lipstick. She looked totally sophisticated, and Jennifer hid her book on her lap when Carmen spotted her and came over.

"Jenny! Are you here by yourself?"

She nodded. "But my mom and dad gave me permission. I thought it'd be cool to come here and hang out." She pushed her hair behind her shoulders, and Carmen smiled.

"Do you want to sit with me and my friends? You don't have to hang out by yourself."

Jennifer darted a glance at Carmen's friends' table, where the boys were all laughing, sprawled out in their chairs or sitting backwards. One of them had his hair shaved in a short mohawk, and another one was wearing baggy pants. "I don't know... Um. I think I'm going to go home pretty soon."

"You sure?" Carmen asked, leaning her hip on the table. "I could introduce you. Aren't you going to be in seventh grade this year? Most of us are going to be in ninth, so, we'll all be at the same school."

"I--" She shook her head mutely, trying to smile. Looking up at Carmen, this close, she could see that she was wearing purple eyeshadow, too. And mascara. "I'd better get home," she repeated. "But thanks."

"Sure," Carmen said. "Maybe some other time." She gave Jennifer a little wave and headed for the counter where, Jennifer saw out of the corner of her eye, she got her money out of a real purse, not a little kiddie coin purse with Minnie Mouse on it.

"Who was that?" Jennifer heard one of the boys ask a few minutes later. She couldn't hear all of Carmen's answer, but she did hear her say something about "babysat for her" and "girl genius," and then they all laughed. It made her feel like crying, but she forced herself to take another sip of her pop and sit still, until she thought she could throw her trash away without looking like a crybaby. She thought about throwing her book away with the trash, but instead, when she walked out, she kept it pressed up against her hip, where they couldn't see.

She read all the way home, which made her feel a little better, and then finished the book before dinner, reading out in the backyard under the big oak tree. When she went inside, her mom was at the kitchen counter, chopping vegetables for salad, and her dad was shaping hamburger into patties. Jennifer washed her hands and got out three plates.

"Could I build a treehouse?" she asked, opening the silverware drawer for forks. "Out in the backyard?"

Her mom turned, holding half a tomato. "A treehouse?"

Jennifer nodded. "Up in the oak tree. It wouldn't have to be fancy. Just maybe a floor, and some boards nailed to the trunk for stairs, and--"

But her mom was already shaking her head, getting that tight look on her face so that Jennifer knew what was coming next. "I don't want you playing with a saw, or climbing up and down a tree on some rickety boards," she said. "You've got a perfectly nice swingset, if you want to play outside, or you can go to the park, or ride your bike."

That wasn't the point, but her mom was funny about things that could be dangerous or wild, and Jennifer knew better than to argue even before her dad spoke. "Besides," he said, "aren't you a little old for this, sweetheart? I'd hate for you to nail boards to the tree, building some fort you're never going to play in after this summer." He smiled. "With seventh grade starting, you'll be so busy with science fairs and activities and clubs that you won't want to sit by yourself up in a tree."

"Okay," she said, and set the table quietly, trying to forget how much she'd wanted to make something by herself, her own private place up in the leaves. She told her parents at dinner about going to Burger King and seeing Carmen, but she didn't tell them about Carmen's friends, especially not the boy with the mohawk. Her mom wouldn't like that much, either.

Upstairs, after dinner, she shut her bedroom door behind her and put the Boxcar Children book back in its place on her shelf. Then she went to her closet, where, back on the floor, was a box of toys she didn't play with much anymore, like her Barbies and her Breyer horses. In the bottom of the box was a little pink and blue plastic Caboodle full of old makeup she used to play dress-up with.

She put some on in front of the mirror, trying to make it look like Carmen's. First some pink blush, then some blue eyeshadow, since she didn't have purple. The only lipsticks in the box were bright red and an ugly pinkish peach color, so she used her own cherry-flavored chapstick instead. Maybe if she practiced enough, by September, she could do makeup right, and put it on in the bathroom at school, and look older, like twelve or thirteen.

She started a list, too, on a fresh piece of paper in her Trapper Keeper. Ballet slippers, she wrote, in cursive, with a purple pen. Leggings. Scrunchies. A real purse. Training bra? Lip gloss.

This summer, she could be like Harriet the Spy, watching Carmen and her friends. And maybe, by September, she'd figure out how to be a teenager enough to fake it.

She could ask her parents for some posters to put up in her room, too, in case anybody ever came over. And she could start watching MTV, if her parents let her. Maybe she could have a sleepover.

Maybe tomorrow she'd put her little-kid books away, too. Maybe.

Dear Yuletide writer

tartanshell — Sat, 26 Dec 2009 03:49:47 GMT

Thank you very much for my story! I was able to read it last night, but the archive wasn't running fast enough for me to comment, and weather/RL stuff has kept me from the internet for most of today.

But I loved the story, and THANK YOU for writing it! I'll comment properly ASAP.

Happy Holidays,
tartanshell

Daredevil/Fantastic Four fic: "Whisper Your Name Into the Sky" (Matt Murdock and Ben Grimm, PG-13)

tartanshell — Mon, 07 Dec 2009 06:17:07 GMT

Title: Whisper Your Name Into the Sky
Fandoms: Daredevil and Fantastic Four, vaguely movieverse with a touch of comics canon (namely, that the F4 are clients of Nelson & Murdock) thrown in.
Characters: Matt Murdock and Ben Grimm (Background Ben/Alicia.)
Rating: PG-13 for language
Word count: 3,600
Summary: The Thing and Daredevil walk into a bar...
Author's notes: Title and cut-tag text are from "As I Lay Me Down" by Sophie B. Hawkins. This fic takes place in roughly the same continuity as my Daredevil fic "Never Rained Like It Has Tonight."

Matt's got a strange relationship with the Fantastic Four. In costume, they pretty much stay out of each other's way. They handle the high-profile stuff, explosions and accidents and bomb threats, and get all the glory, keys to the city, ceremonies with the mayor, that sort of thing. He stays in the Kitchen, deals with muggings and drug dealers and the Kingpin, and what little press he gets ranges between slander and just plain untrue. But he doesn't care. If he had his way, there wouldn't be any press at all.

Out of costume--or as out of costume as they ever get--they're a pretty good bunch. Good clients, definitely. He doesn't know Sue well, but she seems nice. The kind of lady you'd want for your sister. Reed is...well, Reed. Johnny's just a punk kid. But Ben...Ben reminds him of his dad. All rough edges and warm, beery breath; sandpaper voice, broad shoulders, heavy fists. He's a literal mountain of a man, the way Battlin' Jack was when Matt was a kid. Still is, in his memories.

Matt makes his way through the crowded bar, drawn towards the weird, dry smell that is uniquely Ben Grimm. Like a quarry on a scorching day, not just any rocks, but fresh ones, raw bones of the earth. Dusty warm skin in the sunshine, sweat, baked blue jeans and yellow plastic construction hats. That's Ben.

Ben's heartbeat is a bass drum, church bell, velvet mallet boom, dark and bone-deep. Illuminating the world, and Matt smiles a little at the sound of it, stowing his folded cane in the pocket of his coat. He doesn't need it, even as little as he ever does. Not here, this close.

***

It started back when Matt thought Reed was the only one of them who knew, or suspected, when the Fantastic Four were just clients and he was just their lawyer. Right around when Reed's habitual, pointed, "And, erm, if there's anything you ever need from us, Matthew," speech at the end of every meeting was getting awkward. Ben hung back one afternoon while the rest of them were piling into the Fantasticar, not moving from the corner of Matt's office where he'd been looming.

"You got a minute, Murdock?"

"Sure." He figured it was something about a will, something else private, and waited until the others left. Gestured. "Have a seat?"

"Can't. Those fancy chairs of yours got matchstick legs."

Right. "Sorry."

"You didn't build 'em."

He debated standing, offering coffee; then thought about shattered mugs and didn't. "What can I do for you, Ben?"

Massive shoulders hunched in a shrug, and rock rasped as he spread his hands. "It's kinda personal. I just started to date a blind chick."

Matt had to scramble, for a second, shifting gears. Not a will. Okay. He leaned forward slightly, relaxing a little. "Oh. Well, congratulations."

Ben barked a laugh. "Yeah, it's perfect, right? A girl who can't see me."

"That's not--I meant about dating," he replied, trying not to wince. "It's tough, finding somebody."

"I bet it's hard for you. Only, what, five dates a week?"

"It's not like that. You'd be surprised."

Ben gave that laugh again, rough and bitter. "Yeah. I bet."

He thought about snapping something, then shook his head and sighed. Truth was, it wasn't the same, and he knew it. Couldn't even imagine it. Being...rock. Smelling like rock. Looking like that, what he could only imagine, filling in the blanks of that hulking silhouette. "So," he said, lifting a hand, "I'm guessing you're not here for lessons in reading Braille?"

"I need advice. You seemed like a good guy to ask."

"I need a beer," Matt replied, surprising himself. Or maybe not so surprising, with dust-dry heat in his nose, on the back of his tongue. With his voice slipping into a rhythm he didn't know he remembered. "You wanna grab a cold one?"

He'd meant Dougal's, down on the corner, but they ended up at some bar & grill Ben knew, where he was pretty sure they wouldn't have any trouble. It threw Matt, some. He wasn't used to anticipating trouble like that, not unless he was hustling pool or something. Then again, he wasn't sure if "trouble" meant "getting stared at," and didn't want to ask.

They spent the first drink making small talk. Painful small talk, since Matt had his guard up, and Ben...was Ben. When the conversation stalled after touching on Reed, Sue, Johnny, the weather, and the Mets, Matt sighed and pushed his dark glasses up the bridge of his nose. "You wanted advice?"

"I'm gonna get us another beer."

God, he was easy to track. Like he was the only person in the place. Boom. When he came back, the floor shook, and the wooden booth groaned as he sat with a small earthquake of weight that was probably gingerly, for him. His forearm against the table was sandpaper; rough fingertips and palm rasped even against the glass. So much noise. Weird, wrong noise. And yet. It was all such heavy, slow and steady noise, and under it all, that deep, rhythmic boom. It should have given Matt a migraine, but instead, he felt his neck unknotting a little as he took the glass, and smiled. "So. What do you want to know?"

To be honest, from the little he knew Ben Grimm, he expected crass. "She's blind; how do I fuck her?" Maybe not that crass, in all fairness, but something close. What he didn't expect was Ben hunching up; sighing from the center of the earth.

"You think I'm taking advantage of her?"

Matt picked up his glass, just to check. Still heavy, almost full. Not remotely drunk, so he had every reason to be so confused. "What? Why?"

Ben took a deep swig. Sighed again. "C'mon, Murdock. You might be blind, but you got a pretty good idea how I look, don't ya?"

He shook his head. "Not really. I mean, I've heard rumors, stuff on the TV, but..."

"No. I said," Ben said, leaning forward and lowering his voice to a deeper, very meaningful rumble, "I don't know how, but you've got a pretty good idea, right? But if I dared to guess..."

Jesus. Apparently it wasn't just Reed, and it wasn't just speculation. Matt resisted the temptation to bury his head in his hands or walk out, and instead took a slow drink, letting the bitter coldness effervesce against the roof of his mouth before he swallowed. It was good beer, really good, and the glassware was clean. Nice bar Ben had picked, and he wasn't sure why that reassured him, some, but it did. He let out a breath and looked across the table, unsure whether to be pissed or relieved. "Subtle as a ton of bricks, huh."

Ben laughed. "If the shoe fits..."

"I've got an idea," Matt admitted, slowly, trying to figure out how to phrase it. "A general idea. Outline. The details are all non-visual: scent, sound. That sort of thing. It's really not enough for a clear picture."

"Would she get that?" Ben asked, and Matt didn't know him well enough to tell if that was hope in his tone or not. "I've heard your other senses--"

"No. At least, not like this." And it was truly weird to have to think about this. Uncomfortable, having to think about what being blind would be like, but of course Ben couldn't know that. "Your voice is a little different than normal human. And it's easy to tell that you're big. Heavy. And your hands, when you touch something. She probably wouldn't hear rough, not on most surfaces, but she would hear hard. Like on glass." He tilted his head slightly, curious. "Haven't you told her what you look like?"

"She figured that out on her own. Came right up and touched me." His voice dropped, softer. "But there's knowing, and there's knowing, ya know? I haven't come out and told her. She's never asked."

"So, what's the problem?"

Ben took a long swig from his metal ice bucket, then shrugged, sand on wood. "I don't want her to be in this if she doesn't know what she's gettin' into. I wanna be sure she knows what I am. Really knows."

"And you think she'd have to see you to really know who you are?" Matt asked.

"Aw, don't give me that crap. 'It's what's on the inside; you've got a big heart; beauty's only skin deep,' whatever. It's all a bunch of fairydust and lollipops bullshit, and we both know it."

"I don't."

"Bullshit," Ben said again, draining his beer and punctuating it with a belch. "Nice shades, by the way."

"What, you think I wear these because--" Except he did. Because he was self-conscious about that. Slowly, deliberately, he pulled them off. Folded them into a precise, flat bundle, set them on the tabletop, and tried his best to meet Ben's gaze. "Fine. This better?"

"I wasn't asking--" Ben started to growl, but then Matt heard the smile and surprise in his voice. "Hey. You got a good face."

"Thanks."

"So," Ben said, a minute later, "will you take a look at me? See if it feels as bad as we both know it is?"

"Ben--"

"I'm asking you a favor, Murdock."

Matt sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. There was not enough beer in the bar to make this seem like a good idea. Very possibly, not enough beer in the world. "Just to get this straight, you're asking me to feel you--because I'm blind--to see if you feel more attractive than you look. Because you think I know how you look. And you think your blind girlfriend will care."

"You got a problem with that?" Ben asked. "It's not like it's hard."

Matt spread his hands. "Just wanted to make sure we're on the same page." His lips quirked. "The same weird, vaguely inappropriate, apparently Braille page, at that."

"Would you quit bustin' my nuts? This is important," Ben said, softer, lower. Hurt. "Wouldn't've asked if it wasn't."

The side of Matt's glass was cool beneath his palm, wet with condensation, like rain against a window. His smile faded as he remembered another night, a long time ago, his dark glasses folded on a dorm room nightstand and his hand on Foggy's cheek. And, yeah, Ben might have been overreacting, but it was important. Matt got that.

"Yeah, Ben. I'll do it," he said at last, and finished his beer. "But not here. My place?"

"You got roommates?"

Matt's eyebrows rose. "Are you kidding? No."

"Then yeah, your place. I don't want to explain this to Reed."

They decided to walk, since it was a nice night. And it was different, weird and wonderful, with Ben stomping along beside him, that bass drum outlining the world. Overwhelming the world. Like he could see forever, without the constant scatter-scrape noise on top.

"So. Why me?" Matt asked after a few blocks. He sensed Ben turning to him and shrugged, moving his cane out of habit rather than necessity. "Why not Reed?"

Ben snorted. "Reed strike you as a guy who needs another reason to get himself all tied up? He feels responsible anyway," he added, one hand crunching into the other. "He don't need to know how fucked-up I am about it."

"He's one of the biggest brains on the planet," Matt replied. "You think he doesn't already?"

"You're blind; he's not." And Matt was just going to point out that it didn't take an actual rocket scientist to figure out how to approximately simulate the experience when Ben heaved a sigh. "I don't want him lookin' at me when he says it, all right? When he does give me that flowery la-di-da crap about how I've got a great personality and I'm still the same ol' Ben."

His hearbeat said he was telling the truth, but Matt wondered if it was simpler than that. If Ben just didn't want Reed looking at him. Seeing, sure, but not truly looking. Maybe that was part of the appeal. "Yeah," he agreed at last, when Ben seemed to be expecting him to say something. "You're right. He's not blind. It makes sense."

When Matt unlocked his door the normal way for him, he couldn't suppress a satisfied smile at Ben's huff of surprise. Maybe all this would help convince Reed that Daredevil was more than borderline competent. His smile widened when they stepped inside and he flipped the lights.

"Whoa, nice place," Ben said, following him down the stairs. His voice echoed; pebbles falling on stone. "Quiet."

In here, the boom was in Matt's bones, wiping out everything. The refrigerator hum. The lightbulb buzz. The distant neighbors. All of it. Just. Gone. Muted in dark gong velvet, this amazing, heavy relief. Deafening, yeah, but it was the quietest his head had been in years.

"Soundproofed," he said at last, trying not to laugh, and gestured toward the sofa. "Have a seat. It's sturdy. And I need a new one anyway," he added, earning a chuckle from Ben.

"Couches are fine. It's just chairs. And glass. And elevators," Ben replied as he sat. "Shoes, but I got a new pair on special order."

Matt nodded, hanging up his jacket. He pulled off his glasses again and set them on the table, next to his cane, then headed for the kitchenette. "Want something to drink? Or food? I've got...well. Not much. Sandwich stuff. Leftover Chinese. And a frozen pizza, I think."

"Nah. I'm good. But don't let me stop you." He sounded awkward all of a sudden, hoarser, uptight and unsure, and Matt shook his head about the food as he joined him on the couch. Ben was sitting with his hands between his knees, shoulders slumped, and Matt settled back against the cushions in the corner and intentionally looked over his head instead of directly at him.

"So," he said, casually, "this girl. What's her name?"

Ben turned, surprised, before relaxing a little. "Alicia. Alicia Masters."

"She pretty?"

"Oh, yeah," he said warmly. "Gorgeous. She's black, with real pretty curly hair and these big brown eyes, an' this smile that just lights up the room. Great laugh, too. She's always laughin'. And she's smart. Laid-back..."

Matt smiled. "She sounds perfect."

"Yeah. She's an artist," Ben added, after a minute. "Professional, I mean. Does these sculptures, just by touch. They're real good."

Matt had to rub a hand across his mouth to keep from laughing. "She's an artist who works by touch," he managed, "and you don't trust her to know what you look like?"

Ben let out a slow breath. "A lot of things probably feel fine that're ugly as sin," he replied at last. "Like this couch, for example. Man."

"I've never seen it. Got it my first year of law school." He smiled again, rubbing his palm across the top of the armrest, feeling the tiny fibers smooth like a cat's coat beneath his touch. It was a great couch. Soft as an old sweater. Deep cushions. Great smell, which had partly been why he was drawn to it at the secondhand shop. Faint pipe tobacco, fireplace, whiskey. Cheap cologne. Pencil shavings. Dried ketchup. Dust. It smelled like home. "Foggy gives me hell about it, though. Green and brown plaid, right?"

"Yeah, but it's, like, olive green and that institutional pea green, with dark brown and kind of a puke-colored tan. And these little purple and red lines running through it. Ugliest couch I've ever seen." Ben laughed, and that bitter note was back. "But if you can't see it, it's great, right?"

Matt shook his head. "I can't see it, so I don't care," he said, leaning forward and gesturing for emphasis. "Are you deliberately not getting this?"

"Hey. You're the one who's not gettin' it," Ben rasped, grinding his knuckles against his other palm. One of them popped like a gunshot. "Other people can see...the couch, you know? Other people can come in here and wonder what you were thinkin' when you bought it. Feel sorry for you because you can't see it. Probably think you deserve better. And maybe you do."

"Better than an ugly couch." He felt the weight of Ben's dirty look and sighed. "Goddammit, Ben. What do you want me to say? That I think it's shitty of you to date a blind woman when you look the way you do? Because I don't," he said. "I'd think it was shitty if you'd gone out looking for a blind woman because you felt like sighted ones were out of your league and were settling, or something, but that's not what this is. I think you're a good guy, from what I've seen. I think being concerned about this stuff says a lot. But honestly, I think you're making too much out of it."

Ben was quiet, just breathing. Turned toward Matt, but whether he was studying him or incredulous or with his face clouding-over pissed, Matt couldn't say. Ben didn't smell like other people. Apparently didn't sweat like other people. Hard to read, but not in a bad way. Just strange, realizing he'd forgotten what normal felt like. "Guess I would take another beer," Ben said at last. "If you've got it. Or coffee's fine."

"Sure." Matt got as far as taking two out of the fridge before he paused with the necks hooked in his fingers. "It's in bottles. If that's not okay, I've got a metal thermos in the cupboard."

"That'd probably be a good idea," Ben said, sounding surprised. "Thanks," he added, a minute later, when Matt held it out. It was old, his dad's, dented, scarred metal with a screw-on cap. There used to be a red plastic lid that doubled as a little cup, but it had gotten lost somewhere over the years. "Thanks for askin', too. Most people wouldn't."

Matt snorted softly before taking a drink. "Most people aren't used to making adjustments," he pointed out. "You and Alicia have that in common."

"We've got a lot in common." Ben sighed, leaning forward to set the thermos on the coffee table. He remained hunched over, elbows resting on his thighs. "But about that. You think it's wrong of me to like it that she can't see me?"

Matt raked his fingers through his hair, then took another drink. Slowly. Giving himself a little time. "I think," he said, finally, "that you're shortchanging her if you don't think she knows what you look like, Ben. She may not know what color your eyes are unless you tell her, may not have the whole weird picture that I do, but she's not stupid. She probably thinks you're a hero, like everyone else in the city does, and a good guy, and she probably just likes you."

"You didn't answer my question."

"Do I think it's wrong?" He shook his head. "Christ, no. Nobody likes being stared at because they're different, especially if it's something they're self-conscious about. This is new to you, right? Why would it be wrong for you to like being with Alicia? It makes sense for you to feel comfortable around her. And me, for that matter," he added.

"I don't--" Ben began, but then he chuckled and took a big swig from the thermos. "It's not why I asked you. But, yeah, it's kinda nice."

Matt felt his lips curve in a reluctant half-smile. "As long as we're confessing, I have to admit, it's nice being around you, too."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Your heartbeat," Matt explained, gesturing vaguely with the bottle. "It's so loud it drowns out all the ambient noise, all the stuff I normally have to filter out. It's a relief. In a weird way, it makes the world seem quiet."

"Huh." Ben settled back onto the couch, making the frame groan softly. "Well. If you ever, you know, need that, you can give me a call."

"Yeah? Thanks." Matt shifted, too, getting more comfortable. Between the couch and the beers and the warmth radiating from Ben's skin, it was the most relaxed he'd been in a long time. "You too, you know," he said. "If you ever--"

"Yeah," Ben said, nodding. "Thanks."

***

He puts a hand on Ben's bare shoulder, hot dry rock grit solid beneath his palm. Like an anchor, island, with that boom a beacon. Lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding in, and feels something loosen in his chest. "Hey."

"Matty!" Ben reaches up to pat his hand, surprisingly gentle from that huge paw, then gestures across the booth. "'Bout time you showed up. I ordered your drink half an hour ago."

"Thanks. I could use one." His fingertips skate over the glossy tabletop until he finds the glass, in its tiny puddle of condensation. It's still pretty cold when he takes a swallow, and he exhales, satisfied.

"Long day?"

"Yeah. Just the usual, though." Just another bad night and not enough sleep, Foggy clucking and bitching about his bruises and another day the system didn't work. Another headache. The usual.

"Yeah? Me too."

Matt thinks about his dad a lot, evenings like this, when they do this. Heading to the local watering hole after work, back when he worked construction, washing down the taste of hot stone dust with a cold one. Sitting at some barstool, getting some rest and relief away from it all, just shooting the shit with some of the guys.

It's hard not to think about his dad, nights like this, when they do this. Battlin' Jack's heartbeat used to light up the world. Used to be the only sound in the world; felt like it was beating in his chest alongside his own. Just like Ben's.

And one more facepalmy note.

tartanshell — Mon, 07 Dec 2009 02:44:22 GMT

Dear Spam Overlords,

I am aware that it's been awhile since I've written a fic using subject lines from my spam folder. And yes, I realize that I occasionally look to the spam folder for advice, as if it were some sort of mythical Freudian psychic sage with a fetish for replica watches and hot singles, hopped up on viagra and c1alis.

But really. When I'm having trouble with my Ben Grimm fic wanting to be slashy, you give me this?

"If you had a larger thing in pants, your life would have been better."

a) He's big enough.
b) I'm not sure my life would have been, no, and
c) I'm choosing to interpret this as advice for Ben to keep his pants on, kthx.

Tripping on Vi@gra love,
tartanshell

Notes

tartanshell — Sun, 06 Dec 2009 19:23:13 GMT

Dear Brain,

Spelling matters. "There was not enough beer in the world for this" and "There was not enough bear in the world for this," mean two very, very different things. Especially when you're writing about Ben Grimm and Matt Murdock in a somewhat compromising situation.

"Not enough bear in the world," while perhaps appropriate for Ben (except for the whole hair thing), is not what you meant. At all.

No love,
tartanshell

---

Dear Matt Murdock,

This is not a slash fic. This is not a slash fic. This is not a slash fic.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

Frustrated love,
tartanshell

---

Dear Ben,

See above.

- tartanshell

LJ Karaoke Party 2009! Gleek out and unleash your inner rockstar!

tartanshell — Sun, 06 Dec 2009 01:27:12 GMT

I was only half-serious when I suggested this last night, but then a friend actually took me up on the challenge, and it was really awesome. So! I'm making this Officially A Meme, because if the Holiday Wishlist thing could start here and explode like an explodey thing, who knows what will happen? :D

OKAY SO. Here's the facts:

1. A lot of us like singing.
2. Singing makes a lot of people happy. Also, being sung to (or for) usually makes people happy.
3. Music connects people.

Therefore, if more people sang and were sung to, wouldn't we all be happier and more connected? :D (Logic is totally my strong point.)

They call singers a GLEE club for a reason, right? Share the glee if you like the show. If you hate the show and just like singing. I don't care how you do it. Turn up the stereo and sing into your phone, making a voice post. Or, if you're like me and already had music/video editing shareware on your computer, open up a file in Audacity and record a new vocal track on top of it.

We do it in the shower and in the car. Some of us do it onstage, or in karaoke bars, or in church. And yet...most of us don't share this part of ourselves on LJ, our musical glee.

So do it, if you love singing! Put your voice out there! Sing along to the songs you love, and let's see if we can't get Livejournal being its very own Sing-Along Blog! And if you're self-conscious or nervous, don't be. Unless you're a professional singer, why would you expect to sound like one? We're all human, and the point of this isn't to wow our audiences. It's to share, to connect, and--most importantly--to have fun.

(...Come on. You know you want to. Yeah, you--the person sitting there thinking, "I want to but no way would I ever get up the nerve." It's only singing. ♥ )

XMM Fic: "The Story of a Wave Unfurled" (Scott and Rogue, PG)

tartanshell — Fri, 04 Dec 2009 06:57:44 GMT

My xmmficathon story, which just spent a week kicking my butt!

Title: The Story of a Wave Unfurled
Fandom: X-Men Movieverse
Summary: Sometimes, the biggest decisions don't seem to matter. Rogue and Scott have a talk at a pool party.
Recipient: handyhunter
Request Used: Rogue talks to (or is talked at by) Storm and later has a conversation with Logan about taking the cure; what if she had talked to Scott, as well, about having uncontrollable powers?
Rating/Spoilers: PG for language. Spoilers through X3.
Word count: 1400
Notes: Title and (fake) cut-tag text are from "After All" by Dar Williams.

( There was no joy; it's just a line I crossed. )

Yuletide squee!

tartanshell — Sun, 15 Nov 2009 06:28:57 GMT

Ohh, I love love love love love my assignment! *draws sparkly hearts around it*

I can't wait to write this! *\o/*

Dear Yuletide Santa

tartanshell — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 05:41:16 GMT

Dear Yuletide Writer,

Thank you so much for writing a story for me! I hope you'll be inspired by one of my requests, and I'm sure I'll love reading whatever you write.

In general, I adore character-driven stories. I like het, slash, and gen, friendship stories and stories where two characters who might not know each other well nevertheless manage to connect. I prefer bittersweet or hopeful stories over fluffy happy ones or straight-up angst and despair. I like hurt/comfort, especially if the hurt is emotional. I like backstory and futurefic, and I really like daily-life stuff, like two characters meeting for coffee or just hanging out. I'm not a big fan of deathfic, and I don't care for really dark stuff like torture or noncon. I like any rating from the most gen G-rated fic to adult, but I like adult fics better when the sex is the emotional climax (no pun intended) of the story and not just gratuitous smut for the sake of smut. But really, I love all of these characters, and I would be delighted with any story featuring them!

Guy Gavriel Kay - The Fionavar Tapestry Universe, Kimberly Ford/Loren Silvercloak/Matt Soren

I would love Matt/Loren established relationship, with Kim involved in some way. Matt/Loren/Kim threesome would be awesome--maybe comfort sex, or at a rite or festival? Or I would love it if Kim simply finds out about their relationship and is the only one of the Five (or the first of the Five) to know. I would also be thrilled with gen involving the three of them OR Matt/Loren slash with no Kim involvement. Matt/Kim would also be great, but if you go this route, please make it of convenience or for comfort, not romance.

I love these characters, and it would be really hard to write something here that I won't like. I didn't mention this in my request, but if you would prefer to write Loren/Matt backstory (slash or gen), that would be fine with me! Any time period would be fine, even futurefic with Kim coming back to Fionavar somehow. I love the dynamic between Matt and Kim, and the scene where he returns the Baelrath to her after hiding it in his eye makes me tear up. Ditto the baby crystal dragon scene! Anything at all with any combination of these characters would thrill me.

Fantastic Four (movie), Ben Grimm/Johnny Storm

Johnny seems awfully interested in Ben's sex life in the Rise of the Silver Surfer movie! It would be fun to see this explored in fic, either as gen with Johnny (inadvertently or not) helping Ben come to terms with his new body--realizing that he's okay as is--or with eventual slash. I also really love Ben/Alicia, so if you like Alicia too, having her in the fic would be great! Johnny/Ben/Alicia would be spiffy if you want to go there. I really have a thing for characters getting over angst by being able to laugh about it, so, if Johnny could help Ben lighten up, that would be awesome.

I love Ben Grimm, so, any fic with him in it would make me very happy. Slash is absolutely optional here--if you just want to have Johnny and Ben hanging out, that would be fine! Banter would be great, as would Johnny annoying Ben somehow. I love Reed, and I love the rest of the Marvel movieverse, so if you want to go wild and bring in other characters, feel free!

Isobelle Carmody - Obernewtyn Chronicles, Dameon/Elspeth Gordie

Elspeth/Dameon is my Obernewtyn OTP, so I would love for them to get together, or at least for Elspeth to find out how Dameon feels about her. Gen interaction between the two of them (more in line with the tone of the series) would also be fine with me! They just never get enough screen time together in the books, in my opinion. My preference would be for later in the series, post-Ashling. Any rating would be lovely. Please no PWP, Rushton-bashing, Dameon being the Destroyer, or Dameon's sight magically returning.

Seriously, any positive sort of interaction between Dameon and Elspeth would thrill me. Talking or adventuring as friends, falling in love, Elspeth turning to Dameon for comfort or confiding in him...ANYTHING. I would also be cool with Rushton/Elspeth/Dameon if you would prefer to go that route!

Daredevil (movie), Ben Urich/Matt Murdock

Post-movie, please! I would love to see Matt and Ben interacting after Ben finds out Matt's secret. Movie!Matt could really use someone to talk to, and it would be great if Ben could be that person for him. If you're a DD comics fan and want to bring some of that craziness over to the movieverse, that's absolutely cool with me. Gen is great, but if you get a Matt/Ben slash bunny, go for it! ...I also love Foggy, so if he's a favorite character of yours as well and you want to bring him in, that would be super.

If you don't want to write a post-movie fic, that's fine, too! During the movie would be great. Anything! As with the Fantastic Four request above, if you feel like doing a Marvel movieverse crossover, go for it! What I love about the dynamic between Matt and Ben is that Ben isn't close enough for Matt to really care that he knows he's Daredevil (unlike Foggy), and I'd love to see this explored in fic--especially if Matt and Ben form a friendship of their own. One note: I really dislike Karen, so please, please don't pair Matt up with her. I do like Elektra, so if you want to bring her back (or set this fic before she "dies"), that's cool with me. I adore Daredevil, so, anything at all, and I'll be delighted!

Again, dear Yulewriter, thank you so much! I can't wait to read whatever you choose to write. If you want to read my fics to get an idea of my tastes, they're all in my LJ memories. Thank you, thank you, and Happy Holidays!

♥ ,
tartanshell

Dark Angel PSA

tartanshell — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 05:50:35 GMT

musesfool is running a Dark Angel gift ficathon this holiday season. The signup post is here, and signups are open until Wednesday, November 11th.

(musesfool wants to keep this thing low-key, so, please don't pimp it out to DA comms. Thanks!)

Do you know this girl? (You might, if you're fannish)

tartanshell — Sat, 24 Oct 2009 00:43:04 GMT

(From rm) Do you know this girl?

There's a teenage girl in NYC who doesn't remember who she is, but the name "Amber" seems to have significance for her, and she can recall text from Robin Hobb's novel Fool's Fate. The girl knows she has written some fantasy fiction of her own, but doesn't know her name, or how old she is, or where she's from.

She sounds like she might be fannish, or at least a sci-fi/fantasy fan, so there's a chance that someone here on LJ might recognize her. The NYPD Missing Persons Squad is asking for any assistance identifying her. Their phone number is linked in the article.

Please pass this on.

My fandoms could have fandoms.

tartanshell — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 03:55:01 GMT

Making up my own meme while I wait for the laundry to finish!

Choose ten characters. What fandoms would they participate in, and in what ways?

1. Hank McCoy: It's canon that he's a Star Wars fan, and in that fandom, I think he would write lots of snarky meta about midichlorians. I could also see him being a fan of Star Trek. He'd watch TNG with the kids at the mansion and tell everyone he shipped Picard/Crusher, but secretly, he'd also like TOS and would be a wildly famous writer of Kirk/Spock slash under a pseudonym.

2. Matt Murdock: Doesn't like sci-fi/fantasy at all. And while he bitches about how unrealistic Law & Order is, he reads (het) fanfic on the net.

3. Jennifer Keller: Isn't really fannish, but used to watch Gilmore Girls religiously and was a passionate Luke/Lorelai shipper. She also used to watch ER in college.

4. Radek Zalenka: Makes vids for Star Trek: TOS. Set mostly to disco songs. Used to read fanzines.

5. Rodney McKay: Wrote a lot of Lord of the Rings fanfic in notebooks in late elementary school and junior high, wherein a pudgy pre-teen joined the Fellowship and saved the day because he was smarter than everyone, including Gandalf. These notebooks were later burned.

6. Saul Tigh: ...What the frak is fandom? Likes Iron Man. Ships Iron Man/Captain America.

7. Foggy Nelson: Admits to liking Star Wars, hating Law & Order, and thinking Veronica Mars is pretty hot. Does not admit to the fact that he reads novel-length Harry Potter gen fics. Actually, has not told Matt he read Harry Potter.

8. Mary Anne Spier: Remus/Sirius shipper who also likes Snape/Hermione. The sadder the fic, the better.

9. Kristy Thomas: Battlestar Galactica fan. Organizes a bunch of her friends and local kids to make fan movies, which she puts up on YouTube. They're surprisingly popular. Also does a video blog sharing her opinions about the show (and everything else). ~~Has an enormous crush on Starbuck.~~

10. Claudia Kishi: Multifannish, but she loves Veronica Mars and a lot of anime. She cosplays and draws fanart. Was introduced to fandom (as were the other babysitters) by her older sister Janine, who has been involved in online fandom since CompuServe. What did you think she was doing in her room, clicking away on her computer all those hours?

bonus!11. Mallory Pike: Writes the steamiest, smuttiest slash fic you can imagine. :D

X-Men/Daredevil Fic: "A Thousand Pages" (Matt Murdock and Scott Summers, PG)

tartanshell — Tue, 04 Aug 2009 09:01:41 GMT

Title: A Thousand Pages
Crossover between: X-Men/Daredevil (Scott Summers and Matt Murdock)
Rating: PG
Word count: 6,250
Summary: My brothers, they never went blind for what they did, but I may as well have/ In the name of the Father, the skeptic, and the Son, I had one more stupid question... You know how those Catholic boys can be. Matt Murdock gets a pen-pal.
Author's notes: Written for joanne_c in the marvel_crossing ficathon. This story plays fast and loose with comics canon, but since this is movieverse, I figured I could Make Stuff Up, Dammit. ;) Takes place pre-X1, pre-Daredevil. The summary is taken from "Forgiven" by Alanis Morissette.

( A Thousand Pages )

On the process of Remixing, and translating the Hybrid babble. (DVD Commentary)

tartanshell — Tue, 28 Jul 2009 06:34:01 GMT

DVD-style commentary on "Endsong, End of Line (Sights of the Hybrid Sun Remix)" and talking about the remixing process. Because fandom is shiny, and I like explaining myself.

I was delighted when I got likeadeuce as my Remix assignment. She was a pinch-hit assignment for me in 2007, and I loved all of her stories then. (And we friended one another as a result!) So, two years later and now that I know her a lot better, I was thrilled.

But! I'm sure we matched on X-Men Movieverse, and though I really love her stories there, I wasn't really sure that was where I wanted to write. I like using Remix as an excuse to write in a new fandom. I thought about doing one of her BtVS/AtS fics again, but I did that last time and didn't want to repeat myself. So, when I saw that she had a solitary Battlestar Galactica fic, I was intrigued, because BSG is the newest of my shiny new fan-loves.

...But. Her story was Sam/Kara. And while I like them a lot, they're not characters I ever would have thought about writing. And her story was about basketball. I know nothing about sports.

(It's a terrific story, and I love it! It's just truly a story that I can look at and say, "I never could or would have written that.")

Then I read it again (and again), and I thought about it. I thought about likeadeuce's other fics I could remix--mostly stories about Scott and Jean. Then it hit me: I could remix/rewrite "Survive and Advance" as an X-Men story about Cyclops and Phoenix without changing a damn thing.

There are so many parallels! Centurion visors with their red eye slits are like Scott's visor. Kara dies (in a fiery crash!) and is sort-of reborn. Sam and Scott both have head injuries that mess with their abilities. Sam loves sports/physics/math, and Scott has a gift for spatial awareness. Sam and Kara both appear human but are something more, something different, hated and feared by humanity. Jean loves Scott and Logan; Kara loves Sam and Lee. Sam has a line in "Survive and Advance" about the importance of following the rules, and of course Scott is the resident X-Men Boy Scout. The list goes on...

So, I figured I could cover the song, but use different instruments. Bring in other melodies, but not change the main one.

And that's what I wanted to do, with this remix: to see if I could keep her story almost entirely intact (without changing its tone or adding [much] dialog to suit my purposes) and still get the point across, somehow, that "this has all happened before, and it will all happen again" means that someday Sam Anders and Kara Thrace will be Scott Summers and Jean Grey and this, sort of, will all happen again. As an added bonus, I wanted it to stand on its own as a BSG story, without needing knowledge of X-Men, and that BSG story would simply be about Sam and Kara, using "Survive and Advance" as a happier-times contrast to what is to come, with Sam becoming the hybrid and both of them dying.

...The Springsteen came next, when I was looking for a funky remix subtitle. I'm not very familiar with his music, so, I was searching randomly for Springsteen songs that had to do with burning/light/fire. I found "Blinded by the Light" and thought that fit with Sam flying into the sun. Then I realized it was where likeadeuce's username came from, and the lyrics could apply fairly well to the X-Men. (There's a character named Scott!) So, of course I had to figure out how to put as much of "Blinded by the Light" as possible into Sam's hybrid-speak.

Endsong, End of Line. (Sights of the Hybrid Sun remix)"

All this has happened before, and all of this will happen again.

I started with this because it's so central to BSG, to the Cylons, and because I wanted to establish early on that this--Sam and Kara--will happen again, as Scott and Jean.

Sphere.

Circles are a repeated motive because I wanted to emphasize rebirth, meaning the Phoenix. But this particular sphere is also the basketball.

Arc through the carbon and oxygen molecules, calculate the distance, the angle, and thrust. Pivot. One. Nine. Eight. Nothing.

1980, the year the Dark Phoenix saga was published.

Increase atmospheric oxygen by 0.07%. Pressure stable. Burn cycle complete. Resume function.

Burn cycle, then resume. It's all about the Phoenix.

End of line.

Cast on and weave the net, under and through, survive and advance. Solitary elimination, extinction and quenched ashes. Survive again. Advance. Circle and hoop, infinite circumference and finite boundaries.

Basketball net, and basketball babble ("single elimination tournament" and also, a solitary elimination could mean one person's death). The "quenched ashes" were yet more Phoenix. I loved using the phrase "survive and advance" because it works so well with the circular theme of this fic. Survive, survive again...

Status: fugue. Round and a round again.

Referring both to a fugue state, like Sam was in, and also a musical fugue/round. "A round again," with the space, was not a typo.

This has all happened before. The quadrilateral garden of the mad sons, scarlet Taurus, metal center by the lake. The duke's jesters, cerulean demons,

Madison Square Garden, the Chicago Bulls, Staples Center where the Lakers play, Duke Blue Devils.

madmen drummers. Final four. Jump. Shot. Canon fodder, around and a round again. End of line.

Final four is a basketball term; also used here to refer to the Cylons, before the Fifth was revealed. Jump shot is a basketball term, but Sam was also literally shot. "Canon fodder" was again not a typo--in music, a canon is also a round. Sam is both fodder for the canon (this will happen again) and for the cannon, destined for death.

***
This section doesn't need a lot of explanation. I traded past tense for present, mostly for the sake of changing something, but I kept almost everything else the same. Sam seemed to be a stickler for the rules here, and I thought that established him pretty well as the Scott of this fic!

"Foul!"

Anders blows the whistle and, of the six bodies on the court, five stop in their tracks. The last, a tall, slender girl of twelve, scoops up the ball in one smooth motion and sprints back to half court. "Foul!" Anders repeats, unable to keep a note of exasperation out of his tone. "Number six, gold!"

Number six pivots, jumps, and throws. Anders' eyes follow the ball to the rim, where it circles twice before teetering sideways and crashing to the floor. It bounces back, a near miss, and the shooter grabs for it. Still, there's no question; Niobe Cutler is a natural athlete with a beautiful stroke.

"Niobe!" Anders says as he steps over the tape line he meticulously laid out on the floor. It took an hour just to measure the lines and angles, another two to apply the tape and set up the makeshift goals.

I did elaborate on how he meticulously laid the tape out, though. I thought Scott!Sam's perfectionist streak should be illustrated here.

“Did you not hear me call a foul on you?"

She puts the ball behind her back, giving him a shrug. "Yeah, but I didn't do it. Artemis ran into me."

"No," Anders says, and holds out a hand for the ball. "You were moving. It's like we talked about. You need to establish your position, or the foul's on you."

Niobe raises an eyebrow and plants her feet, the way she should've been doing when she was guarding Artemis. "Why?"

He rubs the back of his neck, trying to suppress a sigh. Shouldn't it be obvious? "Because it's the rule, and playing by the rules is important."

"It's a rule you made up."

"It's a Pyramid rule."

She slams the ball to the floor, the motion making her long blond bangs fall over her eyes, and glares at him through them accusingly. "You said this isn't Pyramid."

Anders palms the ball when it bounces, the slap of rubber against metal loud in the sudden silence, and cradles it to his chest. "My game. My rules."

"My ball!" Niobe cocks her head and puts her hands on her hips. "You wouldn’t have anything to play with if I didn’t give it to you. No ball – no game."

Frak. Less than a week into this gig and he's managed to get into a power struggle with a godsdamned 12-year old. And she has a point. There isn't a decent Pyramid ball on the Ariadne; for the moment, they're making do with this oversized child's toy. Anders has been forced to improvise what he can with that, and now, apparently, he has to write out a frakking rulebook.

"Listen – Niobe –" And then he makes a mistake; he lets his gaze flick to the side of the court, where the girl's mother is perched on an old shipping crate. Hermia's eyebrows go up -- oh, no, don't look at me -- while her daughter lets out a disdainful sniff and mutters something under her breath that sounds a lot like, "frakking stupid."

I gave Niobe a bit more attitude, too. I'm not sure why.

Anders takes a deep breath and turns back to Niobe. "Look. The defenders need to keep their feet in place, all right? Otherwise they have an advantage."

Artemis – the red team girl Niobe fouled, who ought to be thanking him-- instead tosses her jet-black braid over her shoulder and juts out her chin. "Isn't having an advantage the point?"

"Not according to the rules," Anders replies, measuring his words. "It’s a game. It isn't combat." Which isn't a distinction he would have thought to make, back in his playing days. But these are just kids. "The rules make it as even as possible, offense and defense. The advantage comes from being a good player. Mastering the skills. Then when you win, you know you were really better." The two girls eye each other, nodding. Sensing he has them, Anders risks a smile. "Or, that you're luckier."

"Hmm," Niobe replies, with a practiced eyeroll, "why didn't you just say that?"

"Because I was blowing the whistle.” Niobe holds out her hands, but Anders steps around her, pointedly offering the ball to Artemis. "And the foul was on your team."

"All right," Niobe says, managing to sound as if she's humoring him. But she goes back into formation with her teammates, and, when Anders blows the whistle again, play resumes without a hitch.

Anders rakes his fingers through his hair as he joins the girl's mother. "Why didn't I just say that?"

"Believe it or not, I think you handled her just right." Hermia Cutler has to be several years older than Anders but doesn't look it, with sparkling green eyes and a soft smile, skin too pale from years spent under artificial light. She gives him an appraising, approving look. "I was about to say you must have girls of your own, but there's no way you're old enough."

"Actually," he says, before he has fully teased out the thought, "she reminds me of my wife."

Hermia's hand claps over her mouth. "I'm so sorry. I didn't think."

It takes him a moment to process her meaning – what could she know about him and Kara, and how? When she lowers her hand and starts playing with her own wedding band, however, he understands. The fleet is full of half-marriages.

"No," he begins, awkward, "I'm sorry – when I said 'reminds' all I meant -- "

It's almost as if the thought called her voice up in his mind, and, for a moment, he's not sure it's real. "This is the most frakked-up excuse for a pyramid court I have ever had the misfortune to lay eyes on."

"Excuse me." Hermia turns, any softness suddenly replaced with sharp, parental steel. "There are children here. Who do you think you are?"

“Captain Thrace,” Kara replies, arching an eyebrow, and Anders notes the restored insignia on her fleet-issue shirt. Her hair is close-cropped again; a golden cap that won't get in the way beneath a viper helmet. “You might remember me from saving your sorry civilian ass more times than I can count.”

"Mrs. Cutler –" Anders sighs, and nods at Kara. "This is my wife."

***

Infinite possibilities of action, reaction and finite positions; prepare for combat but follow the rules. Be prepared to hark the song of war; be fair because the advantage comes only when both sides are evenly matched, set boundaries and play by the rules.

"Hark the song of war" was a reference to another Phoenix arc called Phoenix: Warsong. And the stuff about following the rules is to further point out that Sam (/Scott) is a boy scout.

Abort all functions on the lower decks. Relay order to all personnel, to the abyss. Advance and be prepared. Be prepared. End of line.

"Be prepared," the Boy Scout motto.

Spins and turns, angles and arc, burn, a perfect thought.

I really liked the rhythm of that line. More circles, more fire. Rebirth and Phoenix, in as many ways as I could think of to say it! "A perfect thought" is a quote from Sam when he becomes the Hybrid.

Perfect nothing but woven nylon fibers and hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen. One point nine eight pass.

"Nothing but..." is a way of saying "nothing but net." And, again, 1980.

Three point. Slingshot finally found a tender spot; optic sensory input offline; but he will survive with his primary functions within acceptable parameters.

Enter the Springsteen! "Slingshot finally found a tender spot" is the line of the song that has Scott in it. The rest is a mangled way of saying, "blinded by the light, but he'll make it all right."

Ivory and etude, she too crashed to the ground. All-hot half-shot relentlessly unendingly driven to the hot spot where she, she, she was also blinded by its brilliance and yet will advance from out the embers. Three hundred sixty degrees. End of line.

Kara as the Piano, and the rest is Springsteen, garbled. "She was blinded by the light, but she'll make it alright." Advance from the embers = yet more Phoenix.

***
Control. Gotta be a way to get under control.

"Gotta be some way out of here..."

She closes her eyes and exhales hard, fingers clenched around the handle of the knife. They ache fiercely, whether annoyed at her or just twinging sympathy for her frakked-up life, she's not sure, but the hard anchor in her palm helps, some. So does pulling what's left of her godsdamned hair taut enough to hurt. Control. Gotta get under control, or else she's likely to shatter the mirror and she really doesn't want to have to explain that.

Like young!Jean in fanon, trying to keep her powers under control. I think my Fred voice in the other remix I wrote from likeadeuce's fic was oddly similar: "...She had to get it together or else she was liable to puke all over Wesley's leather interior. And that'd be so embarrassing."

Metal taste still in her mouth, and she's not sure if that's from the blade or still being just this side of the edge of drunk.

I liked that line a lot, too.

Her tongue runs over the backs of her teeth, and she grimaces. Saws harder. Strands slip out of her grip, down her tanks, over her shoulders and biceps to float down, becoming just that much of a blond mess on the floor.

Kara breathes out hard, again, staring at herself, a little too wild-eyed, in the mirror, watching the already-cut side of her hair swing forward, just below her ear. She doesn't think about the weight remaining in her hand, yanks harder, does not think of Sam's fingers tangling in it, laughing as he tugs her head back gently to kiss her neck-- Frak.

She saws harder, faster. Not who she is, anyway. She's not--

("You're malcontented, and a cancer. And I won't have you on my ship.")

Gods. She's not--

("No guts? You don't got a pair? You're both frakking cowards.")

She's not like--

("You've already done that, Saul. Both of you.")

She's not like Tigh, or so she wants to believe. She's like Adama. Just like Jean wants to believe she's more like Xavier than Magneto...

Her fingers shake as the blade rips through the last strands. The knife clatters to the floor, which seems to buck beneath her feet as she makes her way to the wastebin and throws the hank of hair as if it singes her palm. Maybe it does.

("You were like a daughter to me once. No more.")

Kara retrieves the knife and sheathes it; grips the edge of the sink and stares at her reflection with hot, dry eyes for a minute before she makes herself puke, booze and bile burning the back of her throat.

She swishes, spits, and heads for the shower, standing beneath the scalding spray until her skin turns pink and the steam clears her head. Not quite human, not quite herself, but closer than she's been in a damn long time.

Getting properly dressed helps. And combing her hair. Her hand's almost steady when she knocks on the Admiral's door. He's bent over his ship, big hands strong and sure with a tiny brush and pot of adhesive, and he glances at her only briefly before turning back to it.

The ship's going to splinter someday, just like she is now.

Kara steps up beside him, quietly, hands clasped loose behind her back. The thing needs a masthead. Waits until he's pressed the piece into place before she clears her throat, which still feels gritty. "I figured it out, sir."

He turns and stares at her for a moment, all hardass business. Then he snorts and claps a hand on her shoulder. "No, you didn't. Not yet. But it's a start."

She swallows. "I'm s--"

His grip tightens, and he shakes his head. "Just do your job, Captain," he says, and his voice is graveled, too. ("Pick up that weapon and shoot me.") Gods. "That'll be all."

Her salute has never been sharper, or more grateful. "Yes, sir."

***

New command. Resume function. Sublime moments shine lit beacons when one realizes innate potential. Patterns and repetitions, last gleaming milliseconds, midnight marathons.

Midnight marathons = "Another runner in the night."

Optic sensors offline, under and taut, increase probability of eventual regeneration by 24.5%.

"Blinded by the light, she got down but she never got tight, but she'll make it all right."

Sulfurous baritone prophets cry out half-blindly

This is meant to be Tigh. "Some brimstone baritone anti-cyclone rolling stone preacher from the East."

and I, I am what was, what is, what will be.

That's a slightly-mangled quote from Phoenix.

Cogitate. You are secure in the awareness of self, events yet to unfold. You have yet to begin.

And that was just fun, a nod to the fact that I remixed Deuce's Buffyverse story before. "You think you know what you are, what is to come. You haven't even begun."

End of line.

New paragraph. Not cavernous wombs but desired seeds, genesis sires and the agony of wanting that which she cannot have.

This entire paragraph is my fanon about Jean: that she idolizes Xavier and wants to be like him, and he's the father she wants. But as I see it, Phoenix is much more like Magneto, just as Kara is more like Tigh.

Grasp and begin again. Resume function. Condemned eternally to idolize one and echo another; there's a hole in the bucket, a drop in the bucket,

"a hole in the bucket, dear Liza" is another quote from Sam-as-hybrid in the series.

prophet tattooed veins and patch.

Tigh as Magneto. I set him up as the prophet before. Tattooed veins = Magneto's concentration camp tattoo. Patch is Tigh's eye patch.

Seven thousand, six hundred and forty-two pinpricks, neuron bright nebulas, wooden masthead spokes circling, circling.

...And Bill as Xavier. Neuron nebulas = the people looking like stars in Cerebro. Wooden masthead spokes circling is both the ship and the wheelchair.

The spirit is infinite but the flesh is weak, and there are two, always two, light and shadow, beloved and feared. Leap, expel saliva into the stratosphere, and fall, condemned to darkness.

"Well, I jumped up, turned around, spit in the air, fell on the ground" ...Blinded by the light, of course.

***

Sometime during the writing process...

Tigh: *shows up*
Me: Uh, Colonel? You're so not in this fic. It's about Sam and Kara.
Tigh: Frak that! Thought you said I was yer favorite character.
Me: Yes, but--
Tigh: *crosses his arms, weaving a little, and glares* Am I the Magneto in this story or not?
Me: Well, yes. But--
Tigh: *glares more* You want me to exterminate humanity? I could, y'know!
Me: *headdesk* In the fic, but drunk and unconscious work for you?
Tigh: You got yourself a deal.

She's in front of the XO's quarters and doesn't know why, except--

("You're on your own in this life. Each and every one of us.")

But she wasn't, that morning. Her wedding day, head pounding, bright sun and sand, Tigh sprawled with Ellen snoring softly beside him. He laughed at her, made her laugh, shared a drink she didn't need and listened, which she did. He put his arm around her like he'd never touched a woman before unless he was hitting her or frakking her or both.

And Kara doesn't touch unless she's hitting or frakking. Or both.

But Kara wasn't good at that, either, and he smelled ripe and pressed the bottle into her hand, and it was all right.

She pushes the door open, and he's sprawled on his back on the floor, the air sharp with the reek of booze and sweat. The gauze over his eye socket is facing her, grimy at the edges, and his tanks are soaked and stained beneath his pits. The bottle's on its side, empty, beside him, and his mouth is slack, and the burn of her own drunken vomit is still clawing at the back of her throat.

Kara stumbles back, disgust and pity and something like a flicker of fear warring in her chest. She should pour him into bed, at least turn him over so he won't choke if he pukes. "Frak-up," she whispers instead, and leaves without a backwards glance.

And of course she's not talking about herself...

***

Touch the face of perfection, a joy, a rapture beyond comprehension.

The beginning of that line refers to a quote from Sam-as-hybrid that is repeated in a moment: "Perfect face, perfect grace." The latter part is a mangled quote from Dark Phoenix in Uncanny X-Men #136: "I...hunger, Scott--for a joy, a rapture. Beyond all comprehension. That need is a part of me, too."

Perfect shot. She is fire and life incarnate, perfect face, perfect grace.

And this line is a Phoenix quote followed by the Sam quote, to make things nice and symmetrical/circular.

Tied into a lover's knot and crashed to the ground

"Tied into a lover's knot" is a direct quote from "Blinded by the Light," and "crashed to the ground" refers to the Scott in the song throwing his lover to the sand.

but will always come back to you. Part of me always infinitely will be with you.

More Dark Phoenix quoting: "I love you, Scott. A part of me will always be with you," from Uncanny X-Men #137.

Weave the net, under and through, all of this has happened before. Survive again. Crash to the hot spot and rise from the ash.

***

I chose Kara's POV here mainly so that I would legitimately be changing something from the original, because I was worried, at this point, that my remix was failing as a remix!

Kara bounces the ball off the floor and catches it with both hands. The slap of rubber echoes in the cavernous room, now empty of everyone but the two of them. "She sure cleared out of here in a hurry."

Sam folds his arms, leans back against the bulkhead, and gives her what must be his Stern Coach Look. "Between the profanity and the insults, I can't imagine why."

She laughs. "This sure is one frakked-up pyramid court."

"It's not Pyramid."

He makes a grab for the ball, but she yanks it away and, struck by a sudden memory, twirls it on the tip of one finger, giving it momentum with her other hand. "Look!" she cries, grinning. "I used to have one of these -- when I was, like, eight." She spins the ball again, watching the brightly-colored pattern blur. "Did you ever learn to do this?"

"What, an Anders man? Play with toys? My dad used to brag how he put a Pyramid ball in my crib."

"And what, now that you're a grown-up, you finally get to play with other kids?" The ball teeters, and she lets it fall, bouncing it idly against the floor. "So. What's the object of your game?" she asks, nodding at the court and trying to hide a smile. The taped lines are perfectly straight, the tape itself smoothed to within an inch of its life. Leave it to Sam Anders, the only man she's ever frakked who has to get up afterwards, before going to sleep, in order to fold his clothes. She gets a kick out of moving his boots, making 'em so they're not lined up just so.

I added this part to emphasize, again, that Anal Sam Anders is a lot like Anal Scott Summers.

As if reading her thought, his hand darts out and smacks the ball away from her, and he moves backwards, bouncing the ball along with his steps.

"Hey!" half-laughing, she lunges for him, but he pivots, steps around her, and then raises his hands, sending the ball flying over his head. They both watch as it arcs toward the goal, teeters on the rim, and finally falls in.

"Yes!" He grins at her, pumping his arm in victory. "He shoots, he scores!"

"You scored?" Kara repeats. "Because you got the girly ball in the --" Realizing just what the goal is, she steps closer, peering upwards incredulously. "What is that, a fruit basket you've got nailed to the wall?" She can't repress a smirk. "What are you calling it? Basketball?"

"You know, I like that," he says, mouth twitching. "It's descriptive. Simple."

"Uh-huh," she replies, stepping closer, teasing him. "There's just one problem, Sammy boy. How do you get your ball down?"

In answer, he reaches for the broomstick leaning against the wall. "Still working out some of the kinks," he explains, poking through the bottom of the basket until the ball pops out and goes bouncing across the floor. "Look," he continues, "we're working with what we've got. Which isn't much. We could fit four pyramid courts in here, but we don't have enough equipment. Besides, the idea is to get these kids active, and they can't all play pyramid at once. Meanwhile --" He points up. "We've got all this vertical space. May as well use it."

"Oh, yes." She nods, mock-seriously. "Good plan. Great use for your tactical skills."

"Isn't it?" He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "I'm not a soldier, Kara. Not by choice. I have a graduate degree in recreation management, for frak's sake. Meanwhile, all these kids in the fleet are going stir-crazy. I could show you studies --"

"You hate kids."

"I don't -- I never said --"

Best to nip this conversation in the bud, she thinks, holding up her hands. "Forget I said anything. You're obviously enjoying your little atonement gig, though gods know what you think you did --" And then it hits her. "A net."

"Huh?"

"Net." She points to the basket. "Replace that with a metal rim --" She makes a circle with her fingers, then spreads her hands out. "Just a little wider than the ball. Then we get some nylon cord and weave a net that catches the ball -- just enough to slow it down for a few seconds -- then lets it go. You don't have to stop the whole game every time someone scores."

"Captain Thrace," he says, "I believe you just offered to sew for me."

"Frak you, Anders. In your dreams."

He steps closer and puts his hands over hers. His palms are cooler than hers, softer than hers, and his breath brushes her forehead when he leans to speak against her skin. "That's exactly what I've been dreaming about."

I enjoyed changing the last couple of lines. Originally, she said, "In your dreams," and he said, "That's not exactly what I've been dreaming about." I liked how adding three words and subtracting one could make this part have exactly the same meaning. And making his palms cooler was intentional--she's burning like the Phoenix.

***

All this will happen again. Blackbird flying in the dead of night, built piecemeal and hidden.

A Beatles nod: "Blackbird singing in the dead of night..." and a reference to both the Blackbird on BSG (built piecemeal) and the one in X-Men Movieverse (hidden beneath the basketball court).

Four and twenty, and the bird began to sing, escape route must be a certainty. The jester and the pickpocket opened the pie, all is opaque, respite is impossible given the finite programmed boundaries of our infinite souls.

I was really proud of the segue between "blackbird" and the nursery rhyme and "All Along the Watchtower"/Cylon stuff, especially the fact that "opened the pie" is both from the rhyme and could mean that they were talking (pie as in "piehole"). :D This is a garbled version of, "There's gotta be some way out of here/ Said the joker to the thief / There's too much confusion / and I can't get no relief."

Reserve the ammunition and turn up the band.

"Save the buckshot and turn up the band," from Blinded by the Light.

All-seeing watchtower

Just in case you didn't get the line above...

watches futures unfold, past and present and infinite omniscent. All this will--all this will--all of this--

The repetition is, of course, intentional.

***

In all honesty, I think this is the weakest section of the fic, but I needed to parallel Sam and Kara's goodbye on Caprica with Jean telling Scott that she will come back to him and will always be with him.

Kara Thrace does not cry. Not now, not ever. Not feeling like she has to hold what is left of her guts in, like she's split in two, warm sunlight on Caprica and his warm hands on her breasts, and now the only thing out there is blackness and they're four jumps away, and--

Gods.

Samuel T. Anders. With his mouth and his hair, gods, he has a good face.

Jean tells Scott he has a good face in Uncanny X-Men #131.

The tilt of his head and the way he just looked at her. The way he frakked her like she was burning. Like he was.

More burning...

Like she was something he needed. More than that, the way he looked at her.

Her hand falters up to her neck, like she left a part of herself down there with him.

("You said you were gonna come back, remember? I'm going to hold you to it.")

He learned to be a soldier from the movies, like he's some kind of hero, and he talks about Pyramid rules like they're Scripture and fraks like maybe she is, too.

This was another line I was really pleased with.

He's got the only part of her worth having on a chain around his neck, warmed against his skin.

Samuel T. Anders. Gods.

("I'm coming back. I said it; I meant it.")

***

This is the section where I tried to make it obvious--but not too heavy-handed!--that this story is about (/a parallel to) the X-Men. In retrospect, I think I erred too far on the side of obscurity.

All this has happened before, and all of this will happen again.

Five.

Both "Final Five" and "Original Five."

Crimson beams in a steel slit mask. Ocular sensors read as red, red, and time. Stops. Spin a ball, rotation, equation; speak the language of lines, angles, digits, parallel and precise parallel slingshot. Resume function. The orphan captain leader scout, captain o my captain receives neural damage, red but he will carry on within set parameters.

I tried to say "Sam Anders is Scott Summers!" as clearly as possible in this paragraph. Especially "orphan captain leader scout."

New paragraph. The obstinate toy soldier becomes pliant, chained and contained unknowing depths of infinite possible forevers; burn; survive and advance. 15.68 degrees, set course. She crashed down and rose again. She's something more. Shed your skin.

And this is talking about Kara as Jean/Phoenix. Especially "chained and contained unknowing depths," referring to Phoenix being trapped inside Jean, and "crashed down and rose again."

Skin. Unending multitudes of sin beneath the surface skin; despise and fear that which is like, yet unlike, yet silent and-- Rise along the X-axis and burn for a relative value of X. End of line.

A mangled version of "protecting those who hate and fear us," trying to get the point across that the skin jobs look like humans (just like some mutants do), and the X-stuff was just flogging the idea harder.

Unstable along the watchtower, unsafe to venture outdoors. Upstairs, the man traded his wings for a business suit; he wants to keep his hands immaculate and do the right thing.

Lee as Warren.

Downstairs, a curly head is bent over wires and a wrench and he builds what he dreams, precise calculations, vectors and grease.

And Chief is Hank. It was accidental, but I was particularly pleased to discover that "vectors" is both an aviation term and a biological one. I tried to think of a Bobby!parallel but failed.

Not what they seem, despised and feared, madmen drummers and teenage diplomats.

This was all more "These Guys Are X-Men!" stuff. "Hated and feared," again, and I thought "teenage diplomats" was very fitting for a group of teens who try to save humanity repeatedly. "Madmen drummers" and "teenage diplomats" are also from "Blinded by the Light."

Verily, look upon the five who shall protect multitudes

More X-Men stuff, referring to the Original Five.

and crash to the ground. Trip the merry-go-round and turn up the band.

And more Springsteen.

Increase volume level by sixteen decibels. Reduce atmospheric oxygen by a relative value of X, survive, advance, aim, and--and--and--

fire.

Ocular receptor malfunction due to sensory overload.
Ocular sensors offline.
Ocular sensors offline.

Sort-of-quoting the end of "Blinded by the Light."

("See you on the other side.")

Sam's last words.

End of line.

...Because how could I not end this fic with that?

BSG Fic: "Like Water on a Stain (Something Borrowed, Something Blue Remix)" [Bill/Laura, Tighs, R]

tartanshell — Mon, 27 Jul 2009 07:27:15 GMT

Title: Like Water on a Stain (The Something Borrowed, Something Blue Remix)
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica
Pairing/Characters: Bill Adama/Laura Roslin, Saul, Ellen
Rating: R
Word Count: 3,000
Spoilers: Entire series.
Summary: Four times Laura Roslin wore someone else's clothes, and one time she wore what was hers.
Remix of: that dress looks nice on you by leiascully

( Like Water on a Stain (Something Borrowed, Something Blue Remix) )