Talking with my friend, I realized there will be a whole generation of well-known authors in a few years/decades whose answer to “how did you get into writing?” will be “oh, you know. Fanfiction” or “Slash fanfiction” or “I used to write porn about fictional characters that weren’t mine”.
"Yes… yes. This is a fertile land, and we will thrive. We will rule over all this land, and we will call it… This Land." The hands, sadly devoid of dinosaurs, moved over the console as if they held those sacred children’s toys all the same. The voice changed, became more hoarse, and the speaker went on. "I think we should call it… your grave!"
"What are you doing?" a woman’s voice said behind him with such ferocity that Wash jumped in his seat. He carefully swiveled the chair around to discover Four-Seven-Niner, leaning in the door frame, glaring.
"How did you-" he started, unsure how her metal armored boots were so unbelievably silent in the empty Pelican hull. “I was just-“
"You are sitting in my chair."
Wash looked down at the offending piece of furniture. “I guess,” he admitted slowly.
"You are in the hangar bay after hours, in the Pelican unsupervised, in my cockpit, sitting in my chair.” Her voice got louder with every point and Wash’s wincing had achieved full-body status by the end. He was cowering from her on the edge of the seat. She hadn’t moved any closer to him, just leaned in a little from her position by the door. “I never took you for a rule breaker, and I definitely didn’t think you were this amount of crazy, stupidly suicidal.”
"I-I’m sorry," he scrambled, his heart still racing.
"Just get out of here, Agent Washington," she said with a heavy sigh. He scurried out of the chair, turning it around to its original position, and shrank into the wall as he tried to walk past her while also being as far away from her as possible. She let him pass, turning to stare at him as he walked.
Wash reached the doors at the end of the ship and allowed himself the deep breath he had been holding.
Niner’s voice rang out as the door was closing behind him. “And curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal!”
mixology certification doesn’t hurt me in the heart nearly as bad as the end of last week’s episode did OH MY GOD
that end was fucking tragic
in every way, I saw it and just, everything. EVERYTHING. Donald Glover is amazing in his acting and in his everything ever.
Annie in Mixology Certification hurts me so much, though. I guess it’s the whole “being in the exact same position as her” thing that makes me kinda…really yeah. Makes me really sad.
But that entire episode is just one bundle of “hey, you know these characters we’ve been spending a season and a half to get you to love? And how they’re totally cool and you all wanna be like them and have friends like that? Well, hey. They’re actually kind of…kind of not cool. Not normal at all. They’re kind of really odd and full of problems and if you met them at the bar you’d probably think them weird. Yeah.”
It makes me so sad.
Troy in this episode, too. Annie and Troy. This is when I actually started being like “you know, I could ship that.”
Even though by now it’s mostly like “friends yeah! :D”
OH! At first I thought you were taking writing prompts but then I was durrrrr no you're taking sketches. How about Carolina trying to read a book while York is trying to get her attention (Or you could change it from York to Washington for me :D). Random thought, I might come up with something better later.
In which Ree can’t draw armor or feet or anatomy but that’s ok because it’s just sketching.
Also, Wash was just trying to see what she was reading.
She didn’t have to keep him away with a foot to the helmet.
He told himself it was normal to compare the two, on some level. She’d caught his eye with her stance, so much like Allison’s, and that deadly thirst to prove herself. He thought that’d be ok, that if he could control what she does, then the same desire that killed Allison might just keep her alive.
Of course there were differences. She was so much like her, like the memory of her, that he used those small oddities to make sure he remembered who she was. Which one she was.
Her hair was so bright. Allison had red hair - longer - but her shade was more like blood. Where her hair was bright and violent, like the woman who owned it, Allison was more subdued, more the quiet fury that owned her actions so often and so completely.
This new woman was reactionary. You don’t get to being where she is without a bit of ambition, but in everything she did it was obvious it was a reaction to something external. Often it was reaction to orders, reaction to success, to disappointment. She reacted like an animal, instinctively and without pause, but she also reminded him of the fundamental difference between animals and humans, because as instant as her reactions were, they were also deliberate. They were planned with a human mind, trained to keep up with her instinct, trained by the threat of death to adapt until she could make sure she got out alive, every time.
Her eyes. Allison always had this glint to her eyes, somewhere between mockery and cruelty. All this woman had behind them was determination. Allison always knew she was the best at what she did. This woman wanted everyone else to know it, too.
She stood at attention in front of him, this woman, every muscle and bone in her body reminding him of one very particular, very unforgettable girl. She stood at attention and awaiting his approval, and for the first time since the woman had walked in he knew what the defining difference between the two women was.
He knew that this woman would be an integral part of Project Freelancer.
For all the ways she reminded him of Allison, this, here, this desire for his word, his say-so, his assertion that she’s good enough, that’s what set them apart. That’s what made this woman invaluable. That’s what made her his, in a way that, he had to admit, Allison never was.
"Carolina," he said.
"Sir?" the woman said, staring straight ahead, at attention, so much like a memory, and yet so much more than that.
"That’s your name. Agent Carolina."
"Yes sir," she said firmly, and the Director of Project Freelancer couldn’t help but smile.
“Calm down, man,” York was saying, but it was obvious that once North got to the point of punching, removal from the problem was the only possible course of action.
“You’re not even American, you-you ninny!” North called out while he was being dragged out of the room with the combined efforts of York, Wash, and CT. Wyoming merely stood up, dusted himself off, and grinned at his assailant with a wink, saying, “perhaps that’s what lets me see the sod for what he really is, mate.”
oh my god
(i don’t know if i can see north calling anyone a ninny but i can totally see him idolizing the fuck out of cap, omg)
North’s obsession with superheroes in general and Captain America in particular comes directly from completelysane and mumblybee. :D Because they’re amazing and awesome and amazingly awesome.
Fey ate everything with precision and an assortment of variously-sized silverware she kept with her that confused everyone else who saw it. She said “merci” at the end. Everyone assumed it meant “thank you”, or possibly, “you’re all terrible cooks”, but she said it with a smile so they accepted the former.
Nox, true to every part of her soul, rebelled against everything that stood still long enough. Even proper table manners.
Victor always ate like he hated food, eating little and frowning at the rest.
Cierry always ate like it was her last meal. Force of habit for an ex-homeless orphan. She always sat next to Victor, for maximum contrast and because he always offered her what he didn’t finish.
Jack would always eat in the way his current profession dictated. He had decided once to be a food critic for a week and spent every day very vocally describing the blending of tastes for each dish. Fey carried on entire conversations about every herb and spice in the meal, while Nox would silence him with a muttered incantation every time the faerie wasn’t there. The week and a half after he’d decided to be an architect and created sculptures out of carrots and fruit, refusing to eat his masterpieces until he had finished sketching them.
Jullie ate, not out of any need for her robotic body did not require fuel of any kind (the infusion of magic at her “birth” guaranteed that), but she ate as a social activity. Posing as a human, she had learned to fake tase buds and adopt phrases such as “I’m allergic to nuts.” She ate for the texture and, in true socialite fashion, would try anything at least once.
Not to be outdone, Elyse always ate the same things that the other government officials did. She hated every bite of the odd tastes these people held, but she ate anyway because it was important for her to hammer home that she’s equal to them in every way, except the one that made her infinitely better: democracy.
Victoria ate out of necessity, and treated her food as a burden and a weakness. Trained and drilled in the same proper table manners as Fey, she held the fork as a weapon. Where Fey weaved her meal into a painting, Victoria splattered it across every corner of the plate, every bite a reminder that she’s not doing something, that she’s resting, that she’s falling behind (the question of who she was falling behind from never entered her mind).
He looked at her now, her soul forgotten, discarded in the face of the magic that tied her to this place.
She used to laugh and smile and blink a lot at his jokes.
He looked at her now, thoughts of laughter ludicrous to her. Thoughts of smiling inefficient and alien. Even blinking had been taken from her - why would she need to blink more than absolutely necessary? He supposed it was because she viewed it as a technical weakness, a moment when she wasn’t aware of her surroundings.
But she used to do it, blink. Frequently. While laughing and touching his arm. She used to blink but never really close her eyes because she wanted to see his face, always. She didn’t want to miss him.
He looks at her now and she stares past him, his face no more important than the tree behind him, her eyes dull, her lips closed, her memories and habits long gone, long buried.
He looks at her now, at the statue, and remembers why he’s here, why he volunteered for this curse just for the off chance that he could do something, anything, to save her. He looks at her and remembers.
you guys are too interesting and I have 5 hours before I need to be awake again.
I declare catching up on my dash a LOST CAUSE.
I might backlog it this weekend, but if there was something that happened today that I shouldn’t live without seeing, some exceptionally nice soul want to take pity on my and drop it in my ask/submit box?
you’d get all the hugs, honest.
I’ll see you guys later, probably not till Friday night at this rate. My life needs to get less busy. :<
/ZOOMS TO DIRECTOR/ALLISON FIC. yes please bring more to this pairing. no i’m not biased. (good luck with the rest of your list too c:)
I have so many Director/Allison ideas, it’s really a question of being able to only think about one at a time and write it more so than finding more.
Every time I sit down I write three fics into one and nothing makes sense. :<
Also my ipod now likes to shuffle randomly onto songs that are just PERFECT for them and I don’t know what to do with all the feelings it gives me and and and
I have five fics in my head, two of those written down, and one comic idea outlined and broken into parts and and and
and I have a problem.
And everything I write with them is fucking tragic.
I should find all my fics of them on here and link them in a new tumblr post in chronological order and entitle it “in case you weren’t using your heart, I’ve got a neat little way to shatter it. YOU’RE WELCOME.”
made my playlist for swing tomorrow? pffft, what is future planning and forethought
did the art i wanted to get done? ok, now you’re just being optimistic
made myself a healthy meal to take as lunch and dinner to work tomorrow? what am i, Ratatouille? that’s why there’s sandwiches, bread, bananas, and heaps of cereal. and starvation if my lazyness gets that out of hand
finished the first fic tag with Nem? DONE BITCHES. WHAT. I AM ALL THE AWESOME.
Finished Nina/Tucker bgnoir posts? Erm, not-quite-done. God. Tomorrow. Tomorrow.
Did solo jazz steps for half an hour? Pffft, are you kidding, there was ICE CREAM IN THE HOUSE.
Wrote happy Supernatural fic? Yeah. Yeeeeeah, I failed at that. So much. I tried! It just…it was just SAD.
Watched Being Human? HAH, DONE. UP TO SEASON 3 FINALE, HAVE TO WAIT UNTIL SUNDAY TO SEE IT THOUGH.
Played Portal 2 co-op? Fuck yeah. I’m P-body, and the Peabody is a dance I know how to do. Also, I’m totally winning. glados keeps giving me points.
Somehow started using proper capitalization in the middle of this list? Um, when did that happen?
Finished sad Director/Allison fic about religion? lol no, probably will finish on the train tomorrow.
Can I just take a moment to talk about how perfect the vampires in BBC Being Human are?
Because holy shit
I’m not usually one for vampire anything based solely on the fact that there’s vampires in it
But I’d still watch this show if the only thing they got right was the vampires. Because HOLY SHIT they got them SO right.
Every time they’re on screen I feel so incredibly uneasy. Which is such an understatement. It’s like when I was watching Let the Right One In.
I was legitimately creeped out.
I’m creeped out by how animal they can look.
I’m creeped out by how much of a conniving bastard they all are - cruel to every possible end, but smart, smart enough to never get caught.
I’m creeped out by how sympathetic some of them can be.
I’m legitimately unsettled by how attractive Mitchell is, and how uncontrollable he is at the same time because he’s constantly hungering for blood and it’s constantly thrown in his face and yet he says no, because he’s got friends who depend on him. Morals to support him. And I’m unsettled when those friends and morals slip, for a second, and he turns into the monster it’s so easy to forget that he is.
"Don’t do that," she said irritably one evening next to the campfire, breaking the stifling silence. (Tucker had insisted on building it for Junior, so his "kid" doesn’t get cold. Everyone else was too tired to argue.) Wash didn’t budge.
"What am I doing?" he said in that new, unfamiliar, defensive voice. The words echoed in her mind as how trusting and open and concerned they were before - what is he doing that’s upsetting? How can he stop it? He just wants to get along with people - and it made hearing them now even worse.
"Don’t try to be him."
"The old you."
I know. “You’re thinking about it.”
She could practically see the foreign smirk that colored his next words. “And how do you figure that?”
"Because I know you, Wash," she said instinctively. It was still habit, those words, that sentence, the nickname.
He laughed. “You knew me, CT. You never stuck around to see what I turned into. You don’t know me.”
Title: Satellites For: Reeberry Author: Recoveryone Summary: Project: Freelancer brought them together, and there’s no way in hell it’s tearing them apart. Characters: York, Carolina Rating: PG Warning: AI insanity, death?, spoilers for S10 finale. Words: ~800
“This sentence has five words. Here are five more words. Five-word sentences are fine. But several together become monotonous. Listen to what is happening. The writing is getting boring. The sound of it drones. It’s like a stuck record. The ear demands some variety. Now listen. I vary the sentence length, and I create music. Music. The writing sings. It has a pleasant rhythm, a lilt, a harmony. I use short sentences. And I use sentences of medium length. And sometimes, when I am certain the reader is rested, I will engage him with a sentence of considerable length, a sentence that burns with energy and builds with all the impetus of a crescendo, the roll of the drums, the crash of the cymbals—sounds that say listen to this, it is important.”—
"There must have been a trick to it," he kept saying. He had been pulling on the little trap door for ten minutes now, and it wasn’t budging one bit. Rapunzel had tried to help, then just sat back and watched intently, and now she was staring out the window, not even paying him any attention.
"Forget it," she finally said. Eugene paused in his struggles and frowned.
"So, what, we climb back down the tower?" He hadn’t taken his arrows with him this time, and the sharpest things here were kitchen knives and that dagger that he was pointedly avoiding.
Rapunzel just nodded. “The old way,” she said, as if it explained everything. She was holding on to the long, winding streak of brown hair that littered the room.
"Oh," was all Eugene could think of to say. "But, it’s not… I mean, before, yeah, you could do a lot with it, but it was magic, right?"
Rapunzel didn’t say anything as she went around the room to find the start of her hair, and tied it securely to the stairs. She then walked over and hung it on the hook she had always used. Finally, without turning around, she responded. “You’re right. We should go down together, the quicker the better.” She waited for him to walk over to the window. It took him a moment as he went to inspect the knot and how strong it was, then carefully made his way over. He craned his neck to see her face. She wasn’t crying, or looking upset. She just looked serene. Almost at peace.
A compliment, because suddenly I need a prompt to throw praises at you? Well gosh dang If I haven't started watching Supernatural solely so that I can read and appreciate your fics because they are just that good. ;_;
…Oh gosh this is always the best compliment ever. <3 <3 <3
I got another friend to start watching RvB because she follows me on tumblr. Seriously, thinking that my writing inspires people to watch the shows it comes from is, like, the best compliment. BEST.
Supernatural is no easy task to undertake but I swear it’s worth it! It’s a constant kick to the feelings but it’s a really fucking well done kick. Plus you like my writing which is always depressing, so you’ll probably enjoy quality storytelling with a heaping pile of sadness. :D <3
Wash knew Connie saw the world as “us” and “them”. He didn’t mind it. He liked being “us”. Somewhere between the scoreboard, the helmet, and “Call me CT”, it began to dawn on him that it was no longer “us” and “them”. It’s was “me” and “everyone else” to her. ((TAG. Treat this as a prompt, if you want? :D Also, I myself was inspired by this: “the world is all around us/but have you noticed me?/yeah the world has overshadowed/me”))
There was adventure. There were aliens and one notable sword fight and something about saving the universe. Tucker was crude and immature, but useful. CT kept her voice filter on, and Wash didn’t talk about the Program. Junior negotiated with his entire civilization. There were locks and keys and apparatus.
And like in most adventures, there was a lot of quiet, awkward down time.
In this case it wasn’t shared. Tucker and Junior were three hallways away figuring out a hologram code that required the alien language. The four of them had been lost in a labyrinth for about four hours now and this was the first sign of the civilization that had put all the traps in Sandtrap.
Wash leaned against the wall and rotated his gauntlet, adjusting it from where it had nearly broken his skin in the last fight with the aliens. CT took her mask off and leaned it against her leg. The cave air was stuffy and still. She watched Wash look up and then very quickly look down again.
“You look good,” he said, his voice as quiet and as flat as when he had ordered her to’drop your weapons’.”You look the same.”
She stared at him, challenging him to show the same vulnerability that she had.
He took his mask off slowly and undramatically. (Not like York, who knew that his face made an impression.) Wash put the helmet on a rock beside him, his gray-backed hand clutching at the yellow stripe on the back edge as if he were afraid it might fall. Without looking at CT he said, “I don’t look so good.”
She said, “You look gray,” and then he met her gaze and she saw the scars.
Two precise, white lines from his temples to his hairline looked purposeful and old. Bruises and a pink streak across the left side of his jaw were evidence of more recent, less calculated damage. He said, “They told me it’s good that I can recognize myself.”
She started forward out of pity and love and a habit that she hadn’t felt in years. Feelings just as old and half-forgotten stopped her: boards, rankings, the idea that the surgical scars might have been from the AI procedure she hadn’t stuck around to see.
She said, “We’re not ‘us’ anymore.”
He reached down as if to put his helmet back on, but didn’t. Instead, he just looked at her with deer-in-the-headlights-eyes. His expression showed the vulnerability she had been looking for, but then his face hardened and she remembered how his voice sounded when he was threatening her. He was a new person now, or less of one. Still the Director’s attack dog.
She put her mask on. The hiss of the seal ended the conversation.
I need a moment.
Oh god this breaks my heart in all the best ways. “You look gray” and “They told me it’s good that I can recognize myself.” and and and “She started forward out of pity and love and a habit that she hadn’t felt in years. Feelings just as old and half-forgotten stopped her”.
AND ALL OF IT CAN I JUST QUOTE ALL OF IT AS PROOF THAT YOU’RE AMAZING?
(Oh wait I guess I kind of just did.)
I loooooove that you call it a “mask” in the last line.
God this AU will be the death of my heart and all my feelings, but it will be beautiful.
Have you seen "The Rocketeer"? I caught it on TV. I used to love it as a kid but now realize that proto-Iron Man in the 1920s might be something you and the RvB Noir group might like. :)
Time travel ask answering from the (not-so-distant) past!
I totally forgot I hadn’t actually published this D: But yeah! That day you sent this I also caught bits of the movie on tv. Hahaha. Must’ve been watching the same channel :) It does seem like something for a noir movie night/day! And yeah, I have vague memories of that movie from when I was a kid too! Not terribly strong, and I don’t even know if I saw it in the right language (foreigner problems. I still don’t remember if I watched The Lion King with subtitles or a dub. But I watched that movie 5 times a week for a couple of months, so whatever it is, I definitely knew it every which way to sunday.) Thanks! I’ll have to hunt it down and stream it sometime :D