Harry...I am...your...father....

Having fun reading the 'predictions' for Book V of Harry Potter.

I'm probably a god-awful person for snickering whenever I see the "Voldemort is Harry's father prediction" but I can't help think of Star Wars.

I mean, besides the fact that's it's completely unfounded. How many times in the books have people told the kid he looks just like James? And how would Voldemort impregnate Harry's mum, anyway?

Harry: Voldemort's...my...father?

Dumbledore: I'm sorry, Harry. This must be hard for you to hear.

Harry: But...how...what...why...HOW?

Dumbledore: It's the other use for dark magic.

Harry: So it's 'magic?' This does not concur with what I know about 'how babies are made.'

Dumbledore: I may be ancient and all knowing, but there's only so much I can do to cover up a giant plot hole.

Harry: S'okay. The Dursleys always told me I was something unnatural, anyway.

Of course, JKRowling will make Voldemort Harry's father, just because I'll look like an idiot.

In other news, Which only really applies to you, since you're the only one I ran "Last Rites" by, I have just figured out how to make the ending happy.

Yes, Subaru is /happy/.

Subaru: No angst?

Me: I didn't say that.

Subaru: You just said I was happy!

Me: But the things you do to get there, m'boy. The angst, the depression, the pain.

Subaru: Pain?

Me: Much pain. Great heaping loads of it.

Subaru: I hate you.

Friday, January 17, 2003

Aha!

Just realized something. I can't write a Witch Hunter Robin fic bcause I've only seen the first few episodes! Which means I can get my other one-shots done, and maybe even plough through some chapter-ness...

Did you hear that brain? I haven't seen the whole series yet. I cannot write a fic yet. I don't care how much you like the opening song, brain, it's not going to happen for a while. Do we understand each other, brain? Do we?

The fact that I haven't seen enough of that series is my only saving grace I swear. Opening so pretty. Series so pretty. Battles the most realistic thing I have seen in a while. Pacing is a bit slow, but I'm only five or so episodes, and already so cool.

So pretty. But no fic. Things to finish. No fic yet, brain, and you will listen to me for once.

...Brain?

Wednesday, January 15, 2003

An aside

I have other things I could blog about, far more important opinions on great and terrible events in history, but having just had an argumnet with my father concerning said events, I'll let them simmer and collect before I type anything.

So, it's time for a pointless aside, directed at whoever hit my blog for "Aeris+Sephiroth+in+love" (*shudder*) I love Aeris, and I love Sephiroth, but the two of them together makes me twitch.

Aeris: Oh look, there's a sword through my stomach. Ow.

Sephiroth: It signals my undying love for you that I wanted to kill you when you were still innocent.

Aeris: This is not quite the phallic symbol of choice.

Sephiroth: I had to make do. Sorry.

Aeris: I will die to defeat you later, so we can be together in the promised land.

Sephiroth: Ummm...yay?

Aeris: So I don't mind leaving you...

Sephiroth: You know, I'm not sure if /I/ mind. And even if I did, I'm the cold and emotionless psycho-anti-hero...

Aeris: Is that a category?

Sephiroth: You're getting a lot of words out for someone who's got a sword through your stomach.

Aeris: ...Oh, right, I've exceeded my dramatic last words limit. But you must know you've killed our innocent love child, procured when you came upon me in Shinra headquarters!

Sephiroth: Oops.

Aeris: *gurglespewblood*

Sephiroth: Ah well, progeny is overrated.

----

And yes, having Aeris say "phallic symbol" also makes me twitch.

Wednesday, January 15, 2003

Round one: Fight!

Twig, this is entirely your fault. Just so you know. ^_^

Against my better judgement, Seishirou is invoking the full power of Sakurazukamori and his Evil!Sakura Shrub vs. Yomiko "The Paper" Readman.

Seishirou: You are perky and happy and optimistic. Prepare to die.

Ofuda: *swooshfwooshswoosh*

Yomiko: What lovely drawings!

Ofuda: *stop in air*

Yomiko: They're such pretty designs. *picks up ofuda from air*

Seishirou: I'm fuming now. Just so you know.

Fuuma: You're what?

Seishirou: Go very far away.

Yomiko: Oh! I'm sorry! Let me give these back to you.

Seishirou: No! Don't you dare...*dodgewhackdodge*...augh!

Yomiko: Are you all right, Sakurazukamori-san?

Subaru: *snerk* Need some help, Seishirou-san?

Seishirou: Shut up, Subaru-kun. Go join Fuuma. He's currently very far away.

Hands: *prayer posistion involving some various finger contortions*

Seishirou: On bariwa sowaka.

SakuraTree: ...

Seishirou: On bariwa sowaka!

SakuraTree: ...don't wanna...

Seishirou: Oh hell. This is in your contract and you know it.

SakuraTree: But she'll turn me into /paper/! I don't wanna go! Don't make me!

Seishirou: Fine! I'll attack the other one!

Yomiko: Nancy-san! Look out!

Hand: *Woo! Busty female chest! Sweet! fwooshstabfwoosh*

Nancy's chest: *phases through hand*

All: *blinkblink*

Nancy: That...sort of tickles...please remove it.

Hand: *exits chest, stage right*

Seishirou: I give up.

Me: I hope you had fun. Twit.

----

Again, Twig that was all your fault. ^_^

And for the record, I really do like Sei-san, but sometimes he's just such a twit.

Monday, January 13, 2003

somewhere in between

More Read or Die. It's rough, but if I continue this enough I may have an actual plot solidified. You never know.

----

The story that Yomiko told Nancy in the noise of the city was not the first story.

The first story, appropriately enough, was in the place of silence and dead paper birds that flapped their wings weakly under her folding fingers.

Yomiko wasn't Yomiko then, but a dark-haired woman with glasses and a quiet voice and a shy smile. She carried wonders in her hands, hands that made the paper fly, and she carried miracles in her voice, a voice that gave stories wings.

Nancy wasn't sure then, but now she knows that she loved Yomiko from the moment her voice gave that first story life.

Mother. Friend. Savior. Maybe even more than that. Yomiko gave her a past with that story, something to keep her from falling into the sky, and Nancy loved her for that.

Sister.

"Your sister was a brave, strong person who saved the world."

----(insert)

The library was another world, a land of books and paper and the dry, ancient smell that came from the stacks.

Nancy loved the library at once, because there were stories here, so many different stories that lead so many different ways. The library was the beginning of everything, of every story.

Nancy wondered if they were hiding the ones that hadn't been told yet somewhere in the stacks.

But for all the glory of the library stacks, all the beginnings and all the endings, that wasn't why she loved the place.

It was the spirit of it, and that spirit reflected itself in the pure and vibrant joy shining in Yomiko's eyes.

And seeing that joy, that happiness, Nancy felt like she could draw the beginnings from the books, that she could grow paper wings and fly away to start her own story.

----

And yes, it's become a light shoujo-ai all of a sudden. And the library snippet carries the 'warning, I suck' disclaimer.

Nancy: I liked it. The books are so pretty.

Yomiko: Do we get to stay there a lot?

Subaru: They have no angst. No angst.

Cloud: How is that fair?

Me: You're right, it's not fair.

Seishirou: So, what do you intend to do about it?

Me: Absolutely nothing.

Seishirou: I could /give/ them angst.

Me: Go right ahead. Attack the woman who controls paper with your nice *coughpapercough* Ofuda. I'm sure it'll work marvelously.

Seishirou: *glare*

Me: It's not /my/ fault you're a twit.

Monday, January 13, 2003

On reflection

After seeing the Two Towers again, I've decided that a lot of the problems in the movie (and, conversely the books) could be solved by putting Frodo on a leash.

Sam: No Frodo! Bad ringbearer! *yank* No funky ring-is-evil trances for you!

Frodo: *choke, possibly pass out*

I...have no mind.

Sunday, January 12, 2003

We're going down!

Whining to follow Read or Die fic-snipppet. And both the snippet and the whining are so rough it hurts.

----

Yomiko knows many stories.

She knows stories of castles and their kings, cities and their skies covered in smog, and of dark quests and those who undertake them. She knows stories with happy endings and sad endings, and some stories that do not end at all, but she simply stops telling them.

Nancy remembers what life was like before she came to live with Yomiko, in this apartment-house over the city. She remembers the darkness of the big place, and the cold stares and above all else the silences.

When she came here, the noise was so strange that she couldn't sleep. And so Yomiko came to her and told her a story.

----(insert)

Yomiko never repeats stories, and appears to have a limitless supply of them. Nancy watches Yomiko's face when she tells them to her, sometimes late at night when the stars are out, sometimes in the morning before the dawn, and sometimes in the days when rain pelts the roof and they sit together to the sound of it.

Yomiko tells a story, and she tells herself. She pours herself into the story, and the first time she told Nancy a story, Nancy was worried that Yomiko would run out of herself before the story was finished. That there would be no ever after because she would be hollow from the telling before the party even met the wandering monk.

But Yomiko stopped telling that story, of the two women and the books with power in them, the story that was more than a story, that was somehow real. She has not yet returned to it, and Nancy wants to know how it ends.

----(insert)

Sometimes, Yomiko works, and Nancy is left alone in the apartment-house. Without Yomiko and the stories to fill the spaces they seem to grow and stretch, until Nancy can wander the empty halls for days or hours.

She does not like the emptiness, for it reminds her of the big place and grew on its own, with the grass and the sea and the sky. She'd told the people there, with cold faces that told no stories, that she did not like it her, that she felt like she could fall through the emptiness and keep falling.

They wrote down what she said, as if she was telling a story, which she knows now is wrong, because only Yomiko can tell stories, and said nothing.

She dreams of falling sometimes, of falling but being in control, a sort of flying without wings.

It was after this dream that she began to watch the birds, and the cold people noted down the things she did, the glances outside and her own silences.

----

Ok, everyone know those old war movies, where the fighter plane is hit and it's trailing smoke from the wing as it spirals down from the sky.

that was me during my Calculus test. Me and about 3/4 of the class.

"We're losing altitude. We can't hold her steady. We're going down!"

Bah-ness.

Friday, January 10, 2003

I needed that

It is entirely possible that Calculus has eaten my brain. I hope no one wanted it much. The characters are missing it, though.

Cloud: I'm gong to be stuck in angst and remembrance land, aren't I?

Me: Only until after my test tomorrow. And after the fencing competition tomorrow. And maybe part of the weekend.

Brendan: Can I go home?

Me: No. Sorry. Not done yet. And stop whining.

Cloud: So I don't get to leave either?

Me: If you start whining too, you won't ever get to leave. Go hang out with X. Or Enishi. God knows they're not leaving anytime soon.

Cloud: I dislike you.

Sephiroth: I also dislike you.

Me: Shut up or I'll send Subaru after you. And your luck with Ofuda isn't that good.

Seph: They turn into birds. They're agile. And small. And flying.

Cloud: And you suck?

Seph: Just because I'm 0-2 with the death count...

Cloud: Notice how you're not denying you suck.

Seph: We're going to be in Angst!World a while. Don't make it worse.

Brendan: Can I /please/ go home?

Me: You're in Angst!Lite. Regular characters would kill to get there. Don't complain. You don't want to be where they are.

----

Yes, this drivel is a direct result of my attempt at procrastination. Bite me.

Thursday, January 9, 2003

not quite victory

So had the first fencing competition of the season, we did. (Well, minus the invitational, which doesn't really count). Managed to lay the smack down, and girl's varsity won (which was assisted by my victory, but not quite by my 5-4 defeat which I should of won but completely flubbed. Bah.)

In other news, Read or Die fic has taken definite shape in my head. It's about books, and stories, and what can't and shouldn't be told.

But first I have "Ghosts" and some Brendan and Sebastian goodness for you to finish. Mwahahaha.

And as a not completely unrelated side note, by far the best part of fencing is the fact that we're such a wacky team. Utterly nuts. And the choice comment of the day: "You know, this team is like Freud's wet dream." I'd go O.o, but as I said it, I don't think I have that right. I mean, it's teenagers with swords fighting other teenagers with swords. Find the symbols, people, it's not that hard.

Ah, what the hell. O.o.

Tuesday, January 7, 2003

but now I'm not so sure

It should be noted that "Stay" is up on Clampesque. Take that, you damned alternating perspective songfic.

It should also be noted that I have vague ideas for a Read or Die fic, which is probably because a) I really like the anime, and b) with my glasses on, I look a lot like Yomiko. To the point that it's been validated by at least four other people. And my friend made me watch it because "you're the main character." And my other friend got me the first manga volume because "you're on the cover." Freaky, no?

Cloud: Now I have to compete with a girl who throws paper?

Me: Don't worry, I'll finish "Ghosts" first.

X cast: And us?

Me: Don't you even start with me, dammit. You've had your fun for the day. Get the hell out of my head.

Oi, and you know that One Eyed Bastards rec'd your Devil's Trill fic, don't you?

And while on that topic, it's a civil X fanfiction review site. They haven't ripped into anything yet, but it's looks like they do it civilly, if the earlier incidents are any indication. Bless you, the people behind that, whoever you are.

Monday, January 6, 2003

Someone make them go away...

This is what results from having two oneshots in my head at the same time. It's the battle between FFVII and X (well, Subaru and Seishirou).

It should be noted that my version of Cloud is gay. Well, bi. Maybe. Like he tells me?

----

Subaru: I have so much more angst than you.

Cloud: Like hell you do.

Subaru: Come on, I had the person I love kill my sister.

Cloud: Hometown. Best friend...well, almost. Sword through chest.

Seishirou: A sword? That's so...impersonal.

Cloud: Yeah, tell me about it. Made great leverage, though.

Sephiroth: It's nice to know that 'leverage' was what was going through your mind.

Seishirou: And this must be the wielder of the said sword.

Sephiroth: Don't start with me, Mr. Shrub.

Subaru: Mr....Shrub.......that's...quite the nickname...

Seishirou: Those idea's you're having, Subaru-kun? It's very constructive to your health for you to stop having them.

Sephiroth: Don't listen to him. He's bluffing. Doesn't have the guts.

Subaru: He /did/ kill my sister...although, Hokuto did kinda walk up to him and ask to die...

Seishirou: *glare*

Sephiroth: See? All talk.

Cloud: If you provoke him into killing you, I will laugh.

Sephiroth: No you won't. You get all weepy, like a good uke.

Cloud: You know, Midgar courts don't prosecute murders against one person for the third time.

Subaru: Why bother to go through the courts?

Seishirou: Subaru-kun. And here I thought you loved me.

Subaru: You think I know? I'm more confused about my emotions than the blond uke.

Cloud: I will not be used as an example for your mental deficiency.

----

That's probably only amusing if you're me. Still, writing something like that makes me want to do terrible, terrible things.

Like crossing X and FFVII. Because it'd be interesting to know how long it would take you to threaten me with severe bodily harm if I did.

Saturday, January 4, 2003

The little things that count

My two seconds of fun for the day: right here

All right, so simple things amuse me.

Friday, January 3, 2003

Let it Snow

So, my father came up with the brilliant idea of having me shovel the driveway when it was still snowing. So, off I go.

Off course, the best part of the enitre excursion was the fact that halfway through the snow picked up to huge flakes and started to fall in earnest.

Which meant that the first half of the driveway had a light coating by the time I was done. Bah, I tell you.

And it's experiments in formatting with Tora, since the previous version had ellispes come out as periods. I'd like to know if my html efforts improved it, but the pit won't let me see. Bah. Bah. Bah.

Friday, January 3, 2003

I smite thee

Tora is updated, and if fanfiction.net does not hate you as much as it hates me, it may actually allow you access to it. How the damn site let me in for the necessary two minutes it took to update, I'll never know...

Bah. Someone make the Pit of Voles go away...

Thursday, January 2, 2003

Baa...

Heavensent Sheep

Rocking your world with heavy metal choir music.

Number one choice of fleece lovers and sheppards everyone.

Um...yeah...just don't ask.

Thursday, January 2, 2003

Queen Flamidala has died...

I'm pimping this, because it's one of the funniest things ever. Go to Stick Wars, the one by RobDenBleyker.

So funny. I have no words.

And dammit, fanfiction.net, I am a flashback and a half close to being done with Tora 4 and if you are not up and running by tomorrow or Friday I will be most displeased.

To quote Fuujin, RAGE.

Wednesday, January 1, 2003

Everlong

I have had the above song quasi-stuck in my head, which is a bad thing since I cannot remember more than two lines.

Bah. This is like getting the Hymm of the Faith from FFX stuck in my head. BAH.

Hoping to get Tora Chapter Four out by/on this weekend. I should warn it's mostly a long conversation, but hey, you get plot exposition and I had to deal with two Zacks.

Zack A: I'm Zack. You're Zackery.

Zack B: I hate my fulll name. I'm Zack. You can be Zackery.

Seph and Cloud: Two of them in one room probably violates some law of physics.

Me: The two of you are so wearing nametags.

And as a side note, since I am typically a noncombatent in blog wars, I'd just like to say that I'm siding with Rose on the grounds that I don't think that the X fandom can run out of talent or ideas. There's a whole lot left out there.

And so, a lot of people write about the "big four." Well, Fuuma and Kamui are the main characters, and Sei-chan and Subaru have all of TB, which I think tends to get mashed toward with X. So I think it's understandable.

And yeah, there's hordes of interesting characters. And yeah, some of them aren't as appreciated as they should be. But people should write what they enjoy to write, and if someone enjoys to write the "big four" then it's their decision.

Come on, everyone, this is fanfiction, done for fun, after all. As long as someone enjoys what they're writing, then it shouldn't matter what they're writing.

There is still hope, right? ^_^

Tuesday, December 31, 2002

Oh No! Someone take the video games away!

This site is by far one of the most entertaining things ever.

"Do not assume drugs when video games are in fact the cause!"

On a far more serious note, you will be missed.

Monday, December 30, 2002

In the shadows of leaves

Random Ghosts, because I'm productive that way.

----

His mother is burning, in his past and and his memory, and he can't do a thing to stop it. All of Nibelheim burned, and he couldn't do a thing to stop it.

He remembers the smells that hit him, the reek of burning flesh that coupled with the screams of peple who were not lucky enough to suffocate to death. And he lay there and stared at the heavens while his mother burned and he didn't do a thing to stop it.

get up, get up, everyone's dying and why won't you get up? You can help, can't you, you worthless little shit, can't you do anything right? Get up!

He lay there amidst the smells and the screams and didn't try to stop either. If this was shock, this strange detachment, then he'd lived in it all his life.

----

Perhaps he will burn when he dies. The idea pleases him somehow.

It would be fitting.

----

Do I know where that's going to fit in in Ghosts? Nope. Not the slightest idea.

Saturday, December 28, 2002

Unexpected presents

Okay, so maybe it's just the aftereffects of the wee hours of the morn (conversely, the really late hours of the night) but I really wonder what certain characters would get for Christmas.

Cloud: Hair gel. There are no words to describe how /touched/ I am. Really. /No words./

Zack: Well, it was something that Seph and I thought you could use.

Seph: After all, you must go through an -

Cloud: Don't /you/ even start. One spark and your entire head would go up.

Zack: He has a point, Seph. It'd be like watching the Gelnika crash into the Cosmo Canyon Mountain Range. Except on your head.

----

Somehow, I don't think Seph won that round.

Friday, December 27, 2002

Here be random

Seph may whine all he wants, but I will finish Tora 4, dammit, I will!

Seph: I don't like the look of this upcoming plot exposition.

Drakos: And tell me, why did you think I would care?

Anyway, that aside, Christmas was great fun, and now the Lord of the Rings extended set is consuming my soul. The actor's commentary is great, and by far the best comment is one the person who plays Merry (I think it's Merry)says.

"And the jealously I feel for Orlando for being so good looking in the film is on so many levels."

And of course there's Ian McKellan going: "And I saw them going out into the water to slash at nothing and I was very glad I was not playing that part."

Anyway, I little bit of "Ghosts" to keep the FFVII mood going.

----

“Strife.”

Black, so much black and then the hair shining silver and white. So tall, so imposing, so impossibly beautiful – Sephiroth was as he remembered him, at the end of it all. But his eyes, his eyes that glowed green were sane and Cloud felt grief rip through him again at the sight.

Sephiroth was unarmed and did not hide his hands, which were ungloved, and ripped with sword cuts that ripped through his palm and went clean through his hand.

----(insert)

"They're from the Masamune, of course. Because in the end, Cloud, I killed myself, even if it was by your sword."

No. That couldn't be true and grief and denial tore through -

and the sword fell and it was my fault and oh god someone make the blood go back, someone take it all back, please make it all not real, I'm sorry, Seph, oh god I'm so so sorry

- because he had killed him and it was his fault, and he couldn't let that guilt go.

It was all he had left.

----

And Twig, concerning your contest and the story I told you I was working for it, Brendan was deciding to be an annoying, angsty, twit so I threatened him with alcohol, a giant pink bunny suit, and a sober Sebastian to watch him and he suddenly became a lot more compliant.

The bunny suit works everytime. Even with Seph.

Thursday, December 26, 2002

Happy Holidays

Happy Holidays to everyone, whichever one you happen to celebrate.

And to all a good night.

Tuesday, December 24, 2002

The second tower

Not much to say. Working on Tora, working on Cornell App. (diediedie) and this. And for the record, I hate parallelism.

----

The book calls out to him, and he answers.

The pages crinkle under his careful pressure and he slows his movements, afraid of damaging what he can not afford to damage.

The lines trace over the page, a geography of charts and chants. A language older and stronger than anything he knows accompanies them, leading the way.

The footing is dangerous, and to fall would be worse than death. He does not fear death now, because he was never afraid of his own demise, only felt terror when it approached those around him.

And he has no one left to lose.

He has apologies from a shaking, choking voice, and goodbyes from a longing, backward glance, and tears from violet eyes that have shed too many. But they constitute someone familiar, someone welcome.

Not someone special.

----

The Two Towers: Extended Edition

Faramir: "My giant snozz had no equal in the worlds of men. Did I mention I'm a prick in this film?"

--

Smeagol: "Master's...my friend..."

Gollum: "You don't have any friends. Even I'm not you're friend, and I am you. Sorta.

Smeagol: "When did we get relegated to the creepy pyschotic element which illustrates the twisted nature of the Ring?"

Gollum: "Somewhere in The Hobbit, we think. Oh, come on and kill them already. We know we want to.

Smeagol: "Can we beat fish while singing entertaining songs first?"

Gollum: "Just this once."

--

Frodo: "Look, it's a dead person! And I can't seem to look away! This must be the Ring at work...oh well." *splat*

Orc: "Cannibalism anyone?"

Uruk-hai: "Hey, we're Uruk-hai and we're okay."

Saruman: "Alright, in retrospect cutting down all the trees and committing wanton destruction may not have been the smartest thing to do."

Gandalf ver. 2.0: "And now I will use my l33t wizard skills to get off the mountaintop wihtout the use of my clothes."

Rohan: "And just what about having graves line the road into the city isn't welcoming?

----

And I refuse to get into it now, as I've posted my opinion on the CLAMPesque mailing list, but to reiterate: the reason I do not agree with sites like the Bad X fic review site is simply because it's fanfiction, written for fun and sites like that kinda take the fun from it.

That is all.

Come to my procrastinating self, Cornell app. Come.

Tuesday, December 24, 2002

Worn thin

More Subaru, because he's here and can be written down swiftly. disjointed warning applys.

----

The books are ancient. They are books passed down from generations of Sumeragi: from the First to the Thirteenth, and the wear of centuries is evident in them.

Fourteenth head now. He's not in control of himself anymore, let alone the centuries behind the Sumeragi family.

They'd argue with him, say that he has the strongest magic, that he is the only one to lead. He is the strongest, but not for their reasons. The strongest ones are those with nothing left to lose.

So he hides from them as he looks through the esoteric books. He is stronger and they cannot find him, although he is not sure if they even look.

He's searching but he doesn't now what it is he's looking for. He's not even sure if his hope exists, if a spell can be forged that way, if bonds can be made like that.

But there's proof in the marks on his hands and the pull in his heart. That feeling lead him here, and it will lead him to his answer, if he dares to follow.

When he was younger, Subaru sometimes felt like a piece of paper resisting a fire, staying untouched through pure and almost asinine determination. Now he feels like the ash of that paper which has finally fallen into flame.

In science, there are physical changes and chemical changes. Subaru knows little of science, but he knows what is to survive both.

----

That was...interesting. Now I have a much better idea of where he's going.

Don't worry, it's not pressure. Well, it is, but you're nice about it so I don't mind in the slightest. And about the fic in question, it's currently taking up most of my time, and with the break from school, I should be able to get something out fairly soon.

I'm a horrid person for keeping with regular updates, did I mention that? I think that one of my friends threatened to hurt me if I ceased to write Tora.

In other news, the Cornell application can eat me. Damn you and your describe in 250 words or less. Damn you.

Am going to see Two Towers again tonight (Yay!) so expect more remarks on it, if I can think of any good ones.

And I have had the song/poem on your layout stuck in my head for about the whole day. I hope you're happy. ^_^

Monday, December 23, 2002

Because it is rather late (read: 3 AM) and I have just returned from the 11:15 showing of the Two Towers, I present you with randomness.

----

Ents are officially beyond all forms of cool. That it's not wise to piss them off. They can step on you and use you to hit other people while Merry and Piipin through small rocks at you.

Sarumon: "And the tactical problems of having Isenguard below sea level and by a major dam have now become immediately apparent."

Wormtongue: "If only I weren't so greasy and slimy and my name weren't Wormtongue maybe more people would like me. On second thought, I'd have to stop twitching too."

Aragorn: "There's a horse kissing me. It may take a few seconds to decide if this is preferable to Arwen."

Random Soldier 1: "My Leige, your son is dead. It appears that his horse fell on him."

Legolas: "Not only am I pretty and witty and gay, but I can also fly through the air with the greatest of ease!"

Gimli: "We're sprinters I tell you! Trecherous at short distances, despite our hobbit sized stride."

Elven Army: "We have come to save you. Because only eleves can be trusted to short through the ally and hit the enemy. We're just that cool."

Frodo: "Let's hear more about that brave Sam. You know, the one who's saved the quest roughly fourteen times."

Saturday, December 21, 2002

dead but still bleeding...

Warning: these fic snippet (more Cloud, continuation from ghosts snippet) and thoughts are completely unconnected and random.

----

"Spike."

Zack is as he remembers him, and he can't remember if what he sees is true or not.

Still, he looks real: the height, the solid appearance - even dead, Zack looks like he could move mountains.

Zack does not move and his hands are in his pockets. The soldier uniform in ripped and torn - lived in. Blood leaks through the fabric around his hands. Cloud stares at them, as a passerby stares at a car crash, as pedestrian stares at someone's remains when they've thrown themselves from the plate.

There's something horrible about his hands. Something horrible because it will be real, so real that he'll know he's not dreaming even though he is and he can't wake up.

----(insert)

Zack's hands are a riddled mass of shot wounds. Bullet holes rip through the flesh, marking it with entry and exit wounds. Blood drips from them to pool on the floor. The action of the heart pushes blood through the body. Corpses don't bleed. So Zack is alive and bleeding even though he's dead.

Cloud wonders if he would bleed: he's not sure how deep he would have to go.

----(insert)

They bury their dead in the walls of churches.

But he didn't bury her. She drwoned. Except she didn't. The sword ripped through her ribs and she wasn't breathing when the water took her.

Still though, when he stares at her, at the soft brown hair and deep green eyes and the sweet sad smile, he wonders if he should have waited, if he should have held on longer.

Maybe she would have been happier, in the walls of a church she loved. At least she would have been loved then, since he's not sure if she ever was.

Zack loved her maybe, but he didn't love her enough, not enough to stay

and he looked and stared and the bullets tore through and he was leaving

and he hadn't loved, hadn't loved her enough not to let her leave.

And the sword shining silk and silver, softer now as it went through her and there was red and so much blood and the hollow echo of a past wound and a new grief.

Aeris loved them all in life, and she loved them all in dying, and she loved them all in death.

And he let her go alone. He let the water take her: sailors die that way, alone in the sea, and their souls are trapped and never freed.

Aeris died with a soul, with light and hope. Cloud knew he would die in darkness, wiih ghosts pulling him down into the water. All that would rise would be foam on a wave.

But there is no malice in her eyes, no anger in the dead and rooting hands the she held clasped in front of her. The hands of those who die at sea, who die alone and rest in unmarked graves.

----
----



Thursday, December 19, 2002

A random attack

So, I fence. On the team, with swords and stuff. I also do Kendo for fun (read: I have no idea what I'm doing) but that's neither here nor there. What's great about fencing is aside from fencing, with teh swrods and fighting and getting beaten down by ranked and seeded people better than me, is that the team is so incredibly nuts.

We're a pretty nice public school, but we compete against private schools and thus we feel so ghetto public when we go. These schools have exercise suits and do exercises in unison for god's sake.

(This event actually happened last year, I think, but you'll get the idea.) So, you have us and then you have them. Doing jumping jacks in unison. Counting together. Insert blinks, sweatdrops and a reluctant sort of awe, the kind you get when someone is much better than you.

But we're fencers, the proud, the free, the absolutely psycho, so did we let this phase us? No! Instead we fought back!

"Everyone! Pick a language!"

I think that we eventually had French, Thai, German, Japanese, Madarin, Italian, Spanish, Gaelic, English, and possibly Cantonese and Latin.

I have no doubt that we looked ridiculous, counting in so many languages in sync with the fancy private school teams, but damn did we have fun.

----

So, I'm reading bad fanfic at fanfiction.net, because hey, calculus already ate my brain, so I have nothing left to lose, right?

So I go to the movies category and lo and behold, someone has You've Got Mail stories. It was the normal sappy, sacharine sweet stuff that fanfiction.net is famous for (with, you know, bad grammar).

One of the reivews though, made reading the story so worthwhile.

"I'm not really sure but didn't everyone die at the end of this movie? Maybe I'm thinking of another one."

Except, you know, the review had bad grammar.

Thursday, December 19, 2002

Binding

More Subaru angst, because it's random and in my head and a continuation of sorts from the snippet down below. However, Cloud is less than pleased that he's being ignored, and Seph is decidedly unpleasant. Watch it, Subaru.

----

The strongest spells are cast in blood.

It is an old lesson, one he remembers from both theory...

...his grandmother is standing over him, her voice filling the air. Her hands trace out the positions as the new chant threads around him. She pauses to prick her finger, and he watches, entranced, as the red tracery expands and grows through the air.

and practice.

Seishirou has cut himself and his shield will not hold. The lines glow on the back of his hand, a spell cast and bound in blood. The blood reaches forward and rips through the shield and his own blood joins it. He could use it to fight the Sakurazukamori, but he knows he won't

Cast in blood. The lines are his hands were cast in blood, and they faded after so many years. Spells like that aren't supposed to fade, ties like that aren't supposed to be severed.

It was wrong, that it was gone, and now he's fixed it. He's made a new binding, and he wonders how far it could stretch, and what else he could fix.

----

This may actually become not so angsty, if I continue it...

Tuesday, December 17, 2002

You said that I was naive...

This is just something I'm working on, a S+S songfic, with alternating perspectives. Enjoy the snippets.

----
And I thought what I felt was simple
----

Curiosity can do much more than just kill you.

You were small then, so tiny and perfect. Green eyes were open in bewilderment, and you brushed at the blood on your cheek as if you had never seen the liquid before. Perhaps you hadn’t. Perhaps you didn’t realize what it was.

All the same, can you blame me for thinking you a doll?

Porcelain, white skikifuku on white skin on green eyes. Hands that fluttered wildly, like a bird trapped in a cage, beating at the bars. You looked at me inquisitively, without fear.

Your eyes merited a response.

“Do you know why the Sakura blossoms are pink?”

Your answer surprised me. You would be such an interesting doll.

----
And I thought that I don't belong
----

Hokuto was tactful in ways I’m not. For all her bluntness, all her jarring laughter, she connected with people in ways I never could.

Strange, isn’t it? That the twin who spends his life helping people isn’t the one with the necessary qualities to help people in the first place. Then again, I’m not a twin anymore, and someone threw out all the rules I thought I knew when she died.

She’s dead. She’s dead and no matter how many times I say it I don’t think it’s really sunk in yet. The realization is lurking somewhere, a shadow on my mind, waiting to rip and rend and tear.

There’s no corpse. We buried an empty box. And even though I know better, if there’s not corpse then she can’t be dead, right? She can’t be, even though she is.

You ripped out her heart, Sakurazukamori. You killed her and took her, like a discarded doll. You took her from me and you took Seishirou-san from me. All you left living was the Sakurazukamori.

I wonder when you’ll realize that you’ve killed me too.

----
And now that I am leaving
----
----

In case you were wondering, yes the bloody point of view will alternate throughout the entire damned piece. Took some wrangling to plan, that did.

Ummm...if I put up a "Beta's desperately needed" sign now, would anyone be interested in a month or so when I actually have a decent amount of this thing finished? I have a feeling I'll need some outside editing help with this monster, as I've never tried alternating first-person like this before.

In other news, it is late, and I am tired. That is all.

Monday, December 16, 2002

Randomness


Which Seishirou are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
This says something odd about me, I'm sure.

You like writing, you like your daily intake of Budweiser, and on bad days (which might just fall under 'everyday'), you can be a jerk. But underneath all that hard exterior is a sensitive boy struggling to get out. Don't be afraid to fall in love; go find your pink-haired soul mate, and smile awhile. Which Gravitation Character Are You?

All hail freezing rain

Because of an early dismissal thanks to possible inclement weather, I have been able to finish the Enishi fic.

Take that, you psychotic.

Anyway, and I suppose this qualifies as shameless self-promotion but I don't really care, it's up at fanfiction.net, ie here.

Wednesday, December 11, 2002

This is brought to you by boredom and my biology class:

Person: You know, stomata sounds a lot like stigmata.

Me: The plant has holy wounds!

Person: It's the plant of Jesus! Christ Cactus!

Me: It shall rise again!

Massive laughter along the back row started and the teacher stared at us all. We continued to laugh.

After that, we got int the discussion of how a guy got himself killed by making a giant cactus fall on him. Ah, Bio.

Tuesday, December 10, 2002

Letting go of Ghosts

I was so not planning to write this. At all. Then again, I wasn't planning to write the Enishi fic (which drags itself toward completion) but Enishi came in with katana and fancy moves and slaughtered all the other characters in my nead and demanded that he be written. Now.

And now, Cloud Strife has just done the same thing. He and Enishi are duking it out, and while Enishi has a long foothold in the terrain, Cloud's got the quasi-SOLDIER revamping and...well, bigger sword.

So enjoy, Cloud and his ghosts, and forgive the incredible roughness. I use the 'this is a writing blog' qualifier here.

----

Cloud is not surprised that his mother is the first. She’s not the first one he really lost, but she’s the first one he cared about enough to have the losing hurt.

However, he is surprised that she is unmarked. Her clothes are the ones she died in and her bright gold hair is pulled back and neatly braided. Her hands are clasped behind her back and her face is smooth and unmarked by worry. She looks like someone who has never known pain. Or death.

“Son…”

He remembers that voice: it was soft and smooth, it rolled over him in gentle waves when he was ill, it was gloriously welcoming when he came home, it was filled with peace and love and sorrow and joy and hope. It was human.

His mother’s voice sounds exactly the same now as then, and something goes tight and hard in his chest when he hears it.

“My boy...you’ve gotten so big, when I wasn’t watching. Why are you being such a shy guy? Come give your mom a hug.”

So human, and he turns then, hope rising in him, because he can’t remember what’s real and what’s not. He’s spent his life dreaming and awake and dying and dead and who’s to say that’s he’s alive now?

So he turns, and sees his mother holding her hands out to him. In life, she had smooth hands, pale and white, with small calluses on the palm and her fingers, from working in the garden.

His mother’s hands are charred red and black. The skin rises up in curled strips, and underneath them the muscles exist as ash. The fingers move, extending, and he can see the bone, a whiteness that shouldn’t be there. The blood’s been burned away, but the flesh remains, a carcass, animated ghost.

Stumbling back he covers his eyes and wishes that he could fall asleep.

He can’t.

-----

He knows that his mother has gone, just as he knows that another has arrived.

“Spike.”

----

Damn you, you crazy swordsmen and your ghosts. Damn you.

Saturday, December 7, 2002

A shorter fall

Looking out the window with a good 6 or so inches of snow on the ground, the ground looks a whole lot closer. This is one of the many reasons I love snow: the surreal "oh-my-god-I-shrunk" feeling is fun.

Speaking of snow, which is indeed grand, last night I went out for a walk in it. Because it was all falling and dramatic and stuff. So, to set the scene...

----

The snow had been falling all day. It was the perfect kind of snow, the sort that falls in medium size flakes that catch the light and glitter on their slow descent. The accumulation on the ground was pristine and soft, and behind me trailed a ruined gash of jagged footsteps.

Cars pass by occasionally, not sparing me a glance or care, no thought in the mind of the drivers other than to get themselves out of the mess as soon as possible.

In the interim between cars, everything was silent. If I could freeze the snow in place, so that it hovered in the air and all time was still, it wouldn't be any quieter. I stood there up to my bootops in the whiteness lit by dark, and enjoyed the silence.

*Bring!*

My pant leg was ringing. Correction, the cell phone in my pant leg, that my parents insisted I bring, was ringing. Rueing the lost silence, I accepted the call.

"Are you okay?" My mother's voice. Not frantic, but tinged with what could become worry.

"I can't...I went into the woods and can't..." I had to force the words past cold lips.

"What? Where are you?" Definite worry now in her voice, and with a sigh, I knew that the game was over.

"Ten feet from the house, mom. Calm down."

----

My parents are counting the days 'till college, I'm sure of it. Counting the days.

Friday, December 6, 2002

Sad psychotic in snow

Because the snow and subsequent early dismissal have made me a rather happy person, I've decided to write me some angst. For balance and stuff. It's a continuation of the Enishi fic (see earlier posts).

Oh, and Lilack? I'm glad you like the angst, and I use Drakos sometimes, if it's more convenient.

----

The comb is cool against his scalp, the teeth gently puling at the knots and snarls in his hair. His sister’s free hand weaves through in coordination with the comb, smoothing hair ahead of it and putting strands into place behind it.

It’s soothing and calming and holds all the rhythmic power of a thousand lullabies. It’s a melody she’s weaving with her hands in his hair and he can’t help but give in. When she speaks, her voice is low and gentle and loving, and does not disturb him.

“Things will change, but this won’t.” She looks ahead, at the wall, or beyond it. He does not answer her, and her fingers do not stop weaving patterns of love in his hair.

“No matter what Kiyosato becomes to me, he can’t change this. He can’t change us.”

He can feel something close to jealously but not quite rising within him. It’s a borderline emotion, something ugly and beautiful: a caterpillar with butterfly wings. He is afraid of Kiyosato, and of what this relationship with his sister means. It might destroy what he has and thus leave him alone, and that thought frightens him more than anything he has ever known.

But Kiyosato makes her so happy, and even the joy that her delight brings him hurts, for shouldn’t he be enough to keep her happy? Shouldn’t he alone be sufficient for them both? He used to be enough, this he knows. It used to be good enough for his sister and him to exist together, brother and sister and somehow also mother and son.

Somewhere along the line it changed, and Enishi knows he would give anything to have it back. The prospect of losing his sister to marriage terrifies him and he hates himself for the fear that would take away his sister’s happiness.

He hated himself then, in that place of shadows and dark secrets and black hair.

He hates himself now, hates himself for what he failed to protect.

Losing his sister once, when the Battousai took her lover, was almost more than he could stand.

Losing his sister twice, when the Battousai took her, was more than he could survive.

He died that day, somewhere deep inside him, where the sun can’t reach. He died there, all those years ago, and yet he knows he’s been dying in degrees ever since.

----

I think I should write happy characters with pleasant thoughts sometime, just for contrast.

Anyway, if I can finish off the "red" color section then I should be about done with this fic, and able to post at fanfiction.net. And you know, I may even get lucky and someone will review who can spell. It could happen, although I won't get my hopes up and go for correct grammar too. ^_^

Thursday, December 5, 2002

Why yes, yes you are.

There are far more important things I should be doing right now, but dammit, I must speak.

Normally, I try not to nitpick any things in fanfiction, because I am so far from perfect it's not even funny.

But you see, on a random journey to fanfiction.net, I went to the FFVII section, and realized that I don't like pairing abbreviations. At all.

I'm not talking about letters (C+T) or the such. Rather, I speak of things like Cloufa. It just irks me for some reason. So, for my enjoyment:

Cloufa: Weather patterns with frontal mass. Every other friday they become spiky masses of tofu gone horribly wrong.

And my personal favourite: AerHo. Not only is it so wrong, but every time I see it, which thankfully is not that much, I'm tempted to think "Why yes, Aeris, yes you are." Even though she's not, it just sets itself up for the fall.

Gah. I'm done.

Tuesday, December 3, 2002

You say I only hear what I want to...

The fic in my head now(And being written down on Word) is very, very much the fault of that snippet below and the fact that "Stay" by Lisa Loeb makes such a bloody brilliant Subaru+Seishirou song.

I'm writing a /songfic/. I don't even really like songfics. Argh. Writing "Dream of Love" was depressing enough, dammit.

In related news, I'm just about done with an Enishi fic (the continuation of the fic scrap in previous entries.) Perhaps I've have it up soon...

Tuesday, December 3, 2002

Random Scribblings

Subaru angst

----

His hands are cold and clean and empty.

He can imagine shattering the mirror and picking up the shards that lie on the floor like discarded promises. He can imagine how it will bite into his palm, how the edge will be smooth and so sharp on his skin.

It's only when the blood drips off the marks on his hands that he realizes what he's done. By then, the stars stand out in stark lines of red and he's somehow happy that they're there.

He doesn't want to admit it, but he's missed them all the same.

----

And a lovely spot of angst to brighten your day.

Sunday, December 1, 2002

Cows will eat me

There are few things in life as amusing as recalling the days of summer past that were spent feeding cows.

I mean, I really think that people have skewed conceptions of cows. Sure they're cute, furry creatures, especially the young ones, but they're a heck of a lot like infants.

Infants are impatient creatures. Calves are impatient creatures. When there are 14 of them or more, and you have to feed ONE CALF it becomes a difficult thing to do.

This is a dramatic reinactment:

"No, cow, I do not have an udder! Stop trying to look for one and stop eating my shirt! Augh! That doesn't mean you can start in on my shorts! NO! Bad bovine...wait your turn!"

Things got worse when we had to use spray paint to tell which cows we fed and which ones we didn't.

Don't get me wrong...I throughly enjoyed the job. But I love animals, even annoying ones.

And all of this wonderful experience has been immortalized in my college essay.

I'd say "Eat my Shorts" admission people, but the calves beat you to it.

Sunday, November 24, 2002

HTML is layin' on the smackdown

My html ignorance continues, but i have progressed enough to place this on.

Enishi perspective fic, spoilers for everything relating to OVA's or Tomoe and Kenshin.

Red is pain and blood and loss in the snow.

Red is the Battousai’s hair, streaming around him as he rocks back with her weight, the red of his hair drinking the red of her blood. He leans over her and Enishi wants to run and grab that hair, to rip that mass of bleeding brightly red and take his sister back.

He wants the blood to fade. He wants the burly man’s attack to connect and the Battousai to be cut open, to be split and bleeding, red hair and red blood on the snow.

He wants the dead to live. He wants the past to change. He wants to rewrite history.

He wants so much and yet so little, and he knows the deep black despair when he realizes he can’t have any of it.

Black.

Black he knows as many things.

Black is the darkest night near a quiet cabin in the mountain woods when the snow is falling. There is a boy, and he is small and makes no noise as he crouches in the darkness, watching the light in the cabin.

He cannot see into the cabin and does not want to. The boy is removed from the action here, recalling shifting fragments of moments.

One is brighter than the rest.

His sister’s hair is black. It was the deepest, darkest black, with hints of purple where the light could not reach and shining white reflections where the brightness hit. It is one of the most beautiful things he knows: the shining darkness and silky black.

He watches her as she combs her hair. She is sitting, and it reaches down, a long expanse of dark that hangs above the floor. The strands part easily to the comb, silken soft and strong. She is calm, her motions rhythmic and measured.

Peaceful, calm, serene and strong. She resembles a crane preening. To his young ten year eyes, she is a crane, tall and slender, cloaked in white kimono and white plum.

Turning to catch some loose strands at the nape of her neck, she see him standing in the doorway. The door jamb supports his weight as he leans heavily on it. Enishi at ten is perhaps a little more determined that other ten year olds. A little quieter, a little colder.

----

Hopefully I'll know enough to change this template by the end of (a few) weeks.

Friday, November 22, 2002