whynot | MULTIFANDOM POST OF FLAIL

Entry tags:

MULTIFANDOM POST OF FLAIL

1. Dirty Sexy Money. UGH. I am going through Season 1 of Dirty Sexy Money and I HATE HER. I HATE HER SO MUCH. I'm on Episode 7 and I don't understand why she is being set up to be the forbidden romantic interest of the married main character when there is NOTHING LIKEABLE ABOUT HER. It's just confusing storytelling. I thought Karen was written to be annoying on purpose and that the viewer to hate her, but now she is desired by the moral center of the show? I don't understand why ANYONE would desire Karen Darling, want to redeem her, or write fic about her explaining why she is the way she is. If I look into her head, I would find, "I fail at life because I never had to work at anything."

. The rest of the characters are okay I guess, though I ADORE the twins. (Where is the Jeremy/Juliet fic, guys??) I may or may have not drabbled Jeremy&Juliet when I was bored in class.

2. I kind of miss writing in a fandom that's set in the present day, 'cos then I can just let loose with dialogue and references and not have to check whether they're anachronistic or not. I would maybe minimize moments of "Wait, did I just accidentally write Christian allegory?" I want to write about airport lounges, Greyhound buses, fast food, and falling asleep in front of the TV.

I pretty much should just start writing originals again and write WHATEVER THE HELL I WANT.

3. The Secret Garden. Thoughts on Susan Moody's Return to the Secret Garden are

It was disappointing. I'm not surprised that it is, but I hoped it wouldn't be.

Things I Like
- BOTH times when Mary and Dickon finally have sex. The build-up was more or less effective enough to make me think "OMG JUST FUCK ALREADY!" MARY/DICKON ZOMG.
- Mary being initially confounded by sex
- Mary being disillusioned in India (Basil included)
- Colin having a new aspiration every week

Things That Could've Been Better Handled, But Wasn't, With Less Than Compelling Results
- Sociopolitical commentary on the World Wars and class struggle. She was trying to put The Secret Garden in a context of the British and European politics of its day. I'm down for putting canon in a new context, 'cos hey, that's what fic is all about, but Moody's execution just felt forced.
- Barney whathisname, the soldier who had a crush on Mary's mother, channeling his lust to Mary. Again with the feeling forced.
- Mary's child being a Marty Stu, ugh.

Good ideas but inconsistent writing quality. 6.5/10!

. In short, MARY/DICKON 4EVAAAAAAAAA. To conclude,

It was nearly three months since the telegram had arrived announcing that Dickon was missing and there had been no further news. She knew Colin was still mourning him: so, indeed, was she. But she needed a change. Everything had been so dreary while the war dragged on. For far too long she had felt as old as the moors round Misselthwaite, and the limited chances for gaiety offered by the Yorkshire social scene only added to that feeling. But she was nearly nineteen and she wanted to be young, to be like the girls whose exploits she read about in the society pages of the newspapers, the girls who were rebelling against the stuffy conventions of their parents, who belonged to the smart sets, like those who surrounded the Prince of Wales or Lady Diana Cooper. She longed to smoke Turkish cigarettes and bob her hair and dance till dawn in smoky basement night-clubs. When she had finally understood that Dickon was lost to them, she had known she would mourn him for the rest of her life. Even now, she was pierced by sadness as sharp and cold as an icicle whenever she thought of him. And yet, with the war over, life was slowly beginning to return to some kind of normality, and with a certain surprise, she was realizing that there were limits to how much time a person could spend being grief-stricken.

OH SUSAN.

4. Heroes. I just watched the new Heroes and MAN, everyone is TOTALLY SEXING EACH OTHER. TOTALLY. Especially all of the Petrellis (including Claire), though that's nothing new. I mean, it pretty much begins with Peter and Claire sexing, but eventually it gets to Peter and Nathan sexing because IT ALWAYS DOES.

I approve of Mohinder/Maya. I APPROVE OF MOHINDER. Someone break me off a piece of THAT, omg. I always knew you had it in you. You were already too pretty for words, AND THEN YOU TOOK OFF YOUR SHIRT. AND I DIED. MOHINDER, YOU ARE TOO HOT FOR WORDS. Also, your superpower is that you are Spiderman, lolz.

OH, AND THEN THERE IS HIRO AND ANDO. Who compare themselves to Batman and Robin. I MEAN, COME ON.

Everyone on Heroes <333333333!!!! Except Claire, who is dumb as a post.

, yeah. I'm tempted to get sucked into the Heroes fandom, but what I REALLY should be doing is homework.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

the frayed edges of things, and dust motes in sunbeams. the snatches of some other world's lullaby. these are all that's left of the dream when susan wakes up, and she lies awake in the dark of pre-dawn trying to remember the rest of it. but of course, the harder you try, the more it sleeps away. she hums the first bar of the lullaby in a crackled just-awake voice, to hold on to it. from the next bed, lucy hums back the next bar.

"have you been awake all this time?" susan asks.

"just for a little while."

"come here."

and lucy does. lucy has stopped listening to most of susan's orders, but she will follow this one. she will huddle with her under the covers and hum old lullabies into her ear, just to hold onto her, to keep her from slipping away.

but of course, the harder you try...

This all just makes me want to finish my edmund&susan-in-calormen fic, which is progressing VERRAH VERRAH SLOWLEH. there's a particular bit in it (which i haven't written yet) where ancient calormen script is like the crests of waves and edmund's painting protective runes on susan's body (well they're partly protective runes, he doesn't tell susan what else it does) with the ink he procured from the tisroc's court magician. along her spine, over her heart, along her clavicles and around her wrist: points of power. from her ankle to her soft belly, a long lyric invoking old gods. the ink glows and sinks into her skin and is gone, and in the end there's no proof she's been subject to spells except for a flush in her cheeks and an unfocused look in her eyes. susan reaches for edmund and he lets her curl into him, dizzy with magic.

if only she remembers magic, if only it works here the way it does There. (things don't happen the same way twice, my child.)

PRETTEH. PLEASE CAN WE HAVE SOME MORE? (you are not the only one who can abuse capitals! we believe in equality! apparently we are also multitudes! or perhaps just legion.)

when she finally makes herself get up, lucy hovering around her anxiously, edmund is gone. susan wonders if lucy's worrying for peter too, or if all she remembers of narnia is peter always coming home, always coming back, made whole again by the cordial she can no longer carry.

susan remembers angrisla, remembers peter covered in blood and gore, bits of flesh and bone and muscle, unconscious and slipping away from them. she remembers lasci, and the arrows that took him in the back. remembers an assassin in the cair paravel throne room, and the pool of blood in front of peter's throne as he nearly bled out, only a month into their reign. she remembers throwing up in the middle of the night, sick with terror, because they don't know where he is, if he's even alive.

we've already done this! she wants to scream. we've already been here! why do we have to do this again?

edmund comes back late that night, smelling of cheap alcohol, his lip split and both his eyes blackened, his knuckles all scraped up. susan has fallen asleep on peter's bed, in the room he and edmund share, wrapped around a pillow that doesn't smell like peter at all. she wakes up when edmund stumbles in and over to her.

"ed --" she says, and he catches her face between his palms (she remembers calluses once, his and peter's, and peter's hands had had one less finger until they came back to england) and kisses her. she opens herself to him, tumbling back onto peter's bed. the door is shut.

CAPSLOCK FOR EVERYONE
ya at the rate at which i am writing this fic i will get my degree before i finish this shit. ya here is more excerpt, ya:

They go to the marketplace in commoners’ clothes. Their pale skin and strange accents don’t stand out as much as Susan had feared; the marketplace is filled with vendors and traders from all over the world, with strange skins and accents of their own. By not fitting in at all, Edmund and Susan fit right in.

Susan flits from stall to stall, contentedly mixing business with pleasure as she barters and flirts her way to a lower price. Edmund stays close and makes small talk with passers-by, cross-referencing marketplace rumors with what his spies have told him.

“A bracelet for Lucy,” Susan says, showing him her hard-won gifts. “A flute for Tumnus.”

“Lucy has piles of jewelry that she barely wears,” Edmund points out. “She thinks they’re bothersome.”

“Well, if she doesn’t want to appreciate her present, I’ll wear it for her.”

“How very big-hearted of you.”

They pass a stall selling Turkish Delight. Edmund stares until the vendor notices and starts waving a box of it in his face, calling entreaties. Edmund shakes his head, smiling weakly, and feels Susan’s arm around his waist, tugging him away.

“They’ll rot your teeth,” she tells him, like he is eleven years old, and leads them back into the crowd.

WHEE. Marketplaces make me happy. I don't actually much like being there, but they are pretty in fiction.

"You weren't in your bed last night," Lucy says the next morning, the words matter-of-fact and bland, and Susan turns her head in time to see Edmund look away.

In the light of day, he looks even worse than he did last night. It's the sort of thing Peter would do -- has done -- does, not like Edmund at all, but Susan can't grudge him his anger. She knows how it feels to be so achingly, burningly angry, wanting to hit something, anything, but England binds her tighter than anything in Narnia, even her crown.

Time passes.

There is no word.

i <3 The Marketplace, fictional or otherwise. here is more excerpt:

But here in Calormen, how casually magic is woven into the fabric of everyday life! “There is a potion that will turn you invisible for a day and a night,” says Edmund, and “There is a telescope that will show you whatever you want to see, no matter where you are,” says Susan. They made notes and transcribed instructions, sketched useful plants and where they may be found, drew symbols and their meanings. They kept these notes in a lacquered box and cast a spell on it that rendered it unopenable unless it was Edmund or Susan’s hands that touched it.

“Look at how filthy my fingers are,” Edmund would say, display ink-stained fingers. Susan makes a face, which only compels him to reach out and smear ink on her cheek, and she gasps indignantly. They end up chasing each other around the room while Susan says things like, “This is no way for a king and queen to act,” while Edmund comments on how hard it must be to look offended and giggle at the same time.

“This is undignified behavior,” Susan declares breathlessly, trapped between a corner and her brother.

“Nuts to your dignity,” is all Edmund says, and leaves ink on her nose, her cheek, her neck.

maybe that's all for my calormen fic for now, 'cos my fics are pretty short and i don't want to inadvertently post most of it on the internets. at this point in writing i may be over the halfway mark, but i'm not sure. what is ALMOST finished is the fic about the white witch/stag conspiracy theory. yes.

*twirls* SO MUCH FUN. ALSO, WHITE WITCH/STAG CONSPIRACY THEORY. YAY.

also, apparently, abuse of capitals. meanwhile, my peter lies and my edmund reads betrayal and defeat in tarot cards: the three of axes, the maiden of stones, the broken castle, the ace of ships, the widow, the king of axes, the felon. he draws seven cards from the bottom of the pile: the two of stars, the ace of stones, the resurrected king, the gated garden, the seven of axes, the knight of ships, the sailor.

is edmund pissed that peter is lying to him? will there be make-up sex afterwards.

honey, this is warsverse. peter and edmund ain't gettin' laid without someone being mentally deranged.

well. there is the part where peter may or may not have his memory back.

since when has mental imbalance stopped you from writing sex.

peter sweeps the cards off the table with his hand. "i don't want to know," he repeats.

"maybe i do," edmund replies.

peter shoves his chair back from the table and storms away, running his hands through his thick hair. "if we were meant to know the future," he says, "what would be the use of getting there in the first place?"

preventing it, edmund wants to say, but he knows better than most that the future can't be prevented, just ensured. he contents himself with keeping quiet and gathering up the cards. he turns the last one over. the thief.

"where did you learn to lie?" he asks.

*is intrigued*

and i think i just aued an in-progress scene. *shakes head*

although. maybe i like this version better. *cocks head* less violent anger than in the version i have.

Peter puts his hand down over the cards. "I don't want to know," he says firmly. "I've had my future foretold often enough before, and I'd rather not know."

"Who says I was telling your future?" Edmund says.

Peter raises his eyebrows. "Isn't that what you do with these things?" he asks lightly.

"Mostly it's for answering questions," Edmund says. "Or that's what Gaesa taught me, anyway."

His brother's face darkens. "And what question exactly were you asking?" he demands.

"I wasn't," Edmund snaps back. "You picked up nervous ticks from Natare, I picked up nervous ticks from Telmar. Don't give yourself a complex or anything; you're not the only one of us who's ever left the country."

"No," Peter says, "but I was the only one who was someone else then."

stories within stories <3
i'll get to reading the one in your LJ at some point
i shake my fists at you, thesis proposal!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

FOR SIXTY FOUR THOUSAND DOLLARS

Re: FOR SIXTY FOUR THOUSAND DOLLARS

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

yessssssssssssssssssssssss

Re: yessssssssssssssssssssssss

Re: yessssssssssssssssssssssss

no subject