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Drabble: War in the Blood (PG13)

(I won't lie: this one I had fun writing)

* * *

The guy is moving inhumanly fast, so you just wave your gun around without aiming.

You didn't become Detective by being ignorant; you know history. How retrovirally enhanced soldiers became an standard part of war. How a generation and counting of high unemployment pushed many veterans to poverty, and some to crime. Former soldiers, others try to help.

You don't know which ones are worse. At least the younger ones don't wear costumes.

In a few seconds your gun decides that distances, angles, and trajectories are just right, and fires a round into the caped man.

Drabble: The Companion (PG13)

Vague trigger warning: There's nothing triggery in a literal reading of the story (for the usually cheerful parameters of what I write). However, besides being a rather depressing scenario on its own, it's also a transparent, heavy-handed, and only half-informed metaphor for something even more depressing, sometimes triggery, and absolutely non-fictional.

Bottom line, this might be upsetting, although not through any particular skill of mine, and I'm more open than usual to being told that I got it wrong and should throw it away. (Or maybe the metaphor is only in my head, in which case I'll be both happy and sad.)

ETA: Reposted with minor edits.

* * *

(Story under the cut.)Collapse )
Title: The Marriage of Heaven and Hell
Rating: PG13
Length: One hundred words.
Summary: The quality of mercy is not strained.

My brother has been isolated for twenty years; some others longer than that. The drugs are the worst: they keep them from becoming insane. Prisoners cannot leave their cells, not even into their own minds.

Second worst is the world-class medical care. They get treatments they would be unable to afford outside prison. Unless you have looked into how good they are, how fast they are improving, you won't understand the sophisticated cruelty in that.

We don't ask for their life sentences to be commuted — we just keep begging for them to be allowed to die.

.finis.
Just spent some time poking at old fanfic archive sites like The Family Archives. Chicago... Smitty... Tim and Cass's shenanigans... Dinah and Bruce's constant assertions about not sleeping together...


"Batgirl around?" Robin asked, glancing around the room.

"Nope. Off playing Evil Creepy Night Thing with Bruce. Did you come to visit her?" Barbara laid the back of her hand across her forehead. "I'm just not exciting enough to warrant my own midnight superhero encounters anymore?" [offpanel.net]


Looking back, in some cases ten or more years later... They aren't perfect, of course. I think we got a better handle over time on the economy of epiphanies and the avoidance of character bashing, and there has a been a drive, it seems, for more complex and less self-deprecatingly humorous grammar (obviously, I'm not making a global statement in any sense; I'm just talking about the fics I read then, compared with the fics I read later — there have always been fanfic of every kind and style, and each person's reading history, in her or his own way, traces the development of a one-person culture).

Be that as it may. The sheer enthusiasm of those stories! I'm certainly prejudiced because I was younger when I first read them, and perhaps very much in need of something like them, but it was a world in which Tim Drake could despair for coffee and Barbara Gordon would use a traffic gridlock to try and win a bet. A world where crime-fighting was a passion but not a psychopathology, where an entire fic could be dedicated to a dinner date, and among a kid's first words could be BA'GIRL. It was also a world where a single one-line story could freeze your blood.

They were good, and good for me, and it was good to revisit them.

Also, I revisited some old (but later) Stargate Atlatis fanvids. Atlantis! and Stress, in particular, were just as good as I remembered. There was a time when Stress was one of the ways in which I described myself to myself, although, thankfully, that has changed a bit.

Tags:

Title: The work of his hands
Rating: PG13
Fandom: Hannibal
Warnings: Spoilers for S03E01 and before.
Author notes: I'm not very happy with this fic, and I suspect it'll be very hard for me to get to the point where I write Hannibal fic I'm satisfied with. Technical difficulties with textually rendering the damnably unavoidable way in which the show uses imagery and music aside, I'm used to, and favor, the sort of ultimately direct insanity of a Bruce Wayne or a Lex Luthor. Hannibal is as smart as them, but he's baroque, bordering on the fractal. I'm not used to smart characters doing things with their left hand that might undo what they have been building with their right one, just because they want to see what would happen.

Anyway. Fic under the cut.Collapse )

It's longer than six words, though.

"There, there," I lie to the children, "it's not the end of the world."

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cass, can you not
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