ciiriianan

Library

Dusty smells, yellowed pages,
Stacked on shelves, the dreams of ages,
No-one's trickery, Shadow's scope,
Frost's insanity, wise old Pope,
Alexandria's lighthouse, touch the sky!
Or wander witless, death to die.
Airy nonesense, coming home,
Truth is useless, left alone.
All together, surging sea,
Human nature, changless be,
And we wonder, it's our way,
Searching answers, spread our stay,
Endless silence, public mind,
Dreams of ages, left behind.

" Be yourself to the best of your abilities and morality."
" I have nothing to be proud of. Everything I have has been given to me. If I can take something I have learned with me to my Maker, then I will be proud."
" If you are what you try to be, you aren't trying hard enough."

Universe: Star Trek: Reboot
Storyline: Only Dreams
"Here I Am Again"
Spock had found himself unable to get back to sleep. The illusion of the room was remarkably complete. He had studied the walls thouroughly, searching for a flaw, a gap that showed rock beneath. He had been unable to find one. There was a 30% probability that this indicated such a thing did not exist.

Universe: Star trek, TOS
Storyline: N/A
Happyness
Happyness is seeing your dead friend come running on all twelve legs into Engineering, chiming at the top of her whatever that she's just figured out the same alternate solution to the problem that you did.
Happyness is holding your first grandchild and telling her stories about the Enterprise and her crew.
Happyness is being buried up to your armpits in the workings of a starship and realizing that yes, actually, you can change the laws of physics, at least this way.
But most of all, happyness is being party of a tightly-knit group of friends to share it with.

Universe: Star Trek, Reboot
Storyline: Only Dreams
"Debriefing"

It was disturbing, seeing the bridge with half of the stations manned by people working on their second specialty. Scotty in the Captain's chair, a Sulamid at Engineering- Naiaid, he thought its name was- and the only people who were where they belonged were Chekov and Sulu, who'd been on duty since before the trouble began, and whom he was going to knock unconscious as soon as he'd gotten some food into them.
"So, there are two-hunnered tweny-three crew members missin', forty-two o' whom could be in any o' these craters, an' twenny-six o' whom are prolly deed already- Doctor! Ye brought sannwiches!"
"I'm pretty sure I said I would, idiot. Did you know I had Spock because of life-form readings? And is the ship going to explode if I make those stupid patriots at the helm get some sleep?"
"Aye, aye, prolly not. Thankye."
The Doctor turned to the helmsmen, grinning.
"Eat your sandwiches children, it's bedtime!"
* * *

Spock had woken up and decided he was still asleep. The white walls he'd been seeing were, quite simply, impossible. So was the green thing that had looked at him with inconprehensible emotions. It had offered him a sandwich. Impossible. There was no such thing as a sandwich. He had rolled over and tried to go back to sleep.
***

"Aye, Keptin." Chekov said, swaying.
"Is this a dagger I see before me, handle toward my hand?" Sulu mumbled sleepily. They both fell over.
Scotty looked at them, and then at the Doctor's feral expression, wishing someone else had had the knowledge of multi-species medicine that would have made them able to take care of whoever they found at the end of the walk, even if they'd been seriously injured. But with the nurses missing in action, the Doctor had been the only choice. That did not mean he'd been happy about it, and at the end of the day, tired and worried, he was definitly less happy. So was Scotty.
"Look a' th screen, Doctor. " He said carefully, "th green craters are th'ones we think someone could have survived in, baed on th'information you gave us.

Amazonian Medieval: Star Trek characters in a universe where men are the "gentle sex" and women run everything, semi-Medieval era. I don't own Star Trek.
Authority: From the comic books. I don't own them.
Masks: Superhumans, aliens, yada, yada, yada
Star Trek: Either reboot or TOS, don't own either.

Universe: Amazonian Medieval
Storyline: Salic Law
Going Away

Leonard McCoy, belonging to Jocelyn Atlias, looked at his daughter sadly.
"I have to go because the Queen wants her son to have a male doctor, and your Honorable Mother decided to offer to lend me to Her Majesty's service." Joanna looked at him gravely. She didn't smile nearly enough for a five-year-old, even if girls showed much more maturity than boys at all ages.
"In fact that isn't so. You mustn't listen to men, Joanna. They never get anything right." Jocelyn didn't seem to find it enough to send him away from his only child and the provincial province of Georgia he'd grown up in, she had to nit-pick as well. AND demand absolute courtesy.
"I would be greatly honored if the one I worship would tell me in what way I have erred," he said as deferentially as he could make himself, hating the very words in his mouth.
"I am not lending you to Her Majesty, I am giving you to her. I trust she will be able to find you a suitable marriage, in which you will have your own children." She put an arm around Joanna's shoulders.

Oh. Shit.

Universe: Star Trek
Storyline: Only Dreams
"No Other Life Than This"

in response to this prompt on the Star Trek meme.

He was awoken by the approach of his masters. He stood and bowed, properly. No need to give them a reason to whip him! Proper behavior was important-he believed that, of course he did, why shouldn't he? They just had to make sure he behaved appropriately. He had followed his masters down the hall, silent and submissive.
There was no other life than this.
No bright white hallways, no laughing humans, no parched Vulcan sands where he wasn't perpetually chilled. His dreams had been only dreams.
The masters showed him his task, to plant some seedlings in a field. He'd bent, planted, watered. Bent, planted, watered.
There was no other life than this.

"Spock, Spock! We've got to go!" more loudly, "Dammnit, you pointy-eared, green-blooded desert rat! You don't have to keep doing that!"
Dream voice. He ignored it. Even when its owner reached out and tugged the seedling away. Just take it back, gently, humans are fragile- No humans! Just plant the seedling! Pay attention to the job!
There is no other life than this.
"Well, I guess I'll just have to carry you."
Go away, dream voice, go away.
There is no other life than this.
A buzz, a sharp pain in his neck, and everything went black.
* * *
Dr. Leonard McCoy bent down to pick up the first officer. He struggled with the lanky body for a few moments, but eventually managed to get it into a fireman's carry. He looked up at the walls of the crater, rippling through his glasses with the constantly changing patterns of radiation that had made it impossible for transporter to get through. The hole he'd come through, which he couldn't find if he lost the glasses, would only stay for the next hour, and the next one wouldn't open up for a week. McCoy shifted his burden and headed out.
50 minutes later, he'd reached the place where he'd entered this godforsaken hellhole. He put Spock down-dammit the man was heavy- and sat down himself. He licked dry lips and pulled out his communicator.
"McCoy to Enterprise: two to beam up." Maybe being back in familiar surroundings would convince Spock they weren't a hallucination. Really. And maybe Scotty'd been making out with Chekov. He wouldn't bet burnt lye hominy on either.
A medical team was waiting in the transporter bay. Scotty wasn't, but then he was Acting Captain and couldn't be easily spared. The team got Spock onto a stretcher and into sickbay. Scotty called him there.
"How'd it go? Is he fit for duty? Are ye alright?"
" I'm fine. Spock...isn't. He's uninjured, but he was doing whatever the Hishkanin said, and he didn't acknowledge I existed. It looks pretty bad. "
"Thas nay guid. Have ye got a treatment plan?"
"I don't have enough information yet. I'm going to let him sleep off the sedative I gave him and see what things are like in the morning."
Scotty thought about that for a while. "D'ye think they've been playin mind games?"
"It sounds like their cup of tea, yes. And they'd seen us often enough at negotiations to make a pretty decent hologram."
"What aboot me?"
"By the time they were done with him, he'd be hallucinating anything and everything." Time to turn to- if not happier, at least less disturbing matters. Spock wasn't supposed to go crazy, damn him! "When did you last eat?"
"Mm..." Scotty was either thinking or trying to get him to bring him more sandwiches. Not that he wouldn't have anyway...
"I'll be up in a minute with some sandwiches."
"We'll look forard to it. Won't we, lads? And lass, o'coarse."
Definitely just looking for sandwiches.

McCoy got the replicator to make sandwiches. This meant swearing at it to the extent that Keenser asked if he wanted her to fix it. Well, asked the way Keenser always talked to him, with a LOOK that made things perfectly clear. This one was particularly good.
"There's nothing wrong with the goddamn replicator! Vulcan food is just stupid. Could you fix it with both forelimbs broken?"
This LOOK meant yes, of course, you silly human.
"Right. Well, don't. If an alarm starts going off call me down from the bridge, 'kay?"
Nod.
Jees. HOW did Keenser make herself so clear without speech or signlanguage? And why didn't anyone else get it? And what the hell was he going to do about Spock? He was sposed to be sane, damnit!

The Masks Universe works this way at the moment:
-A high-tech society without spaceflight (as far as humans go)
-A few alien races which are scoping Earth and Humans out for various reasons
-A Martian civilization, most of whose members want to colonize Earth
-The Karren, who want to save the planet and form an alliance with humanity
-The K'trella, who want to farm Humans like cows
-The Lorrain, who don't want anyone to get control of Earth's valuable plants and disturb a delicate political balance
-And various individuals aliens of various species who ran away from unacceptable situations and just want to be left alone
-Humanity is beginning to give birth to variously more-powerful-than-normal individuals
-These people, beginning in WWII, started wearing brightly colored costumes with masks, and being called Masks
- Magic exists, is a favorite MO of the Karren, and is being rediscovered by Humanity
-People means sentients, either Human or extraterrestrial, and Masks can be either be malign, benign, or neutral (Dark, Light, or Grey in the vernacular). Neutrals are notorious for being difficult to deal with.

She is called Manhattan, the hero killer, and the murderers are about to get another of her people. A policeman this time, not a superhuman. But her sorrow is greater when one of those who loved her is killed than it was at the death of any of the sixty or so foolishly brave Masks who gave her her name. Silently, she weeps. This man has loved her long and well, taking injuries and loneliness with equal stoicism. He takes his impeding death almost as well. He doesn't beg as he's dragged onto the roof of the skyscraper, he knows it's pointless. The people who commanded his death aren't here to change their minds, have never even seen his face except on the files their information people have set up on him. He has found out to much about the drug runners, gun smugglers, and gang bosses who are rich as kings and far more powerful than the perpetually shorthanded police department. They think they own the city, but they don't love her the way he does. He only screams once when the usual killers push him off the roof, and she's had suicides who made more noise. This will look like just one more.
Manhattan, the sorrowful, mourns her own.
A flash of black and purple wings, and the policeman is caught in strong arms and carried to the top of the building across the street. He sits on the roof panting, and the street children cheer the Mask. The city cheers with them, and wonders, as they do, how long this one will last.

True Story: A religion teacher assigned her class an essay on what makes a good Christian. One student wrote about praying nightly, say no to abortion, banning gay marriage, and donating money. The other student wrote about talking to God and allowing people to enjoy their lives, and supporting gay marriage. The day the teacher was to hand the papers back, she called up the second student and told him she would pray for him when he went to hell. The student asked why would he be going to hell, and why he got an F on his paper. The teacher told him that Catholicism is against gay marriage. The student looked at her for a minute, then said aloud, "I'm gay." The teacher kicked him out of class as if he had said fuck or worshiped Satan. A girl in the back of class who had a boyfriend and was obviously straight got up and left too.

If you would leave the classroom, repost this. It doesn't matter if you're straight, bi, or gay. It doesn't matter if you're Catholic or not. Everyone is a human being and deserves happiness.

Because I like LOL cats and have a dirty mind....


( Mai )

Why is it that, as a culture, we are more comfortable seeing to men holding guns than holding hands?- Ernest Gaines

We would like to know who really believes in gay rights on livejournal. There is no bribe of a miracle or anything like that. If you truly believe in gay rights, then repost this and title the post as "Gay Rights." If you don't believe in gay rights, then just ignore this. Thanks.

Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind.


I CARE!

I have read one trade... forgive my obliviousness...


( giant )

The man who put down a bag to show his ID to the scanner was extremely tall, platinum blond, and heavily muscled. He wore blue jeans, a forest green shirt open at the neck and tall leather boots. An old scar ran down the hand he used to pick his bag back up as he kneed the door open. He entered the large office building/ISS baracks as if he belonged there, not at all intimidated by the International Security Service's fearsome reputation. The receptionist smiled at him when he gave her his papers. He smiled back.
"How are things on this side of the world?" he asked in New York accented English. "I've just flown in from Australia."
"Just as you'd expect, Mr. Allweather." Her accent proclaimed her a native of Maine. "A few terrorists who haven't gotten the message, a few over-angelical priests, a few silly kids. Nothing we can't handle."
"Of course not."
"It's on the sixth floor, second door to the right of the stairs. He'll be waiting." She tossed him a key he caught in his unscarred hand. "Good luck. You'll need it, with the Dragon." Allweather only laughed.



The suite in which Drake Black and whichever person was his partner that week lived followed the usual pattern, but it showed the imprint of having had the same occupant for many years. The living room was lined with bookshelves laden with books of all kinds, sizes, and genres organized in a way only their owner could understand. A large cupboard against the one wall not covered by shelves contained firearms of all calibers, carefully cleaned and oiled, with the appropriate ammunition beside them. Four large, comfortable armchairs surrounded a low table on which sat a coaster, on which in turn was a mug of black coffee. In the chair nearest his coffee mug sat Drake Black, pride and terror of the ISS problem removal force, reading a small paperback book called "A Summoning of Dragons".

I Hate Safari. So much. Everytime I click one of those preveiw things it crashes on me. And Firefox won't install on the computer. XO


I feel better now.

This is all buzzylittleb's fault. She wrote a fic in which the Midnighter discovers Bendix is his dad, so I had to figure out why even a messed up person like Bendix would do that and this happened. Oh, and it explains why Apollo looks like Winter. (Maybe Bendix is assigning his own lusts to his kid?)

Not mine: Wildstorm's. Rating: G. Bendix decides to turn his son into The Midnighter, because it will make him happy.

( EEK! )
Ug. Trying to get into a madman's head made mine hurt.

Um. Gruff Midnighter, oddly Christian Apollo. Have fun.
R for violence
Not mine. Wildstorm's. Not making money off of this

God's Work


Charleston, SC, on a Sunday morning. The air is full of well rung changes. Apollo identifies them idly- Bob doubles, Plain hunt, Rounds- and wonders why he knows their names. The sound of the church bells calling the faithful to prayer is hauntingly familiar.
The Midnighter slides up behind him on the dock. "Got the boat they're bringing the stuff in on. Wafer opiates, ten times weirder than normal drugs and twenty times more addicting." Oddly enough, the black-clad terror's voice doesn't sound strange against the background of bells. They, like the bellringers are doing God's work, and He can deal with the souls of those they kill.
"We go in, then?"
"We go in."

The boat's crew are dead. Blood, guts, and the sinews of one man with whom the Midnighter was feeling particularly wroth (a sadist, perhaps?) cover the deck. The only problem left is what to do with the drugs.

"We can't toss them in the harbor; we'd poison the fish." The cowled man doesn't meet his eyes. The growl is short: "Burn it."
"Which won't release large amounts of the drug into the air? Why not?"
"Wafer opiates are taken only through the mouth. It's a chemical reaction with human saliva that makes the stuff so effective. Look." One of the bags is opened. The Midnighter lifts out a handful of-
Apollo gasped."Communion wafers?! Oh, so that's why they were talking to the priest!" A pause. " Do we kill him too?"
"Kill, no. Freak the hell out, yeah. We don't want him addicting his congregation. You get to play 'good cop'. I'm the angel of death."

They leave behind the boat pouring out a column of black smoke. The firemen won't get there in time to salvage the drug, but the fire won't be a danger to anyone but the dead.

The Lord of Night is the oldest of those supernatural beings referred to as "k'Diac". They are reborn over and over again retaining in each new body the memories of life in the last. Over time, the individuals in question develop fixed behavioral quirks and trademarks. The Lord of Night is reclusive, and intensely protective of anything he considers "his". He will react with unnecessary violence to crime and "wrong " behavior, often to the point of killing the "criminal". His definition of wrong includes activities often undertaken in obedience to our great leader. Lethal, Avoid. - from "A Young Gamorran's Instruction in Terrorism"

"Drake Black's partner has requested transfer."

"Again? The man goes through partners faster than he does through books. Who can we give him this time?"

"Allweather's free..."

"What happened to Smith?"

"Nothing. She was due for retirement,that's all."

"Oh, I see. Amiable guy, hard to dislike."

"That's why we put him with the homophobes."

"Hm. What's Black's preference?"

"We don't know."

"Dear God! The man's been working for ISC for twenty years and he hasn't so much as looked at someone funny??"

"Not noticeably. The psychiatrist doesn't know anything about him except what kind of books he likes and that he thinks she's annoying. Oh, he talks to her, keeps the dang journal, but it's no use."

"Allweather's got psychiatric training. Maybe Black will open up to the guy."

"I doubt it."

"Worth a try anyway."

"Hmph. Well, at least we won't have to have this conversation again for a few weeks."

When refering to a person of unspecified gender, the pronoun sa can be used. As in, sa said this, sa did that, I did that to san, that is sa's thing. Especially usefull on the net.