vanitashaze: A Weeping Angel in Amy's eye. (in the corner of your eye /)
Lately, I have noticed that a great many people do not have these round-up posts, and as I find it greatly annoying when I search for fic, I figure it would be rather hypocritical for me not to have one too. Even if I haven't actually written all that much, yet.

ETA: I don't believe in characters, storylines, or universes belonging to any one person - it's why I write fanfiction - and with that in mind, all of the work to be found here and elsewhere is available for remixing, translation, sequels, prequels, podfics, fanart, and any other type of fanwork. If you do choose to use my stuff for any of these purposes, I'm very flattered, and would also ask that you credit me somewhere (partly because I'm a vain bastard, and partly because knowing what came as inspiration to a work can enrich the experience even more for the reader).

'Someone, I tell you, will remember us / even in another time.' Heroes, Stargate: Atlantis, Supernatural, Psych, Doctor Who, Torchwood, George Orwell, Albert Camus, Tin Man, Life on Mars, Middleman, Street Kings, & Jean Paul Sartre. )
vanitashaze: Ruby. (what at the heart of your engine's rage?)
I'm not sure if I'm too happy about how this turned out - Ruby is a very difficult character to write right - but I'm posting it anyway.

Supernatural; Ruby/Lilith, R.

( Some come from the cities, bodies stuffed into moth-eaten coats, dragging suitcases tied together with string. )
vanitashaze: Ambiguous hands around a throat. (liminality of violence and tenderness /)
Technically, I'm supposed to wait for Sunday to do this, but I'm posting this now, because I'm going to be busy studying for IB exams all of tomorrow (*face of supreme distaste*) and who the hell reads their f-list at two minutes to midnight, anyway? If the answer is you: don't speak! I would like to preserve the illusion of me being at least somewhat in compliance of the rules. Though to be honest, I'm wondering why I'm fanfaring this, because OH MY GOD YOU GUYS, THERE ARE SO MANY PROBLEMS WITH THIS FIC. Or at least I think so. (For instance: I can't find a line I like enough to make it the summary. And that never happens.) Maybe I'm too hard on myself? But, uh, yeah. Read and let me know? And that isn't the shameless ploy for fic-readers that you think it is. Honest.

But anyways: for all you Supernatural fen out there, specifically those of the Dean/Castiel preference - reveals are (or soon will be!) up for the Secret Angels III fic exchange! Yay. Even though many of them were... not that great. I wrote for [ profile] oso_intricate, and it has slightly less of my usual tragedy and despair. Slightly. But it's Supernatural, so angst with a happy ending is like rainbows and puppies.

Basically, this is a story about Castiel learning how to feel, as narrated by Dean, who thinks neither of them can. There's fighting. And apparently [ profile] 22by7 thinks it's profoundly erotic?

Supernatural, Dean/Castiel, R. Warnings for brief graphic violence.

( It was a story about Castiel, first and foremost, though Dean and Sam had cameo appearances in it as well. )
vanitashaze: Ambiguous hands around a throat. (liminality of violence and tenderness /)
Before we get to the sex, I have a funny story to tell you guys. I think I first encountered fanpoetry about spring of 2008. Needless to say, I was completely blown away that someone - more than one person! - had the talent to actually write fanfiction in poetic form. Wouldn't that be cool if I could do that? I wondered, and then immediately thought: oh, don't be stupid. That'll never happen.

It's a good thing no one in authority listens to my predictions, that's for sure.

So: Supernatural free verse of the Dean/Castiel variety and a very definite R-rating. And yes, the title does refer to the sexual position. In fact... sex, death, eating, orgasm, implosion, possession, language, sixty-nineing - I think I hit them all. But non-squicking, unless you're freaked out by blowjobs.

Somewhat related but not addressed in the poem - as far as death goes, Cas is in a pretty unique place, isn't he? Because angels are (barring being murdered) immortal, and so I would think death would be an incredibly foreign concept to them - not just foreign, but weird, in a way that human death... isn't, as much as we'd like to think so. But Castiel died (and was then brought back); I wonder if this affected his perceptions of humans any? In many ways - powers, relationships, dying - I feel as if he's becoming more and more Anna's obverse, alike and yet not. But maybe that's just me.


Love is the natural oblivion for us, not death: / the finality of utter consumption, as planets / are eaten by their suns, a tongue transposed by fire / into a thousand-part harmony of gravity and rock. )
vanitashaze: Profile of Teyla. (we burn our boats each new year /)
OH MY GOD YES MY SAT TWOS ARE DONE HALLELUJAH HALLELUJAH. In celebration, have more SGA gen fic about grief and life on Atlantis! I appear to really like writing about those. (See The Subterraneans.) Hopefully this will make sense outside of my head, but who knows? I'm on decongestant, oral antibiotics, caffeine pills, and Margaret Atwood poetry, nothing makes sense right now!

SGA; PG-13. Gen. Warnings for grief and burial practices.

( Read more... )
vanitashaze: Profile of Teyla. (we burn our boats each new year /)
Writing characters, you realize things you never knew about them before. For me, wrestling this one down? My Teyla is fierce!

I was never much into Teyla/Kate, but I read some of [ profile] thingswithwings' stuff and was intrigued. Not to mention, the canon - though I don't think we feel the full impact of Kate on Teyla's life until her absence, it's obvious that she means something to Teyla, as she reacts more strongly to her death than to any number of dead friends and coworkers during her stay on Atlantis. I might write more of this pairing; I don't know. As I see it, their relationship could either go very badly or very well, because like every psychologist I know, Kate's bound to be good at both waffle and diagnosing others' problems, and I think it was [ profile] seperis who said, Teyla's not in touch with her own emotions as much as sympathetic to the emotions of others. And unlike McKay and Sheppard, they don't have an absence of tact as much as far too much of it. So they could either be functional and communicative, or vastly problematic, as they're so caught up in that careful diplomacy that neither is sure what exactly is real, never mind how to express it. I chose to portray the latter choice.

Housekeeping time: Title from the Nancy Elizabeth song, which for some reason I think fits Teyla to a T, even though it really doesn't. Also, this is for the "First Times" spot on my [ profile] cliche_bingo card. The Quick Bird on Hot Sand, I believe, came from Icarus.

SGA; R. Teyla/Kate.

Read more... )
vanitashaze: Profile of Teyla. (we burn our boats each new year /)
I swear to God, this story kicked my ass, but hopefully I kicked it right back. It was a sort of personal challenge - I wanted to see if I could do a, the creepy, and b, a mostly-linear story that didn't involve my usual scene breaks. That part was very hard, I tell you. Anyways, housekeeping: Quite a bit borrowed from Celia Bell's "The Impossible Fate of William Minnafee", though I don't recommend the story. The Mary in question refers to Mary Mallon, otherwise known as "Typhoid Mary".

For the Imprisonment square on my [ profile] cliche_fic bingo card.

SGA; PG-13. McKay/Sheppard.

Read more... )
vanitashaze: Girl on a dark beach. (Default)
Behold: my latest failure, aka the [ profile] mcshep_match drabble that ate Tokyo. As you may have guessed from that introduction, it is, eh, slightly longer than allowed - about 500% bigger - and so cannot be posted on their very cool drabble tree, which is a shame, because I think it's a very cool and creepy follow-up to a previous drabble (in case you're interested, it's this PEACE one).

people don't win wars. wars win wars.

The light is cold here. On the outer edges, where undertide and current flow, the walls are being eaten by the ocean salt. They have, perhaps, a thousand years left; more, if the shields were expanded. They're at minimal levels for now, edges sacrificed to save the center, the critical areas only: gate-room, power-station, stasis room and the man it holds. Between life support, shields, and the AI, the ZPM has, perhaps, ten thousand years left. Less, if the shields are expanded. Something must - 0000011101. Something must go. It's Atlantis or her prodigal son; Isaac and Abraham, struggling to tie each other to the altar. Each vying for more time, more time. A year more of survival. Two. Trapping each other in mazes and looping codes, in echoes of echoes. One disintegrates while the other survives, and Rodney and his city battle it out in silence. He's winning, so far. And that's important, because every minute is a chance someone will rediscover the city, time for a cure to be found. Because the thing is - the thing is -

The thing is, he's pretty sure he existed, once. Pretty sure he loved, and occasionally hated, and was more than this eternal game of cat-and-mouse, this cruel either/or, architecture or anatomy. He's as much a machine as the city. He can feel what he's doing to her. She's been quiet for a while, though - hiding somewhere in the control room. The bulk of her processing is in essential sections, or he would have - 010. He would have cut her shields and left her to the sea. Should probably check server AR-940, just in case. Must remember that; very important thing. Because the thing is - one slip and he's - one slip and -

He does remember. Must remember; very important. A comfort he could still - 10110011110. Still give. "I remember," his subroutines would say. If he were anything more than a whisper of light and code, he would reach past the glass - mouth to mouth, breathing out, thumb sweeping over the angry lines of infection running under the skin. He gave up ascension for this: to protect the last known carrier of the Wraith's virus, their final revenge, their time bomb sunken under the sea.

It seemed a fair trade. Food and sleep and sex, to be able to remember - to remember John, when no one else would. To hold that knowledge, share it, read himself out like a book to whomever could help. He carries instructions for - 001011. For the stasis chamber, John's medical records, all the research they'd had on the Wraith virus, anything that could help, and underneath, in hidden files and encrypted video: more whispers, of video golf and rings. A moment of joy, high in the atmosphere. Strong hands. A machine's memory of hot sheets and skin on skin. (And the thing - the thing he has to remember is - )

He's the bible of John; genesis and revelations both.
vanitashaze: Girl on a dark beach. (Default)
And here it comes: the third installment on my list on fanfiction for fandoms that barely exist! For all the folks at home, that's the Orwell and Sartre fics. Now, Camus! I rather like this little piece, actually. It's rather odd, and it plays a lot more with identity than I usually do, but has some nice symbolism, if I do say so myself. (Of course, it's the assend of the morning out here, so I'm a little stirred. That may have something to do with it.)

Albert Camus' "The Stranger"; Marie & Mersault, PG.

Read more... )
vanitashaze: Girl on a dark beach. (Default)
...And here's the [ profile] lgbtfest entry, on the following prompt: #68 - Any fandom, any characters, An everyday moment in someone's queer life that's more significant than Coming Out or First Kiss or even Getting Married.

I don't know if I liked how it turned out, exactly - the Bad has set in, and writer's block is the order of the day - but for a last-ditch effort it's none too bad. (Fun fact, people: I actually finished it on time, that is, by 12AM WED 22. I just went out to celebrate finishing it - without actually posting it. D'oh. Do I win the literary Darwin awards or what?)

ETA: Upon further reflection, I believe the line about the Monty Python skit may belong to someone else. Sorry, hypothetical person! If anyone figures out who it is, let me know.

Biro; McKay/Sheppard. PG-13.

Read more... )
vanitashaze: Girl on a dark beach. (Default)
This is not happy. I mean, it might be. Maybe. I'm not sure. It was not meant to be happy, but meant to be love, which I have found is neither particularly sad or happy, perhaps somewhere sort of in the middle, or maybe a third point, unrelated to the two. It probably suffers from 5000 words-worth of bad science but forgive me, high school education hasn't given me much to work with. Speaking of high school education: I should probably be writing that TOK essay now, y/n?

ETA: I find this most appropriate, for this fic, an inspiration if you will. Pablo Neruda's "Sonnet XVII".

ETA #2: This fic came about after reading a rash of stories in which it was revealed that Rodney understood John like no one else had ever before, and always knew exactly the right thing to say or do. To which I reply: huh? Are we talking about the same Rodney McKay here?

SGA; R. McKay/Sheppard.

Read more... )
vanitashaze: Girl on a dark beach. (Default)
Picture this:

Rodney McKay, playing the first few bars of Nina Simone's "Black Is the Color of My True Love's Hair" (download link provided, of course). That not enough for you? Picture this, then:

There is a piano. In Atlantis, perhaps; in Jeannie's house; in an empty auditorium, dust on the lid, even the sunlight there secretive and strange. Where it is, though, this is not actually important; nor is his reason for being there with it. There is a piano - that is enough.

He sits. Hunched, mouth turned downwards. He is not sure whether to be happy, or sad, or if what he feels is D, none of the above, the third answer in a true/false question, which is to say, indescribable, not that it will keep him from trying. Perhaps John is there; perhaps he is not. Someone is, though. Someone should be there to witness this.

Pencils at the ready; begin. He will start lightly, almost tentatively, like shaking hands with an old friend - it's been so long, after all, and he's not really sure where he stands with the piano - but stronger with every note, a crescendo of movement and sound - faster, faster, harder - until he's pounding at the keyboard, mouth tight, eyes bright. His back muscles clench; he leans into the keys. He feels the music like the time AR-1 almost got caught in a imanam, a rockslide, on MX4-829: the sheer impatience and power of it, as if nothing could stop the rocks' descent, like this tumble was written into the basecode - nay, the bones of the land, somehow essential to the existence of it. Absolutely terrifying, of course. Completely inevitable.

He could have died from that. Considers this, and pounds on, fingers slick on the keys. He thinks he could die from this, too.
vanitashaze: Girl on a dark beach. (the great brute boy-sage of civilization)
I do not have much to say here, because: whoah. About twelve hours of marathon writing. But, hey. Out of the slump.

Oh, and also: snow day! Tomorrow! For once, Northern Virginia, I think I love you.

ETA: Northern Virginia, I do not love you, because you come equipped with snow plows, and salt trucks, with spraying salt that hits me in the face. FAIL.

i am the letter you took to war
sga; pg-13. spoilers up to 5.06 The Shrine.
sheppard / nancy, sheppard / mckay

written for [ profile] sheafrotherdon's fabulous little Friendship / Flirting / Thinking of You Fest.

Read more... )
vanitashaze: Girl on a dark beach. (Default)
Reposted for posterity, and because [ profile] heroes_exchange has a bloody age filter. To be honest, I'd rather avoid debate about the effectiveness and purpose of those things - it comes too close to morals for me - but on a purely practical level, it's annoying as hell. And yes, I realize that every system has its flaws, but does it not seem a little ridiculous when the author is locked out of her own fic?

Also, I missed the Sekrit Cabal Ficlet Battle 4.0. I am rather disappointed about this.

Housekeeping: 'twas written on the prompt "ghosts", for [ profile] themollyedge. Title from Secret Garden's "Sleepsong".

with diamonds and pearls at your head and your feet
adam / hiro / ando, adam / yaeko, hiro / yaeko, ando / oc
heroes; r-whateva. au past 2.11 Powerless.

Read more... )
vanitashaze: Girl on a dark beach. (Default)
Ladies and germs, the Heroes Fic Exchange is over, and I am so much the richer for it, because [ profile] themollyedge wrote me Adam, and Hiro, and Adam/Hiro, and Yaeko (Yaeko!), and it is just beautiful. Or rather, not beautiful but something beyond beauty, because this is a work of art, my friends, this is circles and time-curves and “Hiro,” he says again, and the word holds all the decades of the earth inside its body. And the framework is an E.E. Cummings poem! Oh, read it. Read read read.

Somewhere I Have Never Travelled, by [ profile] themollyedge. Adam/Hiro, others.
Summary: Hiro and Adam have always moved around each other in circles.

Incidentally, through some twist of fate or perhaps moderator, I ended up writing* for [ profile] themollyedge. And it's about Adam and Hiro (and Ando) too! Go figure. It actually made it all the more cooler, once everything was posted and I got my head out of my ass long enough to check if someone had written something for me - d'oh, brain, it's an exchange - because it was like a very, very small Adam-Hiro-Ando-Yaeko fest between the two of us.

Here, if you want to read it, go ahead. But read Moll's first.

with diamonds and pearls at your head and your feet, by [ profile] vanitashaze. Adam/Hiro/Ando, others.
Summary: In the beginning, there is Hiro, and Ando, and across the planet is New York, still as whole and beautiful and fucked up as ever.

*6,580 words in less than a week. What the fuck? I am amazed with myself. And kind of wondering if the world's going to end, now.
vanitashaze: Girl on a dark beach. (Default)
So, about eight months ago, I began this tradition of bad-movie-watching with my friend. We go to the crap theatre at Ballston - it's on the Metro line - and buy kid's matinee tickets at the machine, so we're in there for about six bucks each, buy enough Skittles to eat and throw at the screen, and spend the whole afternoon bickering and watching bad movie after bad movie, and argue about which one is the most awful. It's great fun. But the reason I brought it up was that the movie that started this whole tradition was a shoot-em-up called Street Kings, and it's now out on DVD.

Do not get me wrong: this is possibly one of the worst movies ever. It reinforces every racial, ethnic, economic, and gender stereotype that exists. Hugh Laurie is brilliant but criminally misplaced - it's as if they just decided to drop Dr. House in there for no reason whatsoever - and Keanu Reeves looks and acts like they stole him out of the big display window at Macy's. The only saving grace is Officer Disco, played by Chris Evans, and his tentative chemistry with Ludlow (Reeves). And I will say this, because I can't imagine anyone ever wanting to see this movie in any other context than drunk night: he dies. Woo-hoo. Big spoiler, except, not really.

And despite all that, I ended up writing a bit of fic for them. Do I know why? No. Best guess, I felt like entertaining my Id. Maybe a little of [ profile] guede_mazaka's influence in there too. Because, again, big spoiler: it's a little fucked up. But I'm cleaning out my hard drive in preparation for The Biggest Damn History Paper Ever Written (otherwise known as How Jack Kerouac Is a Gay Misogynist Ass), and I found this, and I figure, hell, it's the week before the Christmas Rush, everyone needs a bit of anger in their lives.

Especially those working in retail.

end titles for a film
tom / grace, tom / disco
street kings; r-whateva. warnings for spoilers, sex, death, and the over-overuse of the word "fuck".

Read more... )
vanitashaze: Girl on a dark beach. (Default)
I'm not really sure if I like this or not - I know there's going to be heavy editing tomorrow morning, at least, because this feels like a shiny stone that needs to be whittled down a little more - but I'm posting it anyway, because guess what, bitches?


it is bright where you are
pip / noser
middleman; r-whatever. general spoilers.

Read more... )
vanitashaze: Girl on a dark beach. (Default)
Housekeeping: title and lyrics from Deb Talan's "Rocks and Water". That's about it.

I'm starting to think there's some sort of mathematic rule of V's Fic Writing - the amount of time I had to finish the piece varies inversely with the amount of hours I have left before the deadline when I finish it, or something. In this case, it was about three months / two hours.

Head, meet desk.

rocks and water
"joni and her mum, alternate ending to 1.4, life in mexico." gen.
life on mars; pg-13. written for the 2008 [ profile] lifein1973 ficathon.

Read more... )
vanitashaze: Girl on a dark beach. (Default)
So, Psych fic, and of course it's not nearly to the tone or content of the show. (Figures. Perhaps I should just stick with being quietly gloomy, because I obviously can't write anything in the least bit fluffy.) In this rare case, however, I was actually aiming for gloomy and fucked up, mostly to prove a point about Shawn, which is: hey, guys, he's not actually that nice. In fact, consider this a child of [ profile] lucia_tanaka's Varying Degrees of Conartistry, which goes somewhere along the same lines. (A child that isn't nearly as good as the parent story, by the way. Read it. You'll never watch Psych the same way again.)

And re: my own personal issues - I swear, people, I wrote the angst after I wrote the fic. I just edited the angst first.

Okay, housekeeping. La-de-dah... Dates, of course, are all assuming Shawn was born in 1979; quotations are from On the Road, Crime & Punishment, "Daredevils", "Psy vs. Psy", and "Murder? ...Anyone? ...Anyone? Bueller?"

...Right. Fie ye away, fluff! Vice, vice, angst, baby, and bring on the gay!

great expectations
shawn / gus, shawn / lassiter, shawn / juliet
psych; r-whateva. general spoilers.

Read more... )
vanitashaze: Girl on a dark beach. (Default)
1. SpikeTV is having a Star Wars marathon this week and oh, George Lucas. Futuristic tupperware, Luke's hair, bad Middle-Eastern stereotypes, the attack!Teddies... SUCH CHEESE, but I can't believe how much I've missed it. And it's so strange, seeing them in order—the knowing that Obi-Wan was once young and strong, who is behind the black suit, "that strange old religion" called the Force... It's all so much more poignant, even with the bad special effects.

...I want my very own Yoda. Like, now.

2. Having listened to my newest Psapp album rather obsessively, I can only concur that if crackfic had a theme song, this would be it. I mean, squeaky toy as percussion instrument? Why not?

3. In other news, Meredith!fic is eating my brain. NOTES EDIT REWRITE EDIT REWRITE. This is going to be my mantra for the next ten million years, I know it. But in the meantime, have some shameless fluff. It really is quite soppy. And, please, excuse my high-school Spanish. (Forsooth, it has come back to haunt me.)

with bloom to spare
claire / maya, claire / peter.
heroes; pg-13. vaguely AU. spoilers up to 2.11 Powerless.

Read more... )


vanitashaze: Girl on a dark beach. (Default)

April 2012

8 91011121314


RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 20th, 2017 09:19 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios