and i'll climb the hill in my own way

Fic List

2008-07-25T15:52:37Z

Fic Priority List:

1. Chapter 11 of Coldblooded - This fic has been on hold for almost a year, I need to get off my ass and finish it because I hate the idea of letting my big huge WIP die.

2. Kurogane/Fai fic - This was a request and it's been months already and Kurogane needs to stop being an asshat so I can write him.

3. Graham/Billy fic - I have like three different fics for these two started already, as long as at least one of them gets finished, I shall rejoice.

4. Katy/Sumeragi fic - Because it's been TOO LONG since I wrote yuri, and I have this crackish angsty plotbunny that would totally make this pairing work.

5. Lockon/Tieria fic - Have a plotbunny for these two, but I need to develope it more before I do anything. It'd probably be a multi-parter, dammit. >_<

In other news, I saw The Dark Knight four times this past week. It's a good show, but the only reason I went so many times was because of the Joker. I never was much of a Heath Ledger fan - nothing against him, just didn't watch a lot of his movies - but as the Joker, he is made of fucking awesome. The Joker made the film for me, you know?

I think it's because he's a completely evil psychotic badass. XD;; We all know I have a weakness for the crazy characters. *cuddles Hallelujah*

HOLY CRAP I'M GOING TO BE LATE FOR WORK.

HAPPY GOOD LUCK FUN TIME

2008-06-22T06:12:52Z

Three good things have happened today.

1) After work, my cousin and I went to the carnival that comes through town every summer. I rode on my favorite ride. It's called the Zipper, but I don't really know how to describe it. It's the 'scariest' ride this carnival has to offer - up in the air, going upside-down, spinning, etc. I almost didn't get to because my cousin has a weak stomach for that kind of thing. Luckily, though, we ran into some girls she knows from her job, and one of them went with me. (She was v. pretty, too, just saying.)

2) COTTON CANDY, CARAMEL APPLE, AND FUNNEL CAKE. Mmmm, junk food. The carnival only happens once a year, so I indulged. XD And I got lucky with the funnel cake. It was the last one at the concessions stand before they closed up. Couldn't finish it, though, because those things are big and I was full, and once they get cold they're pretty icky.

3) I am writing Graham/Billy fic again. XD;;

4) ...I have a very secret crush on someone at work. But I am not saying anything to anyone about it because it probably won't go anywhere. And if there is any chance of something happening, I don't want to jinx it. ^^;;;

Meme!

2008-06-20T03:44:52Z

Ganked from ladybrick:

Pick a character that I have written/that I RP/from a fandom I follow and I will answer one of the following (my choice):

(a) three facts about them from my personal canon/fanon
(b) a reason he/she sucks.
(c) a reason she/he is awesomecakes.
(d) three things that never happened to that character OR
(e) three people that character never fell in love with and why.

My fandoms are all on my profile, fyi. XD;;

Pr0n Overdose

2008-06-18T23:42:03Z

@________@

I've just spend a good chunk of today reading fic reccs from the Gundam 00 Kinkmeme, and wow. I never thought it was possible, but I think I finally hit my limit for reading fanfic porn. So...much...smut... XD;;; My brain is turning to pudding.

So, I'm taking a break to save my few remaining braincells for another day. Like when I have to go and find reccs. At least I claimed the page with the Dubcon Drabble Challenge on it, because I know there are some real gems in there. ^^

Also, today I talked to my friend Sheri from St. Cloud for the first time in months. It was really awesome to catch up with her and stuff. She feels my pain with the whole Aaron situation, as she went through something similar with her friend Ben a couple years ago. And she got one up on her ex-boyfriend, as well, which I always appreciate. XD That guy was douchebag, treated her like crap. She's doing much better without him, and now he knows it, too. Awesome in vindictive sort of way, maybe, but it is still awesome.

KITTY!

2008-06-07T16:42:10Z

I had a cat for about an hour last night. Picked up a stray who needed a home, but he didn't particularly like my house. XD;; He just sat in the window waaaiiling in that terribly sad way cats do when they want to sound particularly unhappy. So, I let him go. I don't want any cat of mine to be unhappy.

So. I think I need to go to the animal shelter next day I have off. ^^; Get me a kitten so I can train it to not be an outside cat, and to like small apartments. XD;;

In other news, the cops were at my house twice last week because of my fucking shitty neighbors whom I quietly wish would be sent on a rocket into the sun. Unfortuntaley, since they were the ones who called the cops - the troublemaker was some guy they knew - it looks like they're not getting kicked out or anything. This saddens me.

The trouble is, I don't want to find a new place. Rental rates are skyrocketting around here due to a local oil boom, so finding another place like mine (a one-bedroom with all utilities, including electricity, paid for and only $315 a month) would be, like, impossible. I'd have to find a roommate to get anything better, but I don't want one in case I can move back to St. Cloud this summer yet. I wouldn't want to screw the roommate over when I leave. And likewise, I don't want to sign a damn lease.

At any rate. Time for work. >_< It sucks that I get to listen to annoying peoples' screaming children all day at work, and then when I come home, I have to hear the same goddamn thing all night.

Boys have cooties, for serious.

2008-05-31T02:33:08Z

So last night went off without a hitch. I hung out with Mike, and Aaron 'dropped by' (I'd told him to come over earlier because I don't want to hang out with Mike one-on-one for a few various reasons.) So the three of us got Taco John's (apple grande FTW yo) and then they drank and I had other things to do. We sat around and watched internet stuffs and shot the shit and all that. It was pretty cool. Finished off the night by watching "The Gamers" on YouTube (which, if you haven't seen it, you MUST. Especially if you're into tabletop RPGs).

Mike. I don't know about him. He's like, only 20 and he tends to be so boring. He's one of those guys who doesn't say much 90% of the time, and then when he does talk it's a 50/50 chance he's going to say something irritating. I'm cool with hanging out with him with other people around, but one on one? If I'm not carrying the conversation almost by myself (which gets old, even if I can ramble with the best of them) then he's annoying me. >_>

I mean, seriously. You and I both know that DBZ is not in any way, shape, or form better than FMA. Mike is convinced of the opposite. >___<; Yeah, no.

The thing is, I don't know if there's a way to tell him this without pissing him off. I mean, he's not a bad guy, he's just not exactly my style. >_> Guys. Why are they so much trouble? And I'm not even dating him. WTF, man.

Good Day OMG

2008-05-18T22:31:47Z

So, I have comments on my latest fic I still need to reply to, but instead I am posting because I have limited time at the moment, and I have a very important announcement to make.

I am in a fantastic mood. I know it's got to be summer, because that's the ONLY TIME this happens. I mean, work was a hellish zoo today, my back hurts in like three different places and ways, and I have about 97 million little things to get done, but despite all this, I am so happy right now. ^___^

It's warm, the sun is shining, it might rain tonight, I had inspiration for my original fiction ideas today, and I just. I love being alive right now. And I want to share the love. XD;;

*gives F-list flowers and hugs* Have a marvelous day. Peace, guys. <3

Fic: Hard Proof - NC-17, Billy/Graham

2008-05-13T17:21:33Z

Title: Hard Proof
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Billy/Graham
Genre: Romance, PWP
Warngins: alley!sexin' and fluff
Disclaimer: Bandai's sandbox, I'm just playing.
Notes: This was a response to a fic request. ^^; I'm a sucker for a good prompt, especially when I'm drunk on wine. <3

Summary: Let 'em talk. Won't change a damn thing.

Hard Proof

Graham and Billy leave the others in the back room of the bar. They know there are rumors about them already, and this will only add to the talk, but they're stumbling drunkenly as they go out the door, barely able to keep their hands off each other. Rumors are different than hard proof, and if they stayed another minute longer, Howard and Daryl would have seen hard proof in a far too literal sense.

Once outside in the cool, humid night, Graham can't get enough of Billy's hands. Long, warm, grasping fingers curled at the base of Graham's skull, tangling in his hair as they press together, kissing like it's going out of style. Graham should care that they're still on-base, out in the open where anyone can see them. He should, but he doesn't. Even Billy, who's always been the more cautious type, doesn't seem to give a damn. He's not cautious now, sucking Graham's tongue and moaning like that, almost pained but so sweet and breathless, too. Shameless, and Graham likes it way too much.

Graham knows by the harsh, tight constriction of his uniform trousers and the rock-solid cock Billy's pressing into his hip that they're not going to make it back to the barracks. He's amazed they even managed to see through the haze of booze long enough to extricate themselves from witnesses thus far.

He groans as he pulls himself away from the kiss, presses his forehead to Billy's and mumbles, “Alley.”

“Jesus, Graham,” Billy says, his breath rushing hot and humid down the side of Graham's neck, pooling in dip of his clavicle where his loosened shirt has slipped open. “Yeah, c'mon hurry.”

He doesn't know how they make it, even though the alley isn't more than half a block away. But neither of them can keep their hands from wondering, and Graham revels in the feel of Billy's hands roaming from neck to ass, clutching him possessively as he devours Graham's mouth. He's busy trying to pull Billy's hair free from its restrictive ponytail and untuck his shirt at the same time, wanting to feel the softness of Billy's hair and skin all around him.

His hands meet flesh at last, the burning hot skin of Billy's stomach under his palm just as Billy backs him up against the side of a building out of the broad circle of light cast by the streetlamp. The taller man presses up against him, unyielding brick against his back, and finally, finally Billy's hairtie springs free in his hand. Billy's hair spills like a silken curtain around their faces, hiding them from the outside world.

Graham sighs gratefully, bites back a whimper as he circles Billy's neck with his arm, pulling him even closer. His other hand slides around under Billy's shirt to curl fingers against the skin of his back, scratching. Billy bucks against him hard, desperate, pulling back and gasping a sound that's probably supposed to be Graham's name.

“God, fuck.” Billy only swears when he's drunk or horny, and he's both right now. Graham hitches one leg up, thigh to Billy's hip, bringing their cocks together through the rasp of fabric. Billy's breath shudders and he leans down again, this time sucking on Graham's neck just below the joint of ear and jaw.

“Bi- Billyyy,” Graham stutters, his voice catching in his throat as his cock throbs in response. He tilts his head to allow better access. Fuck. Billy knows him, knows his body so well, plays him like a cheap tambourine, and he loves every second of it. He rolls his hips against Billy's seeking friction, seeking the solidity of Billy's flesh.

Billy drops his hand from Graham's nape, slides it down Graham's chest and belly with precious few teasing motions. God, it's hot, even through the shirt, because Billy loves teasing Graham, loves making him wait, making him plead for it. The directness of the action, no time to waste on foreplay. It's fucking hot, just knowing Billy's as ready as he is, that he wants – no, needs this as much as Graham does.

He's not surprised when Billy's hand lands on his cock through his pants, but it makes him shake and arch just the same, and Billy sucks a bruise to life against his throat. Instinctually he thrusts into Billy's hand, even as the other whispers something nonsensical and soothing into his ear. Doesn't matter, anyway, all he can feel is the flutter of Billy's breath and the tickle of his hair against his skin and he moans aloud.

Billy's hand is busy regardless, fumbling the zipper down and pushing inside Graham's boxers to curl those amazing fingers around Graham's cock. His lips find Graham's again, swallowing the loud whimper before Graham could even form it properly. His brain is a mass of fission and fusion all at once, separate synapses firing until they coincide at the point of heat and lust between his legs as Billy starts to jerk him off.

Billy's thumb traces circles around the slick head of Graham's cock, still a tease after all, and Graham's hips twitch, his thighs tremble. He has to clamp his raised leg tighter against Billy's waist for support to keep his knees from buckling altogether.

“Fuck, Graham,” Billy mumbles against his lips. “You're so - Jesus, you make me crazy. Been wantin' to do this all night long.”

“Yeah - oh god, y-yeah,” Graham agrees, begs. He shifts his weight so the wall supports most of it, spreads his legs wider to accommodate Billy between them. “God, Billy – ah!”

A skill twist of fingers leaves Graham seeing stars, but he fights the inevitable, doesn't want to just yet, not before, not without -

He somehow manages to wiggle his hand down underneath Billy's belt and lower, latching onto Billy's cock, and his hand fits there as easily as it does on the controls of his Flag. Billy stiffens against him, chest to chest, and Graham can feel his heartbeat hammering in tandem with his own. Billy tosses his head back, long hair flying, and Graham's swollen, sucked-red lips find Billy's throat by their own volition. Teeth sink, slip down, tongue laving sweat-salty skin, and Billy's hand clenches around Graham almost convulsively.

It doesn't take long after that, both of them driven and desperate, waiting too long and it feels too good to be this close. Feels too good to have Billy's hand on him, to have Billy in his hand, to be tasting Billy's lips and drinking Billy's sounds. And Graham knows him just as well, knows how to make Billy come with a flick of his wrist, and so he does.

Billy gives a shout, muffling it against Graham's shoulder, as a warm, thick flood fills Graham's palm, And by some blinding stroke of luck, that's when Billy thumb presses just the right way, and Graham wouldn't even have time to fight it back if he'd wanted to. He half-whimpers, half-keens as release sweeps over him, potent and sharp and oh so fucking sweet.

They stand there, shaking and panting against each other for a long time. They share lazy, deep kisses, sated and sticky-fingered. Luckily Billy has a handkerchief in the pocket of his jacket, and when they separate they snicker as they clean up.

Walking back to the barracks, Billy slings an arm around Graham's shoulders and tugs him in close to his lanky body. He knows that Billy's going to regret this in the morning, when the rumor mill has spread the word of their suspicious activities. Graham doesn't care.

Graham sighs as he returns the embrace, his arm sliding around Billy's waist. Let 'em talk. Won't change a damn thing. They just have gossip and assumptions, but he's got the truth right here.

End

Feedback is adored and treasured. <3

All my fic found here.

An Observation

2008-05-02T12:44:49Z

One good thing about waking up this early?

I make damn good coffee, if I do say so myself.

*vrooms off to work*

Fanworks Master List

2008-04-29T04:26:00Z

Howdy, kids. This is my master list of my work, because everyone's getting one and I'm a total sucker for a good band-wagon. Besides, it'd be nice to have everything organized around here. For once.

Organized by fandom, everything is clearly labeled. Don't come cryin' to me if you're scarred for life. XD And enjoy~!

Kyou Kara Maou
This feature coming soon! Because I am tired and lazy and I have lost the URLs to almost all of my stuff for this fandom. XD;; Will be working on finding them. In the mean time, enjoy the rest of my stuff, as seen below.

Full Metal Alchemist

Fanfiction

Coldblooded - PG-13/Rish, Roy/Ed, angst, spoilers for Lab 5, multichapter, unfinished - Ed knows alchemy can explain everything, including daytime vampires, un-undead zombies, and his surprising new attraction to Roy Mustang... Well, maybe not that.

Aquaphobia - PG-13, Roy/Ed - It feels like surfacing, it feels like diving in.

Whatever Betty's Your Crocker PG-13, light Roy/Ed, humor, crack - All Base Personnel are to Engage in Tactical Confectionary Creation July 10, and Bring the Results to the Inaugural Hall by 08:00 Hours on July 11, 1915.

Counterfeit - R, Roy/Lust!Ed, end-of-series spoilers, angst, dubcon - It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Blindsided - NC-17, Roy/Lust!Ed, dubcon, aaangst, sequel to 'Counterfeit' - Entry for steelandsparks's Anniversary Contest 2007. “Did you really think you could escape?”

Bleach

Fanfiction

Leave a Mark - PG-13, Ichigo/Renji, UST - After a battle, Ichigo Asks Renji about his tattoos.

Under Pressure - PG-13, Ichigo/Renji, UST, spoilers up to ep 122-ish - Ichigo struggles to control his reiatsu. Renji gives him a hands-on demonstration.

Gundam 00

Fanfiction

Gen (No Pairings):

Breach - PG, Allelujah, angst, dark, spoilers for Allelujah's backstory - He doesn't look at Their faces anymore. Doesn't need to because They all have the same blankline mouth and callous mechanical gaze before the needles break the skin.

Calculated Risk - PG, Graham, Billy, spoilers for ep 19 - He's still riding the wave of his adrenaline, of his fury.

Yaoi (Slash):

Sensitive Equipment - PG, Graham/Billy, UST, post ep 4 - Graham returns from Taribia, but there are some tests Billy must perform before he is given a clean bill of health.

No Subtext - NC-17, Graham/Billy, hinted Billy+Sumeragi, vague spoiler up to ep 14 - He doesn't read anything into it, though. There's nothing going on between the lines.

Louder Now - NC-17, Lockon/Allelujah, hairkink - PWP written for a challenge on springkink.

Damn the Consequences - Hard R, Tieria/Setsuna, gunkink, spoilers up to ep 7 - Written for a challenge on the Gundam 00 Kink Meme. If this effected his mission performance in the morning, he really was going to shoot them.

Black Mirror - NC-17, Hallelujah/Allelujah - Written for a challence on the Gundam 00 Kink Meme. I won't ever leave you alone.

Fanart
Gundam 00 Art - PG (shirtlessness), Gen - Four sketches: Billy in profile, afterhours!Graham, Billy in bed, poker!Graham

Random

Screencap Idiocy - I had too much time on my hands and a workig copy of Adobe Photoshop. Crackish summaries of Gundam 00 eps 4-10, careful you don't trip over the MASSIVE FUCKING SPOILERS, alright? Probably rated R for language and some suggestive crap.

AWESOME vid

2008-04-28T05:07:13Z

OKay, this is shamelessly ganked from candypyon, but it's OMG SO WELL DONE that I felt it was a moral imperative to share with you all.

O. M. F. G.

I have no words. XD XD XD Who knew the Meisters could all dance like that? They're all so awesome! O: (But I am torn between scarred and amused as hell by the tongue-action Halle does.)

_faded_fallen @ 2008-04-27T15:24:00

2008-04-27T21:40:46Z

Title: Calculated Risk
Rating: PG
Genre: Gen
Characters: Graham, Billy
Wordcount: 300-ish
Disclaimer: Bandai's sandbox, I'm just playing.
Warnings/Notes: Tag to the end of ep. 19, vague spoilers
Beta: Beta'd by the wonderful ladybrick. Gracias, chica!

Summary: He's still riding the wave of his adrenaline, of his fury.

Calculated Risk

Graham has stopped coughing blood by the time he gets back to base, but that doesn't stop Billy from overreacting.

“You reckless idiot!” he says as he hauls Graham to the medical unit. It's awkward because his other arm is bound in cast and sling, and Graham is woozy on his feet. “What were you thinking, going in without backup?”

Graham laughs despite the pain like knives in his chest. “You think this is bad, you should see the other guy.”

Billy snorts, tosses his head to shift his loose hair aside. He glares at Graham. “That's not the point.”

“Bullshit. That's exactly the point,” he counters. He's still riding the wave of his adrenaline, of his fury. His victory. The first time he faced a Gundam and was not the one to tuck his tail between his legs and run. He bares his red-tinged teeth in a ferocious grin, ignores Billy's flinch. “We can do it, Katagiri. We can defeat them with the Flags.”

“Not if you kill yourself trying, first,” is Billy's acerbic reply, but it lacks bite. They both know the danger, always have. Objecting now can't and won't change the course they've set upon.

Once at the medical unit, the doctors take Graham from Billy's care. They poke him and prod him and dose him with opiates. Luckily, he doesn't need surgery. He doesn't know how he'd cope with recovery time, not now that he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he and his men can turn the tide of this bizarre war. Not now that he has tasted satisfaction for the first time in months.

Funny thing, though. Funny in a way that leaves him uneasy as he's pulled under by the drugs.

This kind of satisfaction tastes like his own blood. But he's still thirsty for more.

End

Feedback is love. For serious.

_faded_fallen @ 2008-04-22T05:59:00

2008-04-22T12:25:37Z

So I just realized how out-of-date my LJ was getting, and decided it was time for an update. ^^;;

I'm still alive, obviously, but Wal-Mart hired me so I may as well be a soulless zombie-slave for all they're concerned. Today's the fourth day of being up by 5:45 a.m. I miss my sleep. So. Much. It's gonna be like this for the next two and a half weeks, too. But Michelle, my boss and the manager of the produce department, assures me that I will be switching to the later shift, er, later.

BTW, Wal-Mart produce? DO. NOT. WANT. I don't care if I get a 10% discount on our fresh fruits and vegetables, I have seen too much. Not that any of it looked good in the first place, and I've kind of made a vow to myself that I will not buy stuff from Walmart anymore. It's bad enough I'm working for the bastards now, I'm not taking this crap home with me.

In other news, my friend Sam from Billings is coming to visit all her old friends in Dickinson. We're probably going out for lunch or something, so yay! But unfortunately, my sister is recruiting me as back-up for this Friday evening, when Dad and Sherry are having her over for a belated birthday dinner.

This would be the first time in about, hm, two months or so, that I've seen/heard anything about that part of my family. They haven't actually contacted me since the time Sherry took me with her to Bismarck, and that was like the end of February/beginning of March.

So, it may be time to do my coming-out spiel. XD;; I have no idea, man.

Finally, I have been terribly depressed over the fact that I was too busy with RL to have fun in the Gundam 00 wank, and now it's all over. I've left gundam00 because the mod is a pathetic, trollish excuse for a chronic wanker. My suggesion to the Flist is to get the hell outta there before he gets worse.

NEVER MIND. He is gone, and the nice mod is in charge now. <3 *re-applies for membership*

(Meanwhile, gundam_00 seems to be run by sane individuals, AND there's a short-fic contest that's All-Pairings friendly! XD /pimpage)

_faded_fallen @ 2008-04-14T22:05:00

2008-04-15T03:37:59Z

We were somewhere outside Bismarck when the drugs took hold. But I'd survived two days of 6:30 am wakeup-calls, and six rounds of judging these mad, half-human beasts that speak like sboriginals in their natural habitat.

But I can't stop here. It' bat country.

What ARE these goddamn animals?!

....

If you gleaned it from the lame Hunter S. Thompson rip-off, yes, I am in fact posting from the hotel. I have had an ambien and a cigarret, and am already exhausted from shitty sleep two nights in a row before two busy days and late nights.

Needless to say, I'm having a blast typing this. XD SOOOO MANY TYPOS TO CORRECT.

Anyway, thank you to Shin for getting strike-though working on the forum. <3 You are love. I was going to spam the threads just because I could, only to realize that I actually couldn't use the reply function for some reaons, most likely because of the public hotel computer I'm using at the moment.

At anyrate, this job sucks and is awesome and yet sucks at the same time. And I'm really loving looking at inanimate objects move and breathe right now. Mmm, sleepin' pill.

One day down, tomorrow won't be as long, and then we're getting the hell out of dogde. Sweet. <3

Wil not be checking Flsit until I'm home, because I don't want any NSFW crap to come up here.

Also? Fear-and-Loathing Moment #39 - That carpet in the lobby? It's SO DOING THAT THING.

Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood, My Ass

2008-04-13T13:57:35Z

I would just like to point out that I hate my neighbors.

Behind door #1 we have a family that includes a screaming baby and parents who yell a lot, and let their toddler leave its shoes in the common hallway area, as well as toys and garbage in the yard. This house is ghetto enough without your Wendy's trash and moth-eaten Nerf footballs, thanks.

And behind door #2 we have a fucking jaskass who decided 6:15 am on a Sunday was the PERFECT TIME to blare his shitty, shitty music on his stereo, complete with subwoofers.

And that was after said screaming baby kept me up until about four this morning.

So yeah. FUCK YOU, NEIGHBORS. *shanks*

Gah. And I have laundry to do before I leave for Mandan for a three-day speech meet trip, but if the washer and drier are free, I will die of shock.

I need an angry icon. Dammit.

You Have Your Religious Right, but What Happened to Mine?

2008-04-07T20:44:47Z

All rigth, I consider myself a fairly laid-back, accepting kind of person, especially when it comes to religion. Being eclectic Pagan makes you a bit more open-minded about other peoples' beliefs. I'm also a firm believer in the First Amendement rights, freedom of speech, freedom of religion, etc.

HOWEVER. I was very offended this weekend. At the speech meet, no less, and it surprised me with the sheer bitterness of the reaction. I thought I'd gotten over my "down with Christianity" phase a long time ago, when I was still a little teeny-bopper Wiccan. This speech I heard, though, reminded me strongly of that angry period in my life. However, I do feel very justified to be outraged.

Prepare for incoming TL;DR.

Let me asplain. This is not a Christian bashing post. I know a great many people who acribe to different branches of Christianity, and they're good people. I don't want to step on anyone's toes, so I'm not going to get into the theological debates and whatnot. I respect your right to believe what you want to believe without getting harrassed for it.

Funny how that works, huh?

So, the speech meet I was judging was up at Minot State University. It was the Class A regionals, so that meant all the kids from the big schools were there, a LOT of good speakers. A lot of crappy ones, too, but hey at least they're trying. The day was typically hectic, running all over campus with ballots and my stopwatch, trying to find time to eat and maybe sneak in a smoke when I could.

The last round of the day was a Poetry Interpretation round. Pretty yawn-worthy, the only good speech was from a girl who's been getting first in all her events for most of the season. The others were all pretty blah, not horrible but nothing to write home about. And then the last girl got up to do her poem, and all I wanted was for it to be short.

It wasn't. It was called "A Witch's Invitation".

The link there takes you to a quite terrible made-for-Christian-TV video that does the whole thing, and includes special effects! O: Don't let the badness of it set you at ease. It's like a Chick Tract - hilarious in that incredulous sort of way, but propagating the same false stereotypes and outright lies that people can and will actually believe.

It's hard to pick the most offensive things, as the entire poem is offensive to me, but I'm going to try. Also, it should be noted that when I'm refering to "Christians," I mean the evangelical far-right kind of Christians who think that America is/was/should be a Christian State. The Religious Right and their sympathizers, who just can't comprehend in their tiny, closed minds the idea of equality of religions/beliefs, much less respect another person's right to hold beliefs and values different from theirs.

1. The Invitation Itself

This may be hard for some people of proselytizing religions to understand, but Pagans as a whole don't go out and recruit people to convert to whatever branch of Paganism. We don't turn away people who ask us genuinely for information, we may offer information of our own will with the option to take it or leave it. But we're not trying to convert you. We don't go to door-to-door or yell at them in the street to get them shed their moonotheistic ways and join the coven. We know how freaking annoying that is, for one, and another, we generally don't care. You want to believe in Jesus? Fine, good for you.

While I have witnessed pissing contests between Christians and Pagans before, all the confrontations took place in public and only when the Christians started preaching at people first. (I could tell you stories, but that's beside the point.) Having dealt with intolerance and assinine behavior regularly, we don't feel the need to seek it out or bring it down on other people.

Some Pagans may go out looking for these fights, but if they do, they are in the extreme minority. And this letter-in-the-mail crap that happens in this poem? Um, no. I sincerely doubt that any Pagan would invite a Christian preacher they've never met to their own home for a private meeting. First of all, the sort of person who would go out of their way to pick a religious fight is probably the sort of person who'd like witnesses to congratulate them on being so awesome and cool for stickin' it to the man. This would make them utter self-aggrandizing assholes, regardless of religion. Secondly, inviting strangers into your home with no provocation whatsoever is just weird and is you first sign you're dealing with a crazy person. The second sign of crazy is that they're claiming to be a 'warlock' right off the bat.

And what's with the gothy stationary? That right there is the final conclusive proof you're dealing with batshit, or at least extreme stupidity. Because if you are inviting someone to your home for anything other than a Halloween party, or a letter from one Goth to another, it would be very difficult to take a letter like that as anything other than a lame joke. If you're trying to be taken seriously as a practitioner of any creed, you should know better.

Which brings me to point two.

2. Warlock

This is something of a huge sticking point for many Pagan/Wiccan/etc type people. A warlock is actually NOT A MALE WITCH. Male witches are called witches. Warlock more accurately translates to, IIRC, something like 'truth-twister.' So, basically, a liar. Most half-way educated Pagans know this, and thus avoid the word and its negative connotations. Those who do use this word are generally the idiotic sort of people who think life is some kind of giant LARP session, only with less rock-paper-scissors and more flat-out crazy. So, this being said, the people who would call themselves 'warlocks' do not represent the majority of Paganism, and are more than likely irredeemably stupid, or get a kick out of being "edgy and shocking."

I'm not denying that there are jerks out there like this. I'm objecting to the stereotypifying of ALL PAGANS as people like this. The Pagans I know are predominately the sane kind that don't flounce around in black and red robes as their sole mode of dress, and in fact look just like - gasp! - regular people. They might be preppy, or punky, or emo, or hippy, or jeans-and-Tshirt slackers.

Along this vein of argument is the stereotypical "witch's lair" that the poem paints this guy's house to be. Spooky with all sorts of hokey, tacky, supposedly supernatural artifacts laying around. There may be Pagans with houses like this, who knows. But in my experience, NO. Maybe the Pagans I know just have better interior decorating skills. Once again, our houses are regular houses, okay? And if we have pentacles or crystals laying out in the open, it's the same thing as a Christian having a crucifix on the wall or a couple of Jesus and Mary candles.

Speaking of 'occultic' objects (and is 'occultic' even a word?) let's get to gripe numero tres.

3. Dungeons and Dragons

DnD may be a way of life for some individuals who need to get outside more often. But even if it is a way of life, it is NOT A PAGAN LIFESTYLE. It is not demonic or Satanic, either. It's a fucking game. Playing pretend. Making things up because it's fun. Having DnD rulebooks on your coffee table doesn't signify anything other than you being a geek with an imagination. Playing DnD will not sell your soul to the devil. Neither will it grant you magical powers in real life.

4. Curses

Okay, up until this point, I was only irritated and amused at the sheer amount of blatant stupidity in this poem. But then we get to the part where the so-called warlock is showing off his scrapbook to the intrepid preacher-man. The warlock claims to have healed people with his uber-l33t magical skillz! OMG! And then in the next breath, he claims to have been bribed to curse some guy with AIDS.

THIS INFUSED ME WITH CAPSLOCK RAGE. Unfortunately, I had no keyboard to capslock rage with at the time. Still, this statement is so mindboggling wrong and offensive, I don't even know where to start, or how to express myself clearly.

First off: Pagans are not curse-happy hex-meisters, okay? The reason most Pagans don't curse people is because in almost every version of Paganism I've come across, there is some kind of checks-and-balances system. Wiccans have the Rule of Three, which is "whatever you send out comes back threefold." Meaning if you do good things, good things come back magnified. If you do bad things, bad things come back magnified. There are many variations of this sort of Karmic philosphy. Sometimes it's the Tenfold Rule (same deal only things are magnified by ten), sometimes it's not nearly that harsh. Some Pagans even have a version of Hell (Hades, the Underworld, etc) and don't want to do things to end up there.

That said, there may be Pagans who curse people. See the above definition of those people who call themselves warlocks. Yeah, they're more than likely the same kind of person. Usually they're hopeless newbs who are using Paganism as a crutch to be special and different and shocking. They want people to fear them, and so they go around putting 'curses' on people because it makes them feel powerful and cool. They are no more representavie of the Pagan community as a whole than Fred Phelps and his hateful followers are representative of Christians as a whole. They're the crazy, noisy outliers that get attention and make it harder for the rest of us to be taken seriously by the greater theological community.

Next, you can't curse a person with AIDS, unless this phrase is a metaphor for having unprotected sex with someone who is HIV posititve. It's offensive to me (and utterly ridiculous besides) that most of the time the Religious Right thanks God for AIDS because they look at it as a punishment for all those degenerate homosexuals (despite the number of straight people who get it, too), and yet then they turn around and use it to illustrate how amoral and cruel this 'warlock' is.

Quite frankly, the Christian appraoch to AIDS seems like they use it as a tool to further whatever agenda is on the table at the moment. They put a convenient spin on it, and voila! Gays die because they're a sin against God. Pagans are evil people who 'curse' others with biggest, scariest diseasse since the Black Death.

Sickening.

5. The Preacher's Reaction

All right, so at this point in the story, the intrepid preacher gets depressed because the 'warlock' is attacking his belief in God. Does anyone find this ironic?

Preacher goes on to compare the situation to some bit of the Bible where Moses miraculously turns his staff into a snake, and then the Egyptian priests do the same with theirs. Now, I haven't read this part of the Bible, so I'm most definitely taking it out of context, but I would interpret this as "Hey, just because religions are different, that doesn't make one superior or inferior. They are all equally valid, can do the same wonders for the soul, and impart the same wisdom."

But Preacherman decides that it means any other religion that can perform miracles is spitting in the face of his faith, because only God and Jesus can make miracles and everything else is TEH DEVIL. No, really, that's not even an exaggeration.

And then God inspires him to bitch out the 'warlock.' Not even for valid reasons, like being a fucking douchebag for inviting him over to pick a fight. No, it's because the 'warlock' is just plain evil, and cue the standard "You're going to Hell, which is full of burning entrails and sharp implements, but I'm not because Jesus Loves Me" speech.

I ask you, is this really Christian behavior? I mean, sure, if some stupid schmuck brought me to his house and told me how uberspecial magical he was and how he cursed people, then called my faith stupid, I'd be pissed, too. But I'd more likely yell at the 'warlock' for his ignorant, egotistical, and honestly rather pathetic attempt at making himself feel like he was better than me. And then kick him in the balls for thinking you can curse someone with AIDS.

But no, Preacherman goes straight to the comfort of all Christians who can't formulate reasonable arguments: Fire and Brimstone. It's like the Godwin's Law of religious debate. Sooner or later, you'll get the knee-jerk "You're going to Hell!" response. And it's hardly ever out of concern for your soul. More likely it's because you've stumped them or pissed them off. It's like their security blanket, this self-congratulatory "I'm Going to Heaven and You're Not" delivery. And they love going to geat detail the kind of horrors you'll experience, as if they're getting off on the idea of you being tortured for all eternity while they're sitting on a cloud and sipping their mojitos with Jesus or whatever.

That's not what I'd call loving your neighbor.

Some Christians actually do care about your immortal soul, and they'll get honestly scared for you and try to get you to repent. While similarly frustrating and annoying, at least they're what I would call true Christians, because they're following their God's creed of love. Love, not hate. Which is what the ones who just like to gloat about your one-way trip to Hell, secure in their knowledge that they're going to go to Heaven, like to propagate.

Not that either motivation gives them the right to tell me what I can an can't believe, what faith I can and can't hold, much less invade my right to privacy and religious freedom.

Conclusion

After I heard the speech, I had to sit and grit my teeth and give the little Christian girl (because I highly doubt anyone but a Christian would choose a poem this entirely bad for interpretation) her score without letting my religious affliliation color the results and REALLY RESTRAIN MYSELF from writing a note on the bottom of the ballot about how she should find less offensive material.

Why didn't I speak out? Because I have reasons for not wanting to draw attention to myself as a judge. You have to be registered by the ND High School Activities Association to judge at regionals, and my certification was and is still pending. I'm afraid if this is noted, I could get my mom in trouble for substituting for her.

Besides, this poem is obviously a work of fiction. Bad fiction, yes, but that's a loophole I'm sure people would exploit. And as I've said, the 'warlock' in it is a characicature of blatant misconceptions and outright lies. Nevermind that while woefully incorrect, this 'warlock' is supposed to (mis)represent Pagans as a whole. That was the intention here.

Replace the Pagan-slurs in this poem with rupugnant over-generalizations and offensive stereotypes of any other religion. What if the 'target' was Jewish? Instead of wearing robes, he has a hat and corkscrew-curls on either side of his bearded face, and he talks about how he plans on taking over the world with a vast behind-the-scenes financial conspiracy. Or how about Islam? What if a man in a turban came to the door and talked about all his different Jihads and his plan to suicide-bomb the White House.

Yeah, that's pretty fucking offensive now, isn't it?

And it pisses me off in this day and age, people still THINK this way. This poem is a single drop in the sea of proof that Christians still think that witches and 'warlocks' go out and sacrifices babies and commune with Satan on the full moon, and they curse everyone who pisses them off.

Never mind that the targets of these attacks don't even believe in the Christian devil, or Hell, or consort with any kind of demon on a regular basis. Never mind that for the most part Pagans are mild-mannered, laid-back, do-what-you-want-as-long-as-you're-not-hurting-anyone sort of people. Never mind finding actual facts about the myriad different Pagan sects and having a calm, thoughtful theological discussion about it. God said to hate them all, so good Christians take all the misinformation seriously and spread it and go out of their way to make life harder for anyone who has a different opinion.

They have the right to free speech, but that stops the minute they start spilling their fear and bile all over me and my beliefs. If I have to respect their right to a religion that is more full of hypocrits and bigots than good people with a good faith, they should damn well respect my right to my own spirituality.

That means if you're going to disagree with what I believe, you have to get your facts straight first. Accusing me of sacrificing goats is just going to make me cackle like a stereotype. And after that, you're going to have to put the Bible down and do some reasoning of your own, because quoting scripture and calling damnation on me? Is really not proving any points you think you may have.

/end rant

Right. Other than that, the speech meet was okay. But it effectively killed anything productive I may have done this weekend. -___- I was too busy being pissed off and working. BAH, I say. BAH.

Do NOT Pass Go, Do NOT Collect $200

2008-03-26T23:36:09Z

So, I hung out with Cody and Mike last night at Cody's apartment. I met his girlfriend, who is eight months pregnant. She seems really nice. ^^ We didn't do a whole lot, just chilled for a while while waiting for Mike. He was fashionably late by like 30 min. Whatev.

Anywho, we didn't drink or anything. We played Monopoly. Until like, three in the morning. XD WILD AND CRAZY TIMES, MAN. Mike, that bastard, put hotels on Boardwalk and I had to mortgage EVERYTHING to pay for it. LAME. I don't like Monopoly. As if it's not bad enough that I suck at money in real life. XD;;

I did get Free Parking a couple times, though. That's always fun. ^^

In other news, I spent the rest of the night digging through web-comics, and now I have a hankerin' to draw fanart. I started to draw a Billy/Graham h/c cuddle scene, buuuut... >_> They aren't looking so good. Man, all the awesome fan-artists on my Flist give me an inferiority complex. XD;;; Ah well, I never claimed to be Rembrandt. If I finish it, and if I can then find a scanner, it might get posted. Who knows?

Talked to Tabitha for the first time in OMG FOREVER today. It was cool. Though she's having issues a bit, but aren't we all? XD It was great to catch up with her.

And lastly, the fucking landlords are showing the house tomorrow, and my bedroom never recovered from when I cleaned the rest of my apartment. I'd like to know how they intend to show my apartment when about half of it is knee-deep in laundry. Which is Not Cool.

I have neighbors in the next-door/upstairs apartment, again. And they're a family with young kids, again. At least one toddler, and at least one screaming baby. And they are ALWAYS. DOING. LAUNDRY. Like, seriously. I haven't been able to get to the washing machine since they moved in a week ago. >_< Fucking laundry hogs.

But What Are Your Thoughts on...

2008-03-24T11:11:37Z

Okay, so gundam00 has announced the rules for its upcoming fanfiction contest. Now, I was pretty excited by the idea of a contest. Then I read the rules and had a couple questions about them. To sum up, the rules say that neither sexual content nor hints of it (regarless whether yaoi, yuri, or het) are allowed, and I wanted to know if that was true for canon romantic tension (ie, Patrick/Katy, Billy+Sumeragi).

The mods' responses were. Well. One gave me his Thoughts on Yaoi (which, um, totally wasn't even what I was asking about, kthnx, and we all know bucue has issues with Teh Ghei in Gundam anyway) and the other seemed to be saying that participants' fics have to be "as canon as possible." Or maybe she's only referring to the romance part of it.

Now, I can understand having a gen fic contest. Really. That's not what bothers me. What bothers me is that instead of just saying, "Yeah, okay, canon couples are allowed," they went out of their way to say, essentially, that all the icky icky boylove is ~~icky~~ OOC porn. (Because, apparently, yaoi fangirls never try to accurately portray the characters they're writing, and there's no such thing as a G-rating when the gay is involved.) And plus, it's Not Canon.

Not canon. Huh. Which I suppose makes it, what was it called, uh, OH YEAH - FANFIC.

Also, the "all ages" line is pretty classic. Bucue's thinking of the children, really. Which is why he totally made a point about saying how het or lesbian smut would be just as DAMAGING OMG. And how things like extreme gore and/or other disturbing, adult-themed content would not be allowed either.

Oh, wait. He DIDN'T say any of that. Huh.

Seriously? If they'd just said, "Please submit your gen fics rated PG-13 and below," that would have been fine. Maybe an addendum about the allowed canon pairs. But all this? WTF.

I am tempted to reply to these comments, but. I've been reading F_W @ Journalfen recently, and yeah. Don't really want to start that shit. Also, Bucue made a comment how he was "probably going to start a lot of drama" with his ranty little comment, and I don't want to give him the satisfaction. It's bad enough that I felt the need to rant about it in my own journal. -__- *shame*

Besides, comments on that post are (mostly) screened, so it'd be kind of stupid anyway.

>_>

Now I'm not sure if I want to enter at all. The mods sucked the fun out of it so quickly and efficiently. D: But I do like a couple of the themes... Hm. Maybe, maybe not. I tell you what I'd like to do. I'd like to write something seemingly innocuous but with homosexual subtext galore. So then, it really would be quite close to canon. XD See how they like them apples.

Drabble Meme - 5 g00 minifics

2008-03-22T09:52:50Z

So, ganked this from toyo_kun from his/her post on steelandsparks. I'm more in shock that I wrote het in one of these. O_o My OTP hates me, by the way.

1. Pick a character, pairing, or fandom you like.
2. Put ~~iTunes or equivalent media player~~ Winamp on random.
3. For each song that plays, write something related to the theme you picked inspired by the song. You have only the time frame of the song: no planning beforehand: you start when it starts, and no lingering afterward; once the song is over, you stop writing. (No fair skipping songs either; you have to take what comes by chance!)
4. Do 5 of these, then post.

I chose fandom, Gundam 00. All drabbles are work-safe, and probably not over PG-rated.

Track 01 - "Liar" by Taking Back Sunday

“I don't think this is working, Graham,” Billy said. He wasn't looking at the other man, his back ramrod straight and hands tightly clenched on the railing in front of him.

Graham closed his eyes, opened them slowly, and said, “Oh. Why's that?”

Billy shrugged his response, neck drooping slightly. Graham had been expecting something like this for a while.

“Fine. If you're sure, I can't change your mind. But let me ask...” he paused to take a breath and swallow his heart. “Is this because you're not in– interested in me? Or because you're interested in someone else?”

“I – I don't know what you're talking about,” Billy stuttered. “There hasn't been anyone else. But I'm not in love with you. I'm not. I never was.”

“I know,” Graham said, and didn't know which one of them was lying.

Track 02 - "Sleepwalker" by theSTART

Sumeragi had drunk too much, again. It was something that happened more often than not when she was on Earth and didn't have to ration herself. But his time she actually had a reason. Billy had met her for drinks, again, and the more tipsy he got, the more blatant his come-ons. But she couldn't let herself go down that path. They had traveled it before, and she'd broken it off herself. When she'd disappeared, when she'd left the name Kujou behind. But it was hard not to think that maybe, maybe this time...

No, not going down that path again. She slammed another shot and tried not to think of how warm and steady Billy's hand was at the small of her back.

Track 03 - "Pistol of Fire" by Kings of Leon

Tieria had finally shucked off his sweater in the tropical heat, and was debating rolling up his shirtsleeves as well, when the attack came. Allelujah burst from the shade with Lockon hot on his heels. It happened too quickly, a grinning flash of mischief on both faces, and then the bombs fell with the stunning accuracy only Gundam Meisters possessed.

“Aaaugh! You – how dare you!?” Tieria shouted – not shrieked – as water soaked him through and bright shrivels of colored latex fell to the sand.

The other two were already retreating up the beach, Allelujah giggling so hard he could barely run, and Lockon calling over his shoulder, “Don't be such a wet blanket!”

Track 04 - "Kashmir" by Led Zeppelin

In the desert, the sun and dry, hot wind sucked the moisture from you so quickly, your lips would be chapped and cracked and bleeding in less than an hour. Setsuna had almost forgotten, it had been so long, but oddly enough the taste of dust and blood... It shouldn't feel like coming home.

He hated the desert. He hated the way it stretched on endlessly, mindlessly, shifting dunes and barren rocks, and all of it cruel and unforgiving as war itself. The only peace to be found was the stillness of a body stripped to the bone by sandy wind and bleached gleaming white by the sun.

The world was a twisted, godless place.

Track 05 - "Smashing Young Man" by Collective Soul

Tieria had just finished giving Sumeragi yet another dressing-down in front of the rest of the crew when Lockon had decided he'd had enough. He followed the other pilot down the hall, and he when he caught up he grabbed Tieria's arm to check both their momentum.

“Take your hands off me,” Tieria growled, jerking in Lockon's grasp.

“I want you to stop doing that,” Lockon said. He didn't let go. “It's bad for crew morale.”

“Oh? Well how else am I supposed to do it? If she can't do her job –”

“She is doing her job. And if you've got something to say, you can say it to me. In private.”

Tieria glared up at Lockon, but there was some suspicion in his eyes. “Why?”

“What you need is an outlet to bitch at,” Lockon said with a smirk. “And you just got yourself a volunteer.”

Meme songs (.zip file) are available for download here.

No Comment

2008-03-20T20:20:20Z

Brought to you by beckyzoole and shamelessly ganked from koji_ametsurugi:

Friends, we have not won. But we have been heard.

LiveJournal has not told us why interests such as "depression" and "sex" were removed from the Popular Interests List, then replaced with no more explanation than "it was a mistake".

But it has replaced them.

LiveJournal has not given the Advisory Board a voice in this announcement.

But it has promised to involve them in the future.

LiveJournal has not restored the option to open new Basic accounts for new members.

But it has indicated willingness to develop a method that will allow existing users to open additional Basic accounts.

Clearly and unequivocally, LiveJournal has promised to inform users before any further change to the site that affects how we use the site, or demands on our resources.

Please continue to join me on Friday in a Content Strike -- not so much as an act of anger as an act of integrity.

We will demonstrate that we follow through on what we promise, even if LiveJournal doesn't.

We will not be bought off with an empty apology, but we are willing to let LiveJournal demonstrate that their apology is sincere. This Friday, let your silence be your voice.

LiveJournal Content Strike, Friday, March 21, midnight to midnight GMT.
Один день без контента
No posts. No comments. No content.

I'm Ready for my Close-Up, Mr. DeVille

2008-03-13T18:42:36Z

Just for the record, job-hunting sucks out loud.

I'm going to end up applying at Super Walmart, and the thought fairly sickens me. But I need money badly. T_T Fuck you, Walmart. Fuck you.

On a rather funny note, I dreamt I was a movie star last night. XD;;; I totally blame this on watching disc five of Supernatural season two with Aaron, and the episode "Hollywood Babylon."

But it was pretty fun, actually. Not much on the actual movie part in the dream. My personal assistant (who was a sweet girl, but no one I recognize) and I skipped out in plain clothes to go to a bar. Only since I was dressed all scruffy-hippy, no one knew who I was. There was a line at the bar, but the bartenders were blatantly ignoring us all, and one of the guys in line almost started a fight over it before deciding it was bullshit and walking out. Then I called the main bartender guy an asshole, and the entire bar broke out in applause. XD;;

There was more, but none of it was particularly linear. I do remember my P.A. said she was from Holland, and the reason we had to do what this older lady (who was typical Hollywood with the "daaahhling" and all that) told us was because she also spoke Dutch. And I told my P.A. that I'd learn to speak Dutch, because Holland must be just freaking awesome because it's named Holland.

Ah, dream logic. XD Good times, man.

Pimping Post

2008-03-12T23:49:36Z

Okay, I'm pimping.

GO JOIN gundressed.

It's a pretty damn informal commenty-type all-series Gundam rp, and it's pretty fun. Also, there are A LOT of available Gundam 00 characters. No Tierias, Setsunas, Patricks, Somas, etc., so far. And even if there IS a character taken, YOU CAN STILL PLAY THAT CHARACTER.

So, if you're bored and need a place to play, join up. My journal for it is union_blackflag (guess who that is) and I know I'd LOVE to have a whole harem full of Billies. XD;;; And a Howard or a Daryl would be WIN as well. Actually, even another Graham would be fun.

Fic: Breach, PG, Gen

2008-03-06T23:12:45Z

Title: Breach
Rating: PG
Characters: Allelujah
Genre: Angst, Gen
Warnings: insanity, some blood
Spoilers: Allelujah's backstory
Disclaimer: Bandai's sandbox, I'm just playing.
A/N: A different style for me, so VERY INTERESTED in what you all think of it. Many thanks to lizzu for the beta. <3 That being said, all errors/typos are my own.

Summary: He doesn't look at Their faces anymore. Doesn't need to because They all have the same blankline mouth and callous mechanical gaze before the needles break the skin.

Breach

Allelujah doesn't remember his parents, but he knows he must have had them. He is not one of the engineered humans, the 'designer babies' tailor made to suit the needs of the supersoldier project. Because bioengineering human beings is expensive and time-consuming, and the project itself runs on the HRL military dime.

There'd probably been reports with words like 'cost-effective' and spreadsheets with projected turnover rates – how fast soldiers died and how fast new ones could be made to replace them. So instead of going from the genes on up, the researchers had to try to find a faster, cheaper method of turning human beings into living machines that killed on command.

*

Allelujah's first memory is of the orphanage. It's not much of a memory, grim grimygray impressions of a too-small building teeming with children. Smell of cheap astringent soap and the dirt it never really washed off. Scratchy, drafty clothes the color of dust. Pasty rice and watery broth and never enough of either so the hunger in his belly sits on his spine and doesn't even rumble anymore because it never did any good before.

The men in the white coats come when he is still very small, small enough that no one has even tried to teach him how to tie his shoelaces yet. He's scared of them. They're strange and dull-faced and they have no eyes. They have metalplastic visors instead, and they stare with unblinking lenses when they test the children. It's a methodical process, taking them one by one into a room they have commandeered and set up for their purposes. They don't test the older kids at all, and Allelujah doesn't think that's fair. But then it's his turn and the men take him in and shut the door with a quiet click behind him while he bites his lip and tries not to cry.

There are things that don't hurt first – hand-eye coordination and reflexes and intelligence quotients. Then things that do hurt – blood tests, tissue samples, poking and prodding and long invasive needles that scrape against bones. He can't help but cry when they do that, but they just hold him down. They don't talk to him for anything but the questions of their tests. They don't ask him his name or what his favorite color is or tell him big boys don't cry. They talk above him, talk to each other with big words Allelujah doesn't understand, and they make notes in their little computers.

“This one meets the biocompatibility requirements and has impressive physical reaction times,” one says.

“Excellent,” says the other. “We'll make the necessary arrangements. Notify headquarters.”

“Um, 'scuse me, mister,” Allelujah says, wrinkling his forehead and tugging at one white sleeve. They both look down at him startled as if he shouldn't know how to speak. And maybe he can't speak, not this bumpy and complex language they use. He tries anyway. “What d'you mean, biocompa-palabilny?”

“It means you're special. And we have a place for special children like you,” one of them tells him, cool, patronizing. His voice comes down from high up and settles like a clinical shroud on Allelujah's shoulders, and he shivers. He doesn't want to be the kind of 'special' men like these are looking for.

*

It doesn't matter what he wants, though. They take him away. He's the only one from that orphanage, but he's not the only one. Dozens of others all get jammed into a carrier made for hauling cargo up to the half-finished space station at the top of the solar elevator. The oldest are a few years older than Allelujah. The youngest barely know how to use the potty. He tries to make friends, but they are all too scared and mistrustful and they float in the stale recycled air that tastes like fear.

No friends are made, but they gather in clusters as if once outside Earth's reach the only gravity is the kind that draws them together in the chilly hold to whisper and watch the cameras in the corners. Little suspicious solar systems of their own, worldweary orphans and streetrats all, too young and older than they should be because they've seen too much of the adult world and the horrors therein to trust the goodness of human beings.

“They're gonna cut us up,” they say. “Cut us up an' sell our guts to hospitals.”

“Gonna sell us to preverts and y'know what they do.”

“Gonna makes us work, make us build that space station.”

Allelujah listens, but he thinks they're wrong about it all. No, he has this feeling in his heart, this sick dread curdling in his hungry belly. It's something much worse, much worse.

Something that makes it so Allelujah can't sleep because he has nightmares, men in their visors holding him down and taking up the needles and he wakes up screaming, but no one cares because most of the others do the exact same thing. His heart rises until he feels like he's choking and he breathes too fast until the kid next to him elbows him hard.

“Shut up, you baby,” the kid says, but her dirty face is streaked with her own dried tears and snot.

But Allelujah doesn't shut up, he starts to cry stickyhot sobs and pretty soon she's crying too, and they cling to each other in the dimness of the night-cycle. But the next day she pretends like it never happened, stubborn pout jutting her lower lip when Allelujah tries to talk to her, and she calls him a lair and a crybaby until he leaves her alone. He's hurt and angry, and he'd hate her but he doesn't even know her name.

They get to a colony and there is gravity again, fake gravity like a spinning carnival ride. They're herded into a glaring emotionless building with gray floors, white walls, white lights. Men and women, just as emotionless with visors above gray faces and white coats, take them to wash, really wash, and their old clothes and scavenged toys are burned, the ashes dispersed into space because vacuums are for cleaning.

The children are given white gowns and thin cloth slippers that let the heat slip into the cold tiles beneath their feet. They're hooked into machines that beep and whir and click. Sticky electrodes on freshly shaved heads, miles and miles of paper readouts of busy scribbled lines, waves and spikes and panicked blurs of dark black ink. There is no play time, just more tests. Running on treadmills until Allelujah feels like his legs are going to fall off and he's so hungry he eats the graywhite mush that's served for every meal even though it tastes like something that grew in a lightless cave while things with too many legs crawled all over it.

Sometimes kids disappear. The older ones go first, and new ones come on ships to replace them.

*

The days go on, and on. Allelujah loses count. But he never loses the fear. He can feel the not-eyes on him all the time, getting under his skin and watching his heart squeeze and his lungs shudder and his stomach clench. Recording him and picking him apart to find out what he can live without, which of his bits they can take away and replace with coldsterile steel and plastics. He doesn't look at Their faces anymore. Doesn't need to because They all have the same blankline mouth and callous mechanical gaze before the needles break the skin.

“I don't want another shot,” he says once when They take him to the small room with the big dark mirror on one wall and a so-so-small steel table in the middle under a bunch of searingbright lights.

The woman with the visor is wearing thick latex gloves that creak when she takes his arm by the wrist. They all wear gloves, no matter what the task, as if They don't want any skin to show, any weak flesh to betray humanity.

“Don't be foolish. You need these treatments. They're good for you.”

“Why? What are they for?” he asks, tugging to pull free from rubbery fingers, but she's strong. She makes him sit on the table and she gets the needle ready.

“They're vaccines. They'll keep you from getting sick.”

Allelujah doesn't believe her, because last time he got injected with something he felt wan and weak for days afterwards, felt colorless, graywhite and thin. But he can't run, there's nowhere to go, and the needle pierces his arm and aliencold fluid flows into his veins and mixes with his blood so he shudders, bites his lip and lets tears slip down his cheeks. The woman ignores it, or maybe she really doesn't care, and she takes him back to the big empty dormitory all the children sleep in, tells him to lie down and rest until dinnertime.

The bunkbeds stretch around him, a gaping expanse of white linen, titanium posts, pale tiles, everything washed almost blue by the too-strong lights overhead. He cries into his whitewhite pillow, welcoming the darkness and the kaleidoscope behind his eyelids, the playful bursts of violetgreenred whirling and shifting like a whole universe hidden inside him. And it feels like a secret treasure, like something that these people wouldn't understand, couldn't compute, wouldn't like. And the fear creeps up his back and wraps coldneedle fingers around his throat.

If They found out, if They knew Allelujah was hiding colors inside, surely They'd take his eyes. Take his eyes right out of his head as if he was made of fake dollparts, and then he'd have to wear the whitecoat and barrenface and hateful visor.

He cries and cries, but quietly, quietly, biting his fingers until he tastes blood. It drips from the corner of his mouth onto the sheets, and he stares. His fingers hurt, but the vibrant red looks so pretty where it breaks against the white.

Transfixed. Curious. He stares and blinks, and the tears stop their slow seep. Without even thinking about it, he takes his bloodied hand from his lips, drags it across the snowy plain of his bed. His fingers make a monochromatic rainbow across the sheets, and Allelujah remembers fingerpaints and wonders if he he tried hard enough, could he bleed the colors behind his eyes?

He can't, but he has fun trying.

When They come to check on him, They are startled. It makes him happy when those mouths drop open, so he smiles and licks the dried blood from the corner of his lips. They take him to his own room, one with soft white pads on the walls and a large dark mirror set into the wall beside the door.

His very own camera watches him all the time.

*

He thinks it might be a year before the needle changes. This time, it won't be in his arms or legs. Instead, They strap him face-down on the tiny little table and fill a long, long needle with something. Something clear but not, something that sparkles ominously and casts odd reflections around the whole room, refracted motes of shattered light. He panics, the woven plastic restraints chafe and burn because he won't let Them come near, doesn't want any more vaccinations, doesn't want to know where They're going to stab him -

The needle sinks into the back of his neck and it keeps sinking, and he can feel it sliding between his vertebrae and

hurthurtshurts nononoplease coldhurtscoldHURTS

*

He wakes up and doesn't remember going to sleep. It didn't feel like sleep. It felt like burning, felt like little tiny shards of metal in his blood, and his head hurts, screams redblueblack pain and he can hear things but he's alone in his quiet little white room. Bleary and already crying, he sits up and he's so so so dizzy he thinks he might be sick.

But he can see his reflection in that dark mirror, and a glimmer of color makes his breath stick in his throat while his heart skips and stutters. Grayblack rises in his vision just like he rises to his feet, dragging numb toes over soft floor, staggering and clutching at the wall when he gets near enough. He stares at the reflection because it's not him, not his reflection, it can't be because – because his eye -

It's gold, catyellow, and it's not his and They took his eye – dollparts and needles and beeping machines forever and ever and it's not his eye anymore –

And then there's something ripping, something tearing inside his mind, something that separates and something that joins, taste like bloodmetal smell like fearpain and he screams and screams and screams, but in the back of his head there is laughter rising and falling like joy and hate mixed together.

Before They come bursting through the door, before the blankwhiteblack swallows him whole, Allelujah sees his yellow-eyed reflection smile and wave.

End

Feedback, pretty please? You know I love you forever.

random meme

2008-03-03T16:41:56Z

Ganked from skadihelias:

- May 7 -
You love literature and the arts and dreaming and traveling. You love attention and are constantly attracting people with your charm. People find you very stimulating intellectually.
Positive Traits: intelligent, ethical, analytical, photographic memory, intuitive
Negative Traits: overly introverted, eccentric, uncommunicative, selfishness, cynicism
'What does your Birthdate mean?' at QuizGalaxy.com

This is actually kinda scary accurate, especially the negative traits. XD;; Not so sure about the "charm" and "intellecually stimulating" parts, though. Most of the time, smart people make me feel so dumb. ^^;

Why yes, this is a GIP

2008-02-28T15:12:18Z

ALLELUJAH HAPPY DANCE! XD XD XD I can't stop watching this icon. The cuteness, it overpowers me.

I've been up since six this morning. For. No. Reason. >__<;;