![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
& i am a writer, a writer of fictions
You find out funny things, when researching for fic-purposes. Like that Egyptian-inspired fashions were highly popular in 1923, because of the discovery of Tutankhamun's tomb.
This is especially funny, given that I was writing a ficlet based on The Mummy.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
misslucyjane is running a loveathon today, at the post in that link; no strikes, no spam, just good old love! It's simple: you fill a request, you make a request. More people should make requests, so I have things to do around doing my homework.
Or you can request things of me here. I can't promise that they'll all get done, but if it's a fandom that I know, I'll probably at least take a stab at it; whether that means an icon or a full fic or a drabble or just a line or two, I can't be sure. But I just had to email my friend and say that no, I can't go have Easter dinner with her in Connecticut, because there's too much to do here, and I'm exceedingly unhappy about this, so -- distractions is nice.
My fandoms include but are not limited to:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
milliways_bar (if I have not seen the original canon but know the character from Milliways, I'll do my best), National Treasure, Star Wars: X-Wing, M*A*S*H, The Red Star, Run Fatboy Run, Black Books, Bones, Firefly, Watchmen, Sherlock Holmes, The Office (American), Hot Fuzz, Shaun of the Dead, Scooby Doo, Final Fantasy VII. I have many, many more, but that's what I can come up with off the top of my head; feel free to request things that aren't on that list, too. I will not write: RPF, bandom, nonconsensual/incredibly iffy sex, probably graphic sex in general. Anything else goes!
(While I'm on the subject, I forgot to note last week's DE ficathon! People [people beingrushin_doll, minkhollow, and bodldops] wrote me AWESOME THINGS, and I wrote several ficlets, too. My favorite, though, was for areyoumymemmy. In which Lilly Kane gets married, again; crossover with Firefly by way of milliways_bar. Alternate title: In which Lexie makes a sad attempt at Lilly Kane's voice.)
Give me prompts, people, or go to Jenna's loveathon and do it there, if you are inclined to fill a request. Please?
*looks cute*
This is especially funny, given that I was writing a ficlet based on The Mummy.
misslucyjane is running a loveathon today, at the post in that link; no strikes, no spam, just good old love! It's simple: you fill a request, you make a request. More people should make requests, so I have things to do around doing my homework.Or you can request things of me here. I can't promise that they'll all get done, but if it's a fandom that I know, I'll probably at least take a stab at it; whether that means an icon or a full fic or a drabble or just a line or two, I can't be sure. But I just had to email my friend and say that no, I can't go have Easter dinner with her in Connecticut, because there's too much to do here, and I'm exceedingly unhappy about this, so -- distractions is nice.
My fandoms include but are not limited to:
milliways_bar (if I have not seen the original canon but know the character from Milliways, I'll do my best), National Treasure, Star Wars: X-Wing, M*A*S*H, The Red Star, Run Fatboy Run, Black Books, Bones, Firefly, Watchmen, Sherlock Holmes, The Office (American), Hot Fuzz, Shaun of the Dead, Scooby Doo, Final Fantasy VII. I have many, many more, but that's what I can come up with off the top of my head; feel free to request things that aren't on that list, too. I will not write: RPF, bandom, nonconsensual/incredibly iffy sex, probably graphic sex in general. Anything else goes!(While I'm on the subject, I forgot to note last week's DE ficathon! People [people being
rushin_doll, minkhollow, and bodldops] wrote me AWESOME THINGS, and I wrote several ficlets, too. My favorite, though, was for areyoumymemmy. In which Lilly Kane gets married, again; crossover with Firefly by way of milliways_bar. Alternate title: In which Lexie makes a sad attempt at Lilly Kane's voice.)Give me prompts, people, or go to Jenna's loveathon and do it there, if you are inclined to fill a request. Please?
*looks cute*
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Due to the magic of Millitime, this is set pre-canon for both!
Shaun Riley sighs. "No. I'm not."
"Okay," says Dennis, mollified, and he sits down. He sneaks a look at the other guy who looks exactly like him. "...What's your name, again?"
"Shaun," says Shaun. "Shaun Riley." He offers a hand for shaking, since maybe, just maybe, Dennis being sober will mean that this will go halfway okay, this time.
Dennis shakes his hand. "Dennis Doyle." They're left to stare awkwardly at each other, for a minute. Then Dennis says, "So, uh -- what is it that you do?" A half-laugh, hoping Shaun isn't going to say yes: "Not a bang-up policeman, are you?" He doesn't look like the other one, at least; all hard, and angry, and fit.
"Police officer," says Shaun, with no idea why he's said it.
"...Sorry?"
Shaun waves him off. "--Nothing. I sell office supplies. You know, printers, toner, paper... That stuff."
Dennis brightens. "Yeah? I'm a security guard." He shrugs, in a 'what can you do' sort of gesture. "My ex is always on me to do something about it, but it's not such a bad position, really."
"Yeah?" says Shaun, unconsciously in the exact same tone Dennis used a minute ago. "My girlfriend is always talking about how I ought to 'do something with my life.' "
"That's exactly what Libby says!"
They share a perfect ordinary moment.
"You, uh -- you want a pint?" says Shaun.
Re: Due to the magic of Millitime, this is set pre-canon for both!
I love you. Also, this clearly needs to happen in Milliways, timelines notwithstanding.
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Kaylee/Hawkeye. In the officers' club.
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"This? This is nothing!" Hawkeye shouts back, leaning on the bar beside her and taking in the dancers lindying, jitterbugging, chacha-ing, and just plain hopping to their hearts' content. They're hooting and hollering, laughing, besides a couple of pairs necking in the darker corners, and a certain priest raising -- heaven on the piano. "But all this nothing is in your honor." He winks at her.
Kaylee beams. "Shiny! I ought to come along and fix up your jukebox more often."
Hawkeye grins back at her. "You really ought to. Clearly, we just weren't making enough noise before."
"You're sure -- this," Kaylee takes it all in with a sweep of her hand, "is all okay?"
" 'Okay'? It's great! It's mind-blowing!"
Kaylee shoots him a skeptical look, one that says, 'I like you, Hawkeye, and maybe I just met you, but I still think you're full of gŏushĭ.'
He laughs. "Don't worry about it! Henry would sleep through MacArthur showing up and setting off a cannon in his ear, and the majors are indisposed."
She eyes him. "Should I ask?"
He grins easily. "Not unless you want to be incriminated. Would you care to dance, Mrs. Tam?" He extends a hand.
Kaylee's face sobers, for a second, but she doesn't close up and she doesn't correct him. Her smile can't be dampened for long; it returns, bright and in full force. "Yī dìng, Dr. Pierce." She takes one last sip of her drink through the straw (she gets more air than alcohol) and takes his hand.
"May I ask what that means?" asks Hawkeye, escorting her the approximately six inches to the dance floor.
"You bet."
-- Hawkeye shoots her a 'ha, ha, you got me; you're hilarious' sort of look, and says, "What does that mean?"
Kaylee grins at him. "That is what it means."
"Oho," says Hawkeye. "Ohoho. Very clever, you are."
"I like to think so," says Kaylee, and she beams at the ceiling as he sends her for a spin.
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*DEAD OF ADORABLE*
<3333333333333
Oh man. Just. ADORABLE.
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Also, this made me want to write a full fic of wacky hijinx involving Kaylee at the 4077th. >____> She speaks Chinese; Frank thinks she's a Red! Kaylee putting Jeeps back together in the motor pool! Making judgments on whether the food is better or worse than molded protein!
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Considering the idea just made me sit up and squeak at my desk?
DO IT DO IT DO IT
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"--'Look like a woman'?" Riley asks, leery.
She exhales sharply. "Do not avoid the subject, Riley Poole. In case you have missed it, I am propositioning you. Repeatedly."
"Yyyeah," he says. "No, I haven't missed it."
"Good," she says. "All hope is not lost." She takes a step forward, well into his personal space; so close he can feel her body heat, smell her cigarettes. "Now. Do me the kindness of answering my proposition." He takes a step back. If it were Coyote's style to throw her hands up, she'd do it. "Or at least not move away as if I were going to eat you!"
"I know!" he says, hands up in a defensive posture. "I know! Sorry! I just -- it's been-- it's been a while, Coyote."
Something behind her eyes shifts, just a little, at the slump of his shoulders. "I know," she says, a touch less harshly. "But it has been a long while since your Chloe became dead and gone." He doesn't even stiffen at her words, anymore, and he doesn't twitch when she lays a warm hand on his shoulder. "Long enough. You cannot hold a ghost forever."
His laugh holds no mirth. "Is that what this is? A mercy f--"
"Do not be an idiot!" she snaps, eyes flashing.
The ugly expression fades at her vehemence. He folds his arms. "Yeah, well," Riley mutters, with something approaching his old humor. "It's the Poole way."
"I will not argue that," says Coyote, with a touch of a smirk. "Now. I am going to kiss you." She reaches up and pulls off his glasses, folds them, and places them on the bedside table. "If you do not return it, you are a fool, but," winning smile! "I will not hold it against you."
Riley shoots her a look that is a combination of bemusement, startlement, and deer-in-the-headlights, but Coyote doesn't savor it. She leans in and follows through on her word.
After a minute, Riley pulls her close.
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Apparently, Riley is easy. OH HO HO HO HO I AM HILARIOUS.
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I dunno. It might go places.
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Yours may come a little late, because I am getting back to work now, but! I will write this. :D
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Gordon shoots him an unimpressed look, cupping his hand around the cigarette he's lighting. "Someone who steals faces," he says, flicking the lighter off and talking easily around the cigarette in his mouth. Duh.
Dwight frowns, and then scoffs. "No one can steal faces," he says. "The 1997 Hollywood thriller Face/Off was based on a completely fallacious premise."
"Oh, God," says Gordon, pulling a face like he's just bitten into a rancid wheel of cheese. "What are you, some kind of robot?"
"I am a Schrute," says Dwight stiffly. "Not a robot." Beat. "If I was a robot, I'd be a Cylon." This is said with smug satisfaction, because Dwight Schrute knows: if he was a robot? He'd be the coolest kind of robot there is. "But the good kind; one that destroys all of the other Cylons and saves the human race." He nods with satisfaction.
Gordon is staring at him like he has grown a third head; cigarette burning, forgotten, between his fingers.
"What?" says Dwight.
"You," says Gordon, slowly, "are a very strange little man." He gets up and walks away, chuckling softly to himself. "Robots!"
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:D?
(Alternately: Red Star, flashback fic. Some time between the Academy and Kar Datha's Gate.)
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Also? Dude, the NPC journal looks killer! I love the header!
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And yay! *beams* I am not totally sure about leaving that layout up for comment-threads too, because it is not fabulous for the comments section, but I did it anyway for the moment because I am stupidly proud of that header. This kind of thing is why I should not allow myself to open Photoshop at ridiculous hours. (Or why I should. I'm not sure which.) At any rate: :D!
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"Step on a crack," says River absently. She glances at Plourr. "The scapula is straight. She knows."
Plourr -- in a long, slinky black gown with cap sleeves and a gleefully scandalous neckline, her hair wound around a shining coronet -- meets River's eyes with a slightly skeptical look, but nods. "Alright," she says, and she reaches out and fixes the high collar of River's dress. It's long and fitted, with elaborate purple scrollery running down one side, and a slit to allow for ease of movement. It's pretty. It's flattering. It's also the first dress the dressmaker brought out that River didn't stick her tongue out at.
"You're going to knock 'em dead," says Plourr, giving her one last approving once-over.
"Morbidity doesn't set in for approximately 180 minutes," says River. At Plourr's raised eyebrows: "Nobody dies."
"Except, maybe, all of the men in there when they find out you're not staying," says Plourr, dryly. "And Malia, when she sees that your hair is already starting to come out."
A few strands of stubborn brown hair have begun to work their way out of the loose knot. "All in their jiăngjiu de fúzhuāng." River's fingers twitch up, toward her hair. "Won't tell," she says.
"Good girl." Plourr glances at the big doors. "You ready?"
River nods, small face serious and set.
"It's not an execution, River," says Plourr, even if she privately agrees with the girl's expression. "Buck up." She nods to the pair of liveried guards, and they swing the huge double doors open.
They stand at the top of a grand white staircase, looking down upon an even grander hall. Assorted nobles, planetary dignitaries, and high class members of Eiattu's upper classes mingle down below, blocking portions of the ruby-red imperial crest painted across the floor. Music swells; in one large area of the hall, 'droids play a perfectly-pitched waltz, and couples in poofy dresses and enormous feathered hats swirl in tandem. The ceiling of the hall is high above them, one giant curved window looking up at the Eiattu night sky.
River is still staring upward as Plourr starts down the stairs. "River," says Plourr. "Please don't fall and die."
"Canes Venatici, Microscopium, Triangulum Perseph, Andromeda," says River, slipping her hand into the offered crook of Plourr's arm without looking. She moves down the steps slowly, but without faltering. "Change the fixed configuration. It's the equinox." She is beaming at the sky, her face alight.
"Announcing, the Empress Isplourrdacartha Estillo, seated on the throne of Eiattu IV, and escort, the Baroness River Tam, of Osiris."
River's eyes snap down to Plourr. "It's hereditary," she says, but she's grinning, dangerously close to laughter. "Not the truth."
"Eh," says Plourr, skirts in her other hand as they descend, smiling a practiced smile down at the subjects bowing on the floor. The smile that she turns on River is more honest. "The court is all about lies. One more won't hurt anything."
"Escort," says River, as if Plourr hadn't spoken, shooting her a Look with her eyebrows raised. "Several linguistical solutions." Beat. "I'm not going home with you."
Plourr roars a laugh. "Oh, sweetheart," she says, and she pats River's hand. "I've got a husband for that."
"...Okay," says River, and she blinks at the man bowing at her feet. "There isn't anything that interesting in the damn floor," she tells him, helpfully.
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OH MY GOD. You have River's voice note-perfect and I adore it and I think I am stuck on run-on sentences and internal capslock.
SO MUCH LOVE.
*glee!!!*
You may regret stipulating the 'flashback' part
"Yes, I can," said Maya. "In fact, this is me doing it." She smiled, helpfully, at Alex.
Alex groaned. "You're so smug. It's disgusting."
"I like to call it 'happy,' " said Maya, but she was grinning at her over the table; through the smoke.
" 'I like to call it happy,' " mimicked Alex, rolling her eyes again. "I never should have introduced you to him."
Maya laughed, full and rich; a long way from the shy, bookish girl that Alex first met at the Academy. Several men sitting at the bar looked in their direction, with interest. "Yes, you should have. Thank you, Alex."
"PHAW!" Alex spat. "I hate it when you do that. Stop it. I'll throw up on you, Vlasova."
The sorceress grinned at her, bright and radiant and unrepentant. "You can't call me that again, after tomorrow."
"Right," said Alex. "Because what the world needs is another Antares thinking they're the greatest thing since the invention of the katyusha."
Maya kicked her chair, laughing. "You could try being happy for me, you hag."
"I am happy for you, numbskull. I offered to buy you a drink, didn't I? What do you want from me, advice for your damn wedding night? I mean, I could do that, but I think you've already got that covere--"
"Alex!" sputtered Maya, and that, right there, was the exact shade of red that Alex was going for. She balled up a napkin and threw it at her; Alex dodged, and finally cracked a (triumphant) smile, and
Every breath rasps painfully in Maya's lungs as she picks her way through rubble and snow, the dessicated skeleton of a building swaying above her against the biting wind. The ash and smoke are acrid; the old tears, frozen on her face, are, too.
I'm sorry, Alex, she thinks, simple and dead, her hand cold around the pictures she wears around her neck. I failed you, too, old friend, and for a second, when she closes her eyes, she mistakes the buffet of wind-driven snow against her face for a retaliatory napkin.
Re: You may regret stipulating the 'flashback' part
That said: OW.
Clearly I need a Red Star icon.
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Not a surprise, it's a great story, but still.
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Pfft, all my jackass teachers dismissed anything comics-related as inconsequential fluff /=( SO unfair.
Man, now i know how bad and pwnt Night Owl and Rorschach must have felt after Ozmydayus informed them of his master plan... and then added salt to the wound with the classic line:
"Do it? Dan, I'm not some republic serial villain. Did you honestly think I'd explain to you my master stroke were there the slightest chance of you affecting its outcome?
I already did it thirty-five minutes ago."
God, I can't wait to see that line delivered on the Big Screen...
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...also, Mulcahy and Medusa, but I don't know how well you know my little Gorgon.
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"No," says Plourr, stripped down to tight trousers, boots, and undershirt; all solid muscle and old scars and close-cropped red hair. There is a vibroblade strapped to one bulging bicep; a tiny holdout blaster on the other forearm, and the big pair of blasters slung low on either hip. "No, it's definitely the best." Her hair may be stubble, but there is no mistaking her as anything but a woman.
That's the problem.
"B--" Ajedrez's protest is swallowed in a fiery kiss that tastes like rum and something more exotic, something she couldn't possibly put a finger on and is probably from another galaxy altogether. Instinctively, she returns it; instinctively, she grabs Plourr's arms. Her hand brushes the unfamiliar bladed weapon, and she can feel every muscle, in the tall body pressed against her, tense.
Ajedrez has never kissed anyone with lips fuller than hers; but her mouth curls wickedly under Plourr's, and she traces the vibroblade, slowly, with careful fingers. This, she knows. This, she can do. Gracias, Sheldon 'Hijo de Puta' Sands.
Plourr breaks the kiss, her hands under Ajedrez's uniform jacket. "If you're going to stab me, just do it. Quit kriffing around."
"I'm not going to stab you, amiga," says Ajedrez, her eyes half-lidded. "Probablemente."
"Great," Plourr growls, and she sucks a breath in through her teeth before crushing her lips against Ajedrez's again, shoving her jacket off her shoulders. Ajedrez doesn't fight it and her uniform top follows swiftly, leaving the pair of them standing in the middle of the dim-lit room, in trousers, boots, undershirts, muscle, and a hell of a lot of guns.
"Not bad, Ajedrez," says Plourr, breathless and low, rough fingers skating up Ajedrez's arm. "How d'you say 'not bad' in whatever the hell gibberish you're speaking?"
"Coma mierda, bitch," says Ajedrez pleasantly, and she shoves her backward.
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I was hoping for something more original, but... Write me some Maya and Marcus sap. YOU KNOW I'M A SUCKER FOR IT.
Totally a sucker for it,
Ana
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-----------
If I were to kill your husband right now.
Right in front of you.
What would be the fate of his ghost?
Maya's eyes snapped open; she sat bolt upright.
She had a vague sense of a flurry of peripheral motion to her left, of a wordless noise -- Marcus's voice -- and then a loud thud that shook the dark bedroom.
The bedroom.
Location ascertained, beginning to wake up, Maya's eyes widened; she began to lean toward the edge of the bed, her hand squarely placed in the still-warm place that Marcus ought to be occupying -- but Marcus appeared before she could get very far, kneeling up from the floor with his arms on the edge of the bed.
"Maya," he said, rising. "You scared the hell out of me. Are you okay?" As he got up and sat down on the bed, he offered his hand. She took it fast, squeezing tightly, and he wrapped his hand more securely around hers.
"Sorry," she said breathlessly, and all she could do was repeat herself and will her beating heart to slow. "I'm sorry."
He was worried, she could read that much in the knit of his eyebrows and in the way he reached out to touch her face, big hand gentler than anyone who had ever fought him would think possible. Maya leaned into his palm, and knew that she was giving herself away with the way that she was drinking in the sight of his face -- his ordinary, handsome, uninjured face -- like a dying woman faced with water, and couldn't find it in herself to give a damn.
"Hey," said Marcus softly. "Hey, now. Dreaming about that psychopath again?"
Maya hesitated the barest moment, watching him, and then she slipped into his arms. She kissed his jaw -- square, and probably about to set stubbornly -- and rested her chin on his shoulder, closing her eyes. Curling her fingers into his hair.
His arms were a careful weight looped around her, his hand on her back. "I wish you'd tell me what happened." His chest rumbled low against her as he spoke.
"Need to know basis, Marcus, and you--"
"Don't need to know," he finished. "Okay. Fine. Have your secrets. Just know, if you want to--"
"You'll be the first person I turn to," lied Maya through her teeth.
Silence, for a moment, Maya catching her breath against his neck; Marcus stroking her back, slow and easy.
Maya leaned back, just enough to take his face in her hands and kiss him. This was familiar; this was warm and comforting and light. Marcus was leaning in for another kiss when she sat back on her heels. "You didn't take any serious damage in your meeting with the floor, did you?"
He shot her a mildly betrayed look, but answered. "That depends on your definition of 'serious damage.' "
"Oh?" Maya asked, shooting him an utterly skeptical look (possibly with a hint of a smile threatening).
"I think my spine twisted when it hit the floor."
"Poor baby," said Maya, and she sighed. "I guess that means we ought to go back to sleep, then."
Marcus caught her when she was halfway down to the bed. "There were options other than sleeping?" he asked, with a light in his eyes and that rakish, boyish grin that she loved.
"There were," said Maya, shaking her head sadly at this turn of events. "Especially considering that we don't have anywhere we have to be til Friday. But you twisted your spine, so..."
"Actually, I think it's about to untwist," said Marcus, unable to hide his eagerness even for the sake of the joke. His face screwed up in a 'deep in concentration' sort of expression, as he twisted his shoulders back just a little, and then -- a sharp pop. "See? Good as new."
"Don't do that; I hate it when you do that!" protested Maya, dissolving into laughter, and pulling him down with her.