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Liz!
22 August 2016 @ 04:31 pm
I have no idea if anyone ever comes here anymore, but for what it's worth: I'm obviously never here. Likely won't be again, unless I decide to do a brain-upheaval and start treating this like an actual journal.

All of my new stuff, and the old stories I felt were worth it, is posted at AO3. I won't be deleting any of the older (embarrassing) stuff from here, so if you go trawling around you can still find them. (Really, though, please don't hold the old things against me. Everyone has to learn somehow.)

--Liz
 
 
Liz!
27 September 2012 @ 07:31 pm
Around a thousand years ago in fandom-time (in real time, it was around the end of 2008), a meme ripped through the Psych_Slash community that couldn't be stopped. "Put your music on shuffle," they said, "and write little fics for the first ten songs you hear."

Well, how are you supposed to not instantly have that on the brain every time you hear a song? I was thinking of it again the other day, and I was thinking of the Avengers simultaneously, and then this happened. To be fair, I cheated by only ticking down songs I instantly got an idea for, but whatever. Cheating is awesome. ...Yeah. I also only did six, because... because. Whatever. 

Fic: Songs of Vengeance (six drabbles)
Fandom: The Avengers
Pairing/Characters: Loki/Tony, Loki/Thor, Natasha, Steve



songs of vengeanceCollapse )

 
 
Current Mood: lazylazy
Current Music: The Rapture - Puscifer
 
 
Liz!
03 September 2012 @ 12:12 am
Wow. Livejournal. It's been a... long time, it turns out. I kind of fell off the face of the internet, doing non-fandom writing and having a job and all that good stuff, but then I watched the Avengers movie and then I watched Thor and then I fell down the rabbit hole of fandom again and, well, here I am. 

This story is fucking weird. It's born of lots of scotch and reading everything astolat has ever written and also what lots of other people have written, and no one had yet said the thing I kept thinking, and--well, shit, sometimes you just have to do it yourself. So.

If you're confused about timing: the first section is just after the events of The Avengers, followed chronologically by the second and third sections; the fourth section happens kind of throughout all of time and space; the fifth section happens... well, after the fourth one and also sort of immediately after the third one; and then the last section covers an imaginary version of Thor: The Dark World. 

Title: Indeterminacy
Fandom: The Avengers/Thor/Norse mythology
Pairing: Loki/Thor, Loki/Angrbotha, Loki/OC
Rating: R
Summary: "I do it because I want to hurt you," Loki says, staring unblinking at Thor, and the pale skin around his mouth is cracked by the irritation of the just-removed gag, raw and bloody. "I want to hurt you. Is it not obvious? Is there anything else I could do?"



IndeterminacyCollapse )


If you want to know more about indeterminism, read on here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Indeterminism

Big props if you got through it. Would appreciate a comment.


 
 
Current Mood: embarrassedembarrassed
Current Music: Disposition - Tool
 
 
Liz!
08 November 2010 @ 09:42 pm
I've been watching a lot of Firefly lately. I think Jayne is my favorite character - but the most interesting relationship is between Simon and River. This happened accidentally this afternoon. It's okay. I do like River's justification, though. I hope the non-con is clear.

Title: Divergence
Fandom: Firefly
Pairing: Simon/River
Rating: R
Summary: She needs to show him, and this is the only way she knows.


 

DivergenceCollapse )


Firefly people: do you think she's in character? Non-Firefly people: become Firefly people.

 

 

 
 
Current Mood: procrastinatey
Current Music: Parabol/Parabola - Tool
 
 
Liz!
01 November 2010 @ 09:17 pm
"Sylvia is writing a poem, I think – judging by the sharply indrawn breath, and her endless cigarettes. She is curled up on the chair next to her writing table, elbows on the table, and one leg curled under her small buttocks. Her hair looks very black against her pretty pink coat. How narrow her hands are – How deeply I love her. My eyes constantly stray from this page, across to her. How much, and how completely I love her."
 
 
Current Mood: boozy
Current Music: Sober - Vitamin String Quartet
 
 
 
Liz!
26 October 2010 @ 11:25 pm
I'm really, really, really tired, so this is going to be brief. Normally, I'd try to preface this a little more, beg for attention. I do like attention, that's true. (ZOMG COMMENTS.) As it stands, though, I wrote this in approximately four hours and I'm not sure if it's any good. Maybe it is.

If you've read the apocryphal Bible story of Judith, this will probably make a tiny bit more sense. But, you know, maybe not. One note: I'm considering whether "Holofernes" really has to die at the end.

Anyway:

 

PoisonCollapse )

 

 
 
Current Mood: sleepysleepy
Current Music: Carried Home - Iron & Wine
 
 
Liz!
19 October 2010 @ 10:19 pm
Writing slash in 140 characters or less:

Ianto wrapped a shaky hand over Jack's neck and hitched himself closer. Not bad for a first time, Jack thought, and then Ianto moved again.


For all his beauty, all it took for Ianto to make Jack's invulnerable heart stop beating was to stand at his sink, in boxers, flossing.


A cool laugh fluttered across Zuko's overheated skin and he gulped down air, eyes closed, trying not to scorch the sheets in his fists.

He ran slow fingers along the sweat-damp spine.



(Also: I just saw an unmarked white van... with portholes. So the kidnapping victim can at least see some light? ...OR SO THEY CAN GO TO SEA?)
 
 
Liz!
William Shakespeare
29, poet and playwright

Henry Wriotheseley, Third Earl of Southampton
20, courtier and literary patron


in Shakespeare's rooms in St. Helen's Bishopsgate
, London, 1593


William

proud Nature humbled by the work of its own hand: his azure eye, his auburn trees, the chest it hangs on white as the sun can seem when veiled in silken cloud, his silken doublet white as cloud cast off to bare the fire beneath, and if his heart be sun and his chest be sky then his eye be heaven and his earth below be forested lush around a great high oak that stands stripped clean of limbs from the lightning strike: I give my limbs to this land and touch his beating heart and burn, and yet he is night as well as day, a well as well as tree, a well dug deep and dark and I send my vessel down: he is, in flesh, the world inconsonant made one: my young man, my dark lady

Henry

I soon will lie alone and he will cross the room and sit at his table and once again he will take up his goose quill and find it blunt and take up his knife and bend and squint and turn slightly to the light from the window and begin his sweet circumcision, playing at the tip with the blade, making it less blunt, then sharp, then sharper still, and he will pause and touch the tip to his tongue and he will pull the ink pot nearer to him and dip the pen, dip it deep, the tip growing wet and dark, and he will withdraw and let it drip and drip till it stops, and then he will bend to his paper and his words will come and the tiny scratch of his quill will shudder its way up my thighs and I am pen and I am ink and I am his words
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Current Mood: transcendent
Current Music: Ms. Know-It-All - Zack Weber
 
 
Liz!
10 July 2010 @ 12:04 pm

Romantics: Johannes Brahms and Clara Schumann
-          Lisel Mueller

 

The modern biographers worry
“how far it went,” their tender friendship.
They wonder just what it means
when he writes he thinks of her constantly,
his guardian angel, beloved friend.
The modern biographers ask
the rude, irrelevant question
of our age, as if the event
of two bodies meshing together
establishes the degree of love,
forgetting how softly Eros walked
in the nineteenth century, how a hand
held overlong or a gaze anchored
in someone’s eyes could unseat a heart,
and nuances of address not known
in our egalitarian language
could make the redolent air
tremble and shimmer with the heat
of possibility. Each time I hear
the Intermezzi, sad
and lavish in their tenderness,
I imagine the two of them
sitting in a garden
among late-blooming roses
and dark cascades of leaves,
letting the landscape speak for them,
leaving us nothing to overhear.


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Liz!
Feeling pretty fuzzy and at peace with the world this morning. Last night (and this morning) BB whileintucson  and I played violent videogames, drank girly alcohol, and talked about ladies we find attractive until my brain was going to leak out my ear. Pretty awesome, even if my stupid internal clock did wake me up at nine today. But I don't care, because now I have a warm mug of Earl Grey and some PB&honey on toast, and my kitties are sleeping on either side of me. I mean, it doesn't get much better than that.

And it's even better than that, actually, because BOB IS IN ARIZONA YAY HOORAY FUNTIMES. He'll be staying with various members of the Clan around the state until we go to Los Angeles to scoop up Mike/get ready for the wedding. So exciting! I mean, I do feel bad that bb Amanda has to languish in Ann Arbor without her Bobby, but... well, he was my Bobby first, and sometimes I get a little selfish. Plus, on August 9th he'll go back to Michigan and be legally, officially transferred over to her. So I feel like I get to hoard him a little in the interim.

I'm not really sure what'll be happening for the next few weeks, except that I need to seriously get some hours in at work. Paying the full share of the bills is depleting bb Z's bank account too damn quickly. I know I'm going to be paid back, it's just... ack. On August 2nd I may have three dollars left to my name.

Hm. Now thinking about watching the Airbender cartoon, in hopes that it'll be a little better than the movie. Here, by the way, is the problem with the movie: it was made for children. Now, normally that's not an issue - it is a cartoon, right? - but where Nickelodeon failed was in not recognizing that humans have pretty sophisticated narrative minds almost from birth. Pixar knows this, which is why their "for children" cartoons are routinely nominated for Oscars - their directors, writers, and editors know that even young children can recognize tropes and themes extremely quickly, and so they can present the plot in intelligent and refreshing ways. Nickelodeon (I can only assume) made the tragic mistake of thinking its viewers were morons, so every single step in Airbender's plot was broadcast about twenty minutes before it happened, and the audience spent the whole movie waiting for the pace to pick up. I wonder what Ebert thought about it.

I should probably go to the grocery store today, but I'm probably just going to end up watching Netflix and drinking tea. Tragedy!

 - kisses
 
 
Current Mood: complacentcomplacent
Current Music: Running the Gauntlet - Col. Les Claypool's Fearless Flying Frog Brigade
 
 
 
Liz!
01 July 2010 @ 01:10 pm
So, uh. Yesterday was Kelly's birthday, and I thought - hey, what does Kelly like? She likes slash! I could write her some slash. And since I've been obsessing about Final Fantasy VII lately, I remembered my perfectly laser-focused idea for a piece of fanart, revolving around Cloud in his drag outfit. (If you aren't familiar with the game - at one point Cloud has to dress up as a woman to sneak into this mansion, and for some reason you carry the dress, wig, undies, tiara, and cologne all the way through the game, including into THE FINAL DUNGEON.) Since I can't draw for shit, I thought, "Hey, well, I could just write it."

It started off mildly humorous, or at least as humorous as I can get, and then... changed.

Honestly? This is the most shameless piece of porn I've ever written. I don't know what happened, but - well, let's just say Kelly liked her birthday present. And I'm going to need to spend some alone time in my bunk, to turn a ONTD phrase.

Fic: Disguised
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII (original game)
Characters: Barrett, Cid/Cloud/Vincent, cast
Rating: REALLY NC-17, or possibly lemon.
Warnings: Can be considered mild D/s or maybe dub-con if you squint, though with people this ridiculously powerful it's hard to imagine any consent being dubious. Oh, and cross-dressing.

 

DisguisedCollapse )

 

 
 
Current Mood: smoldering
Current Music: Vampire - Antsy Pants
 
 
Liz!
30 June 2010 @ 07:25 pm
Today is bb Kelly's 20th birthday! Man, time flies when you're loling all over the place. Sadly, I'm stuck at home feeding the cats (cute, but needy), so I didn't get to actually help sing for her. On the other hand, I do get to talk to her all day via Gchat. (...We're dorks.)

Also spent a great deal of time writing (or, at least, procrastinating because of writing, which any writer knows amounts to the same thing. "What are you doing?" "Writing." "Looks like Freecell to me." "...You don't understand.") Now I'm a little obsessed with the image I wrote of Cloud from Final Fantasy VII in drag, and really really REALLY wishing I could draw worth a damn.

Let's see. This weekend I'll be in San Jose/San Francisco/Napa for our buddy Mario's wedding. I'm excited to see him and Janelle (his soon to be wife) and especially my brother and soon-to-be-sister-in-law (look at all those hyphens!), but I'm also really excited to take my new shoes for a spin. Go figure.

This post is mainly about rambling. Not-so-go figure.

Hm.
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Current Mood: calmcalm
Current Music: Aerith's Theme (Orchestra Version) - Final Fantasy 7 (see?)
 
 
Liz!
25 June 2010 @ 05:38 pm
Attempting an actual journal post, á la whileintucson , despite the fact that I can't seem to help watching myself type. Most of my entries become meta way too fast (cough, like this one). I was actually keeping an honest-to-God paper journal for a little while, trying to write a bit every night before bed, but - well, you can imagine how that turned out. In a creative writing text I have somewhere, one person recommended just - typing. Whatever comes into your head, throw it down, eyes closed so you won't be able to think about wording/spelling mistakes, etc.

I'm not going to do that right now. Right now I'm going to talk (bitch?) a little about something that's been bugging me for a very long time.

The problem seems to be enthusiasm. There are many, many pop cultural topics on which I am extremely knowledgeable and on which I can expound - for much longer than my listeners would like, in most cases. (I'm reminded particularly of an early Nick Swardson bit in which his nephew tells him all about the looks and abilities of every single Pokemon, and Nick retaliates by taking him into the bathroom and telling him every ingredient in every bottle of shampoo/conditioner.) Nevertheless, I can't seem to help it - I get enthusiastic about things, often very enthusiastic, and can't avoid wanting to share it with my friends. Or even just my acquaintances.

Lately, though, I've found myself trying to hold back - not out of trying not to bore the person I'm talking to, by any means, but because I've noticed that if you show too much enthusiasm people don't take you seriously. "Oh, she's just a fangirl," seems to be the thought. "She's probably just obsessed. [Fill in the blank] probably isn't actually that great. No need to take it seriously." This, I feel, is unfair. And not just for me - this happens to too many people. Hell, I do it occasionally - my mother has been trying to get me to read A.S. Byatt for years, and I never do.

I suppose part of the problem would be that people don't know if they can trust your taste. I mean, I've had people go on and on at me about certain TV shows - Desperate Housewives comes to mind - but since I do know a little about the show, and what little I know I don't like, I'm not sure whether I should trust that the fangirl to whom I'm speaking actually knows her shit. For obvious reasons, I have a pretty inflated opinion of my own taste. If I think something is good, well, obviously it is good. (To be fair, I do have a little more training in analysis and what makes shit good than the average person. It's basically my whole major. But I digress.) And the people who know me extremely well (and who are willing to indulge in their own rabid bouts of enthusiasm [mostly Kelly and Alma]) are willing to trust my taste and, for the most part, will at least taste whatever fandom/film/book/game I'm offering.

But here's my plea. Even if you don't know if the fangirl to whom you're speaking actually knows good TV from bad TV, or good writing from bad writing, and so on, at least hear him or her out. (Yes, men can be fangirls.) First, because maybe s/he actually does know what they're talking about, and they're going to hook you on something friggin' awesome that you never would've found on your own. Second, if you already have a firm differing opinion on what they're talking about and yet you trust their taste, try to reconsider. After all, I'd heard only trash talked about Heroes, but when Kelly and Alma got on board I did give it a shot, and the first season was wonderful. (I admit I did wait for Alma to also give it the green light, because Kelly may have been blinded by the Pathan. It happens to the best of us.)

Third, though, and most important - listen to the fangirl with the light in her eyes just because the light is there. I remember once - oh, it must've been something like ninth grade - I had been talking to (at) my mother about Tool and she was being a little curt, and I could tell she didn't care, and I was all of a sudden extremely angry. Because my mother and I have the kind of relationship in which we can talk frankly, she asked me why I was pissed, and I realized - it wasn't that she didn't have the same appreciation for the lyrics or rhythm or whatever that I did. It was that I cared about this admittedly insignificant thing, and she didn't care that I cared. I know that sentence sounds stupid, but it's really the essence of this whole post. It's the same as the thing I wrote for Alma, once - sure, I don't actually care about ichthyology or octopi or crotchet, but I should listen when she tells me about it just because how much she knows is impressive, and because she cares.

I guess it just boils down to - care about each other. It's funny how many things do. Listen, and even if you don't care about Desperate Housewives, appreciate the fact that your friend does.
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Current Music: Goodnight Irene - Band From TV
 
 
Liz!
Hello, tiny constituency.

Now that summer has come and my responsibilities are limited to work and going to weddings, I'm hoping I'll be able to write a little more freely. Some things have slipped out, but nothing planned, never when I sit down with a (terribly long but unfinished) Word file and think, "Okay, now, how was this supposed to go?"

Ah, well. I'm guessing that if I do ever eventually continue posting things you-all will forgive me for the hiatus. Until, of course, the next one occurs. Hm.

Anyway, to the fic.

Ever since the last single moment of Heroes: Redemption, I've had an idea for a fic in my head. Nothing particularly slashy, though of course it could be, but rather -   Remember the look on Sylar's face, when Peter gave him that scrounged copy of Pillars of the Earth? Remember the... terrible, terrible vulnerability there? Yes. That. My wild imagining over this long waiting period was kept mostly to myself, as we were waiting to hear if they'd actually cancel the series. Now that they have, I feel free to let the imagination run wild. Like the people who write Potter next-gen.

Imagine. Sylar is all alone. He's been tamed, neutralized. With Peter, he has something that's... not friendship, exactly. It's the kind of connection a slash writer could only dream of (making me wonder exactly who sat in the Heroes writers' room for the last season), something hard-edged and born of pain and misery and shared sorrow. Peter couldn't leave him alone after that, surely? At the very least, there'd be a meeting or something with Mr Bennet, maybe with the much-absent Mohinder, the people who knew Sylar before. Peter will insist he's changed, but he can't be left alone. What if something - happened?

The very first thing I pictured, before the credits rolled and I turned to my friends to exclaim and carry on, was some kind of strange roommates relationship, like unto the one Matt and Mohinder had - except the person being babysat is Sylar himself. Just to make sure. And Peter, of course, would have a tremendous amount of power over him, because Sylar trusts him. Because Sylar can't trust himself.

All this has been roiling in the back of my mind for months, now, and then this afternoon I was watching wafflesnbrains' fanvid "Oh No You Didn't" and this popped out. It almost made me late for work. It's not a complete fic, by any means, but it's something.

 

Peter + Sylar drabbleCollapse )


Please tell me what you think. Even if you're not in-fandom. Heck, maybe even especially then. Should it be expanded? Should I bow to my better instincts and leave it alone? Should the initial conditions change? - that is, should the girl be someone important, should... ?


 
 
Current Mood: nauseatednauseated
Current Music: Welcome to the Cruel World - Ben Harper
 
 
Liz!
28 April 2010 @ 08:09 am
I hear cooing and scuffling as I stand on the steps of my building
and at first, with the fluttering, hope for an angel, a visitation, but
then realize I am listening to pigeons, crammed in a window box,
mating over my head. I’m glad I don’t have to have sex like that,
in a window box! I’m sure Peter is too — glad, that is.
Peter’s my husband, and we have sex, fun sex, in a bed,
under the off-white comforter with blue floral trim.
We are lucky; we are blessed; we are happily married —
both of us for the second time — although last night in the car
he mentioned how they sang “The King of Love My Shepherd Is”
at our wedding, and I had to say, “Jesus, damn it to hell, that was
your first wedding”; pouting and so forth. Peter bit his lip and said,
“Oh, I’m so sorry, baby,” as he drove from West 79th to West 53rd.
I stared out the window, and people looked blurry and stupid.
I thought how nice it would be to live alone in a little Hell’s Kitchen studio.
But then I remembered that his first love letter, which quoted Hart Crane,
came with a box of Jujubes (my favorite!) taped to the side, and
I forgave him. After all, I once called him “Sam,” my first husband’s name.
We reached the diner at West 53rd, and Peter parked like a duke —
no one parallel-parks like my husband — and we smooched, sadness over,
as a spaniel, undocked plumy tail aloft, strutted by.
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