Oct. 11th, 2013

repositorian: (my fandom is a total spaz)
The whisper through his fingertips leaves Ganymede half-expecting to have stains the color of unsweetened cocoa on his skin as he finger-combs Vlad’s hair. It’s long, much longer than his own has ever gotten, and much better looking at that length, too. It’s no secret the immortal can get high, and that’s precisely where he is right now as he’s playing with the vampire’s locks. Every so often he’ll wind one around a tapered finger and tug on it, watching it pull the man’s face to one side. It must make reading that book Vlad has quite interesting, but the immortal prince can’t quite find the motive to care.

He’s laying spread out in that artful way he has, limbs all akimbo around the cushions of the couch; Ganymede doesn’t ever not look beautiful that way. His shirt’s half-undone and the hookah beside him is warm--the hose is strewn across his lap and up his chest like a particularly inviting sort of snake. The metal bit rests on his bottom lip, and he’s clearly got no problem with producing the dozens of smoke rings he’s watching float up to the ceiling. In fact, the only real problem he can find is that such pretty hair, when loose, falls around Vlad’s face and blocks it from view.

This is a problem.

The solution to which is, clearly, plaiting and undoing it dozens of times over until he’s satisfied that it won’t come undone. He slides the ribbon his companion has been using as a bookmark off his thigh and ties the end of the braid with it, absently fluffing and smoothing the bound ends. Much better.

Yeah, it's short and it's silly, but the thread it came from lent itself to that. I like it.
repositorian: (love the world)
So you've got this magical pie pan, right?

There's a pie in it, your parents baked it for you.

The pie is delicious. It's wonderful, it lowers your cholesterol, helps you live longer--even saves you some money on your taxes. A lot of people love this pie, and would like a slice.

And that magical pie pan? It's awesome. Every time someone takes a slice out of the pie, it is immediately replaced by another slice. It doesn't cost anybody anything except the people buying the pie, and their cost is minimal considering how awesome it is. The materials that replenish the pie are love and hope. Those are the only ingredients.

Now, the only catch is that you can't get a slice of pie by yourself. You have to hold hands with another person, and only then will you be able to cut a slice of this pie and then you have to share it.

Now your parents set up two teams, because their parents had two teams. The teams are called Red Team and Blue Team.

And your parents made a rule that you were only allowed to have a slice of pie if you were purple: one red team member, one blue team member.

The pie pan doesn't set that rule. The pie pan is like the honey badger--it doesn't care at all, long as there are two of you and you hold hands, it gives you pie.

But there's these guards we hired, and we told them to keep enforcing the team rule whenever someone comes to get a slice of pie.

And now, some people on blue team and some people on red team would like some pie. And they've found partners they want to come and get pie with, but they're both on red team, or their both on blue team.

And your claim is that they shouldn't have any pie, because. . . it'll change what your pie tastes like.

The analogy should be pretty blatant.

The pie pan is marriage.

The pie is a marriage license.

Gay couples deserve their slice of the pie.

Yours won't change flavour. I promise.

Our current, arbitrary rule about red and blue teams is the only thing between them and equal treatment with the rest of us.

The teams don't matter anymore. Treat them as individuals, and as couples, not as members of one team or another. Let them have their pie.

...Now I must say, I did not come up with this, but I thought it was pretty awesome.


Oct. 11th, 2013 11:16 pm
repositorian: (Default)
Random and inspired by [livejournal.com profile] saphyria quoting bits from The Sorcerer's Apprentice' to me and [livejournal.com profile] ps_you_look_hot's userpic . One hundred words precisely.

“Don't be foolish, James. You'll never catch him--John is divided between two things, and neither one can ever win.” Tesla was arrogant as ever standing next to the bookshelf, glass in hand. But he was right; James merely huffed out a breath, watching the Serb very carefully. Watson knew he couldn't make an adequate argument against the claim.

“And what two things are those, Nikola? Good and evil?” It would have been so like the man to simplify John into those polar opposites.

“No. Power and control. The power he possesses, and the control he doesn't.”
repositorian: (my fandom is a total spaz)
So, yeah, I wrote--and finished!--a fic for Sanctuary. It's short and there's no real plot, but it came to me and begged to be written before I went back to sleep. Hence my being up at five in the morning. The fic, cut for sexual situations (not smut, though it's a minor miracle):

Clinical )

Lemme know what y'all think, hm?
repositorian: (statue)
I give thanks that I have risen again today and to the great rising of life itself; as the sun brightens the sky and earth may my soul be bright with gratitude for all the good things in me life, and may I be generous in sharing these with others.

May I sing the song of my own heart, sing it gladly whether in joy or sorrow, and may it help me find laughter in the day;

May I keep the vision of my life ever before me and have faith that my life has meaning;

May I be strong in my struggles, and meet adversity with courage and hope;

May I embrace the earth, speak the truth of the land, and take responsibility for my life.
repositorian: (my fandom is a total spaz)
Title: various (10 drabbles, all the prompts are functioning as titles here)
Author: Me, duh.
Warnings: Uh, some slashiness? Not in all of them. But it's pretty clear I ship Chekov/Sulu like nothin' else.

(Clicky the cut to read.) )


repositorian: (Default)
Alice Bluebonnet Seeks Johnnie Fedora

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