And the other stuff
Word to the wise: no matter how tempting it may be, NEVER make Rice Krispies treats with those little colored marshmallows. The little colored marshmallows are flavored, too, and the treats come out tasting like Dawn. (The dish liquid, not the character, thanks.) So you take a bite and go "bleeeeaaah," but they're strangely addictive, so you end up eating half a pan of krispy treats that taste like lemon-scented soap.
We spent a lovely New Year's Eve eating takeout appetizers; watching the Law & Order:SVU marathon on USA and Sports Night and Firefly on DVD; and trying to get to the cow level in Diablo II. It looks like you have to win the game before you can get there, but we have the very important magical item needed to open the portal to serious bovine ass-kicking. In news that people other than me will find interesting: I love SVU more the more I watch it, but have no desire to read fic about the characters; the ending arc of SN still troubles me; "Ariel" gets gayer every time I watch it.
I find that I enjoy reading story exchange challenge archives more once the names are attached. I'm working my way gradually through the Secret Slasha fics; I'll try to remember to post a list of favorites when I'm done. It's a diverse, lovely batch, as always, and so many of my favorite writers participated.
yuletide is going to take a bit longer, although maybe not. So many of the stories are in fandoms I've never heard of or don't care about. And a lot of them are in fandoms that I don't perceive in a fannish way: if people want to read/write fanfic based on Shakespeare or Lewis Carroll, more power to them, but I just don't feel compelled to read fic based on those works. And it's not just the canonized literature that I'm likely to avoid; I can't work up much interest in the wealth of Good Omens or Dark is Rising fic, either, and LotR fandom leaves me cold. I think that part of what grabs me about fanfic is the translation of visual media into text. And there's also the thing where nobody is going to write in quite the same way as Jane Austen, JRR Tolkien, or Terry Pratchett, and I notice every single place where it's off voice. The only big exception to this seems to be Harry Potter-- but when I read HP fic, I think of the movies rather than the novels. Bookfic is like RPF for me, I guess: people should totally read it and write it if it's their kink, but it doesn't seem to be my kink.
I got a The O.C. tape in the mail from callmesandy. I tried so hard not to love that show, but it gets the best of me with the clever dialogue and the pretty camera work and the Seth.
And now, my first fics of the new year. Two more ficlets:
For _par_avion, Inara fic with shades of Kaylee/Inara
It is almost four in the morning, local time; Inara has bid goodbye to the last of her clients, taken a bath, and gone walking in her robe. The others at the house are surprised that a companion of her stature is so content with late hours, but she has grown unaccustomed to sunlight. And when she has finished, a few hours before dawn, she walks among the stars and remembers when they were all she could see.
She likes Gethen. It is sufficiently far from the Core that the local houses have their own politics, and this one took her in without questioning her sudden departure from Xenon or her year on Serenity. The salt air cools her skin; the sea magnifies starlight and sends ripples through the reflected moons. All of her clients are on vacation and in good spirits: they delight in her as they would delight in a refreshing swim, and they never try to bargain down her price.
The companion house's land includes a patch of shoreline. Inara follows the brief coast from one invisible fence to the other, curling her toes into the sand. In the center of the house's beach is a short pier, made of microceramic board that looks and feels like wood but does not weather; she goes to the end of it and dips her feet in the water. She looks up at the sky to see a spacecraft descending. She doubts that it's Serenity, although she allows herself the luxury of believing it might be. They would land in the West Docks, and she would take Kaylee to the market stalls and buy her a mango or combs for her hair.
When Inara left Serenity, she thought she would purge herself of her feelings for Mal, and the rest would fade away. Every light in the sky betrays the falsity of that belief. She wants to swim in the stars again, and toward one in particular. And there is not enough sand or sea on this ocean planet to assuage that longing.
For vassilissa, Oz fic with shades of Oz/Willow
Her name was Suzanne. At first, Oz thought it was cute that she didn't know the Leonard Cohen song. He met her in the Adirondacks two days after a full moon. She was hiking; he was giving the wolf some room to run around. She told him that she was raised in a coven in Vermont, so she was okay with the wolf thing. She seemed to like that even when he meditated to keep himself from changing, he was fragile when the moon was full. She thought that she kept him from shattering, or something.
When he took out his guitar, she always left the room. She said she was giving him his space. Still, he learned the chords for her. "No, listen," he said when she tried to go away. But when the song hit that bright spot like clouds clearing away from the sun, "And she brings you tea and oranges that come all the way from China," she looked bored. He strummed "Suzanne" into silence and hummed, a capella, "But you don't really care for music, do you?"
She didn't get the joke. "Not the kind you play."
He went out into the woods and howled at the sliver of moon. He wished he had a pack that could tell him where to go next. He worried for his safety. There was no way he was going to keep the wolf quiet at the first full moon after he left his girlfriend. In the mountains, there was a lot of room to run but no one to bring him back.
He went home and checked his e-mail because Suzanne never went near the computer. There was a message from Willow. He told himself it was a coincidence. Sunnydale was a crater, and they were all regrouping near Cleveland. She'd attached Mapquest directions. She'd always been good like that.
As he closed the e-mail, he noticed the subject line: "She's touched your perfect body with her mind." When they'd gone out, he'd sent her e-mails all the time. Little love notes with song lyrics in the subject lines. She was only maintaining tradition.
He printed the directions, put his stuff in a bag, put the bag in his van with his guitar and computer, and drove west.
We spent a lovely New Year's Eve eating takeout appetizers; watching the Law & Order:SVU marathon on USA and Sports Night and Firefly on DVD; and trying to get to the cow level in Diablo II. It looks like you have to win the game before you can get there, but we have the very important magical item needed to open the portal to serious bovine ass-kicking. In news that people other than me will find interesting: I love SVU more the more I watch it, but have no desire to read fic about the characters; the ending arc of SN still troubles me; "Ariel" gets gayer every time I watch it.
I find that I enjoy reading story exchange challenge archives more once the names are attached. I'm working my way gradually through the Secret Slasha fics; I'll try to remember to post a list of favorites when I'm done. It's a diverse, lovely batch, as always, and so many of my favorite writers participated.
yuletide is going to take a bit longer, although maybe not. So many of the stories are in fandoms I've never heard of or don't care about. And a lot of them are in fandoms that I don't perceive in a fannish way: if people want to read/write fanfic based on Shakespeare or Lewis Carroll, more power to them, but I just don't feel compelled to read fic based on those works. And it's not just the canonized literature that I'm likely to avoid; I can't work up much interest in the wealth of Good Omens or Dark is Rising fic, either, and LotR fandom leaves me cold. I think that part of what grabs me about fanfic is the translation of visual media into text. And there's also the thing where nobody is going to write in quite the same way as Jane Austen, JRR Tolkien, or Terry Pratchett, and I notice every single place where it's off voice. The only big exception to this seems to be Harry Potter-- but when I read HP fic, I think of the movies rather than the novels. Bookfic is like RPF for me, I guess: people should totally read it and write it if it's their kink, but it doesn't seem to be my kink.
I got a The O.C. tape in the mail from callmesandy. I tried so hard not to love that show, but it gets the best of me with the clever dialogue and the pretty camera work and the Seth.
And now, my first fics of the new year. Two more ficlets:
For _par_avion, Inara fic with shades of Kaylee/Inara
It is almost four in the morning, local time; Inara has bid goodbye to the last of her clients, taken a bath, and gone walking in her robe. The others at the house are surprised that a companion of her stature is so content with late hours, but she has grown unaccustomed to sunlight. And when she has finished, a few hours before dawn, she walks among the stars and remembers when they were all she could see.
She likes Gethen. It is sufficiently far from the Core that the local houses have their own politics, and this one took her in without questioning her sudden departure from Xenon or her year on Serenity. The salt air cools her skin; the sea magnifies starlight and sends ripples through the reflected moons. All of her clients are on vacation and in good spirits: they delight in her as they would delight in a refreshing swim, and they never try to bargain down her price.
The companion house's land includes a patch of shoreline. Inara follows the brief coast from one invisible fence to the other, curling her toes into the sand. In the center of the house's beach is a short pier, made of microceramic board that looks and feels like wood but does not weather; she goes to the end of it and dips her feet in the water. She looks up at the sky to see a spacecraft descending. She doubts that it's Serenity, although she allows herself the luxury of believing it might be. They would land in the West Docks, and she would take Kaylee to the market stalls and buy her a mango or combs for her hair.
When Inara left Serenity, she thought she would purge herself of her feelings for Mal, and the rest would fade away. Every light in the sky betrays the falsity of that belief. She wants to swim in the stars again, and toward one in particular. And there is not enough sand or sea on this ocean planet to assuage that longing.
For vassilissa, Oz fic with shades of Oz/Willow
Her name was Suzanne. At first, Oz thought it was cute that she didn't know the Leonard Cohen song. He met her in the Adirondacks two days after a full moon. She was hiking; he was giving the wolf some room to run around. She told him that she was raised in a coven in Vermont, so she was okay with the wolf thing. She seemed to like that even when he meditated to keep himself from changing, he was fragile when the moon was full. She thought that she kept him from shattering, or something.
When he took out his guitar, she always left the room. She said she was giving him his space. Still, he learned the chords for her. "No, listen," he said when she tried to go away. But when the song hit that bright spot like clouds clearing away from the sun, "And she brings you tea and oranges that come all the way from China," she looked bored. He strummed "Suzanne" into silence and hummed, a capella, "But you don't really care for music, do you?"
She didn't get the joke. "Not the kind you play."
He went out into the woods and howled at the sliver of moon. He wished he had a pack that could tell him where to go next. He worried for his safety. There was no way he was going to keep the wolf quiet at the first full moon after he left his girlfriend. In the mountains, there was a lot of room to run but no one to bring him back.
He went home and checked his e-mail because Suzanne never went near the computer. There was a message from Willow. He told himself it was a coincidence. Sunnydale was a crater, and they were all regrouping near Cleveland. She'd attached Mapquest directions. She'd always been good like that.
As he closed the e-mail, he noticed the subject line: "She's touched your perfect body with her mind." When they'd gone out, he'd sent her e-mails all the time. Little love notes with song lyrics in the subject lines. She was only maintaining tradition.
He printed the directions, put his stuff in a bag, put the bag in his van with his guitar and computer, and drove west.