You have stumbled upon a window into the soul of a stranger. Stay, if you wish, but do not linger lest you lose yourself in a whimsy that is not your own.
You have stumbled upon a window into the soul of a stranger. Stay, if you wish, but do not linger lest you lose yourself in a whimsy that is not your own.
I've been trotting around Canada with my family these past two weeks. We're conducting some genealogy research in Trois Rivieres and just spent the whole day in the archives handling 300-yr old documents. They gave us gloves and everything, it was AWESOME.
We're having a lovely time, but I (naturally) didn't write this in advance and had to churn something out while in the car. So this fic turned out very short and simple, but I hope it'll make you smile at least once :) I had fun throwing it together anyway. It'll be a quick read!( Read more...Collapse )
She lasted much longer than I did, but we were both in tears not halfway through. We often talk about what movies we connect to the most, what stories we easily lose ourselves in, see ourselves in and feel most nostalgic about. For her, it's Treasure Planet. She's 23 and connects with that entire story on a spiritual level, from characters to art to music. For me, it always takes more thought, but I usually settle upon Little Women. I don't think it means quite as much to me as Treasure Planet does to my sister, but it comes the closest by far.
I relate to Jo March. Our personalities are so different, but she's the fire in me that I once had and high school snuffed out. She's the reason I fell in love with writing. I collected sheaves of paper in the hopes to one day write an entire novel and tie it up with a bow and a flower. I longed for the tight-knit bonds of sisterhood - my sister has never been overly sentimental and to this day does not often engage in hugs. I have to rely on my little brother for that. I think on Susan Sarandon's strong matronly presence, a lovely flower of steel and heart, and it makes me miss my own mom so much I can't breathe.
I watch Little Women and I'm reminded of the best parts of family. I'm reminded of watching it with my own mother. I'm reminded of what it's like to crush on older boys who are more of a child than you'll ever be, and who may well never grow up. I'm reminded of what it felt like to imagine and write and play and dream. I sob for what I've lost and for what I'm blessed to have.
Movies can be powerful things. If you take a moment to truly reflect, are there any movies (or books) that have threaded through your heartstrings in some way?
Title: D is for Don't Touch
Word count: 1,309
Disclaimer: Not my characters
Summary: Cameron Mitchell learns firsthand the best way to make an archaeologist angry.
A waterfall of grainy dust fell away under Cam's fingers. He stepped away from the ancient stone wall and hastily brushed his hand against his BDU's, casting a nervous glance at Daniel.
The good doctor didn't look up from his notes. "Don't. Touch."
"Sorry," Cam offered, looking over the wall again. It was covered in some pretty intricate carvings - symbols and decorative filigree that Daniel assured him were all part of the same language. It was a language he was having apparent difficulty identifying, however.
"How's it coming?"
Daniel grunted and lifted his head to squint up at the wall. The alcove they stood under was all part of the same open-air stone structure, and the sun was just past its zenith, casting short but sharp shadows.
"That good, huh? Anything I can help with?"
"Yeah." Daniel looked back down at his notes. "You can stop talking."
Cam raised a hand in surrender and stepped away, turning to look out over the field of rubble and ruins they were in the midst of. "I wonder how the silt deposits analysis is going," he wondered aloud, trying to imagine Teal’c standing in watch, equally bored, as Sam collected river silt on the other end of the valley.
"You still think this is more exciting?" Daniel asked with good humor.
Cam turned back toward Daniel and the wall. “Eh. I didn’t wanna get my boots wet.” One of the designs looked a bit more deeply engraved than the rest and its shape made Cam think of a doorknob. He lifted his P-90 and poked it gently.
The wall snapped as if on a spring lever and whirled around impossibly fast, rotating 180 degrees. Daniel was hit with the far left side and thrown toward Cam, his body slamming into the unadorned wall behind them. The ground under Cam's feet seemed to be connected to the mechanism and he was lurched forward, the wall crashing into his pack and throwing him into the pitch dark.
The voice seemed to be coming from very far away. Muffled. Distorted. Cam groaned and put a hand to his head, trying to open his eyes.
Except his eyes were open. They were open wide, trying to draw in any tiniest bit of light they could. But he was in complete blackness.
“Cam, can you hear me?”
He almost couldn’t make out the words, they were so muffled. Cam coughed, cleared his throat, and shouted back, “Yeah, I’m here.”
A brief pause. Then, “are you okay?”
Cam felt around him, trying to sit up. Nothing felt broken, but his neck was sore from whiplash and his right knee and wrist were tender from landing. The ground beneath him was the same dusty stone he had been standing on outside. He stretched a hand forward, coming into contact with what he assumed was the wall. He could feel the same grooves and etchings of symbols he had seen when on the other side.
“I think so,” he called back. “Bit of a crick in my neck, but otherwise fine.”
“Can you push the same button? The one you weren’t supposed to touch?”
Cam snorted and rose to his knees, gingerly feeling along the wall, trying to find the same shape he had seen before. The awkward doorknob. “Hang on.”
It took a few minutes, but he eventually found what he was sure was the symbol. He pressed gently with his forefinger.
He pressed again, but there was no movement, no sound.
“I pushed it. Did anything happen?”
Another pause. “No, nothing happened over here. Are you sure it’s the right one?”
“I’m positive,” he called back even as he continued feeling around with his hands. He came to it again and pressed it, just to be sure. But the wall remained immovable.
“Jackson, how do I get out of here?”
The sun was three quarters of the way across the sky and the shadows were growing long. Daniel sat with his elbow on his knee and forehead resting on his palm, head at an uncomfortable angle as he looked at his notes. There were no symbols on the new side of the wall that had presented itself. The stone was smooth and flat and frustratingly devoid of anything resembling writing. All Daniel had to reference were what few notes he had managed to take.
“Okay, what’s the next one?” he called.
After the initial shock of the situation wore off, Cam had eventually remembered that he had a flashlight and had been trying to help Daniel with further translation efforts. But it wasn’t going too well.
“It looks like an upside down pitchfork with two mirrored S’s and a really stretched out H.”
Daniel closed his eyes tight and shoved his pencil into the crease of his notebook’s open pages.
“Listen. I know this maybe isn’t your preferred route here. But can I just shoot the damn thing?”
Daniel’s eyes snapped open and he glared at the blank wall. “You’re not going to destroy an entire structure because you were stupid enough to poke things you weren’t supposed to.”
“Jackson, come on! We aren’t making any headway here, it’s just a wall!” There was a brief pause in which Daniel drew his legs together and rubbed his face with both hands. Cam continued, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m all for preserving significant archaeological finds and studying them for the benefit of Earth and your log book, but you said yourself you couldn’t figure out the language.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“Doesn’t mean anything?! Jackson, you are the best damn linguist this side of the universe, if you can’t figure out a written language in five hours, I bet my great aunt’s ashes it’s not an actual language. Hell, it could be ancient finger paintings for all we know.”
“Then why was the wall booby trapped?”
Cameron was getting a headache. He had turned his flashlight off to preserve the battery, but he was getting more and more trigger happy by the minute. The last thing he wanted to do was piss Daniel off, but things were getting ridiculous. He did admire the doctor and his skillset. He had already saved his life on a number of occasions. But he was beginning to see why Colonel O’Neill and Daniel butted heads so often.
“I don’t know why the wall was booby trapped,” he called through the stone. “But I’ve felt all over this closet space and haven’t found a single death trap. Or treasure chest,” he added. “I think it’s safe to say whoever put this in place is long gone, along with whatever they were trying to protect.”
There was a muffled, longsuffering groan through the wall.
“Shut up, I’m paying my last respects.”
The sound of gun fire was oddly tinny until the bullets burst through the thin stone at last, echoing loudly and shattering the wall across the alcove floor and peppering the wall across the way. To his credit, Cam stopped after there was a large enough hole to work with and punched a few smaller pieces away, dropping his gun, then his pack through, then climbing out one limb at a time. Dust covered his hair and shoulders, soon coating the rest of his uniform as well.
Daniel merely watched, arms crossed, as Cam got himself free and readjusted. He hoisted his pack, eyeing Daniel cautiously while reclipping his AK-47 and brushing some of the dust off of his shoulders. He got himself settled, sniffed, shrugged his shoulders and faced Daniel squarely, standing with as much esteem as possible.
The silence stretched for a time. The shadows grew longer. A tumbleweed bouncing along in the background would not have seemed out of place.
Title: R is for Roan
Word count: 677
Disclaimer: Not my characters
Naturally, through his inherent inquisitiveness, it was Daniel who had discovered that Teal’c had never been horseback riding. Jack didn’t believe it, surely the first prime of Apophis had been on a horse, but Teal’c had reluctantly expressed that it was looked down upon, they were beasts of burden, and his status had allowed him to use much more sophisticated means of travel, such as Tel'tak vessels and the like. The idea of traveling across the surface of a planet on the back of a smelly animal was an offense to any self-respecting Jaffa.
Sam had asked about the Hak’tyl and their horses, and Teal’c had replied about there being no dishonor in their circumstances. And then Daniel, dear Daniel, the ultimate advocate for any and all sentient experiences, had to organize the field trip.
The stables were out in the general vicinity of Jack’s cabin – he’d been a couple times and knew the owner, and was able to get a small discount on account of his charm. The four of them had arrived one impossibly beautiful Sunday morning and Mabel, the owner, had greeted them from the barn house and led them through the stables, introducing them to the horses, talking about how much she loved photography. And then they'd realized Teal'c wasn't with them.
"Well there's nowhere for him to go..." Daniel said, looking behind them at the empty stable aisle.
"Teal'c?" Jack hollered. After a moment of silence, a stall door opened near front door and Teal'c emerged, bowing his head in apology so that the brim of his Stetson briefly covered his eyes.
"I apologize. But your stallion invited me to come in."
No one in the group said a word. Mabel politely sputtered, "That's Roan's stall. Roan doesn't interact with anyone, he's our least sociable horse. Only Clay can even ride-"
The horse in question lolled its massive head over the side of the door and pushed at Teal'c's shoulder with his nose, then blinked at the others.
A half hour later and everyone was on the trail, and Teal'c was riding Roan near the front. Roan was massive - easily the largest horse any of them had ever seen - and coupled with Teal'c's height, the pair made an imposing scene. Mabel, unaccustomed to seeing anyone on Roan ever, kept taking pictures.
The best part of the afternoon was when Roan took off for no apparent reason, nevermind that Jack had quickly dropped a thorn branch and looked aside when Daniel and Sam snapped their glares in his direction. Mabel tried to go after him and called directions at Teal'c to reign him in, but the former first prime seemed content to just let the horse run.
It was a good ten minutes before they came back from the field, Roan prancing energetically and Teal'c beaming. His face was stretched wide and his eyes all but disappeared, he was smiling so big. Of course no one reprimanded Jack. And of course, Mabel pulled out the camera again.
A couple months later found Daniel and Teal'c in Sam's lab, conversing over a piece of alien technology, when Jack sauntered in, tossed a slightly rolled magazine onto the table, and left. No one said a word, but the issue was passed around with fond smiles. Teal'c's forehead had been Photoshopped before the print even made it to the editors, thanks to Jack, they assumed, but the unbridled joy on his face was untouched. The cover ended up in a frame, and when Roan was finally sold to an anonymous buyer, Teal'c ended up spending a lot more weekends away from the base.
That's not to say it doesn't mean anything to kids nowadays. I'm not dismissing the feelings and emotions attached with fandom at all. If anything, people are more obsessed over their shows than ever. The emotions are very much legit, there's nothing wrong with that. I guess I just don't find anything that stirs those feelings in me anymore, and maybe that's just me getting older. I can't get attached to new things like I was ever attached to Stargate SG-1 (or would have been attached to Buffy and X-Files if I'd watched them in their heyday).
There's a feeling associated with getting online and talking to a few friends about your favorite fandoms and sharing videos and stories left and right where you have a million and one inside jokes (like Red Pants Mondays) and just about any story you can imagine up has already been written. And then there's another feeling entirely that was associated with getting online, seeking out one or two people in obscure forums that share your interests, sharing your personal works with each other and maybe a handful of stories or videos you've procured throughout the week from the limited pool of resources at everyone's disposal. If you missed your episode and didn't get it taped on vhs, you had to wait ages for a bootleg or for a friend to recap it for you as best they could.
Just me pining and whining, I guess. Carry on.
Today was One Of Those Days.
You know, the kind of day where everything's been slowly building in the back of your mind, and then for some reason your life decides that today would make a fantastic catalyst for it all and pulls everything out into the wide open expanse of your until-now calm and lucid psyche.
Let's start with the parking ticket. That makes three tickets. In three weeks. Dear god.
We'll not go into details about work, but I'll let on that I usually have very little to do and the last two days I was given 8 different projects to complete on top of the business card mockups I promised a friend and the website I'm redesigning for another. Scott rolling over with an ipad and asking me to give our site's mobile app a complete and thorough review while I was in the middle of an eblast was the icing on the "Congratulations on the Aneurysm" cake.
So trying to get all of these accomplished at work while figuring how I'm going to pay off all of these tickets and still keep my record clean enough for my car insurance not to spike was what put me over and what is, indirectly, causing me to sit here with an Angry Orchard cider when I rarely drink on my own.
If Scott's project was the icing, and all of the stress from work was the cake itself, and the parking tickets were the pan that the cake was cooked in, then the completely alien sensation of currently having "boy issues" - of ALL things - would be the freaking oven. Let me explain.
I'm talking to a man who seems completely lovely over email - I owe him an email as of last night, which is part of my stress - but we haven't ever actually met. That may change soon, because despite the fact that he's 6 years older than me, he seems mature and is doing very well for himself and is, to date, the only person I've met outside of immediate family that can match me quote for quote on the Princess Bride. We've been talking for a couple weeks now.
And then Monday. Freaking Monday. A guy came into town on a train that I thought I was good friends with. He was recently on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire and I was excited to see the footage and talk to him about it. He's from Philadelphia, but we went to college together and still talk from time to time. He asked if I could drive him an hour and a half to our old college town to give some lectures at the school during the week and I was more than happy to shoot the breeze with him. So we went. And talked. And he even admitted by the end of the evening that he'd had a small crush on me for a while. Which didn't surprise me as much as I thought it would have, but maybe I was too ambiguous with my response, which was just "let me know when you move to St. Louis." Is that misleading??? And maybe I'm the most oblivious person on the planet, but I hugged him goodbye and he didn't let go. And he said "let me just leave you with this." But by the time I realized what he was about to do, he already had his head within an inch of mine and I panicked. I mean, I didn't want to be RUDE, god forbid, so I let him kiss me and didn't really pull away, but SHOOT. I have to give people the benefit of the doubt, but three days later and I still feel gross. Was he in the wrong? Am I justified in feeling weird that he just kind of did that without asking or warning? It SOUNDS romantic in books and crap, but when you're not expecting it, you end up making a face through the whole thing and screaming internally until you're out the door, down the stairs, in the car and turning onto the interstate, at which point you start screaming at your windshield.
And now I have to email Justin like nothing happened and encourage him to come visit me and pay half of my tax return to traffic tickets and finish my beer. The last one definitely sounds doable, at least. God, my neighbors need to TURN THEIR TV DOWN, PLEASE.
I haven't been inspired or feeling particularly creative in ages. I miss writing and I hope that I can get back in the swing of things now that I have my own home and set-up. I don't know, we'll see. In the meantime, I need to poke around this site, brush off some cobwebs, fix my freaking journal layout, and finish a couple fics that I left hanging.
I don't know how many of you still frequent this site often enough to come across this, much less read the whole thing, but I'd love to hear what everyone's been up to and how your lives have been going, what major changes have happened in the last two years.
Spoilers: Window of Opportunity
Word Count: 563
Disclaimer: Is A Disclaimer
Notes: Written for SGC Alphabet Soup. I swear, one of these days I’m not going to wait until the last minute and will write something of substance. S is for substance? Anyway, a small apology for the silly.
The moons of Alaris sat side by side upon the horizon, fading as the sun rose. Caiman stood and stretched, smiling at the scene that was so familiar to him. He stepped carefully over the legs of Sergeant Haverdan, a member of SG-12 from Earth. Their team had been studying with his people for a while now and were scheduled for departure soon. Caiman was looking forward to showing them the ruins at the base of the ravine today. He started walking toward the woods, hoping to look at the Stargate, when he heard a noise like the growling of an alien beast. Caiman recognized it as coming from the gate and broke into a run, but by the time he reached the gate, it was already activating, surrounded by a strange webbing of energy-
The moons of Alaris sat side by side upon the horizon, fading as the sun rose. Caiman stood and stretched, smiling at the scene that was so familiar to him. Sergeant Haverdan grunted and rolled over, nearly tripping Caiman as he moved past the group and started heading toward the Stargate. He was intent on studying its glyphs, intrigued by them and secretly hoping someday to travel through the ring. He began making his way through the woods when he heard a terrible roar begin in the distance. It was the gate! He began to run, but was clotheslined by a low-hanging branch. Caiman landed on his back with a thud, the wind knocked out of him-
The moons of Alaris sat side by side up on the horizon, fading as the sun rose. Caiman stood and began to stretch, but he lost his footing and fell backwards into the dying fire embers. His comical shrieks awoke the members of SG-12, who quickly pulled him out of the ashes and laughed as they dusted him off. But then they all heard the shriek of the gate and began to run to the Stargate’s clearing, commanding Caiman to stay behind.
The moons of Alaris sat side by side upon the horizon. Caiman was still asleep and slept through the whole loop.
The moons of Alaris sat side by side upon the horizon. As Caiman was standing to stretch, he heard a soft whooshing from above. He turned in a quick circle, looking at the sky, but was unable to spot the golf ball before it hit his head.
The moons of Alaris began to peer over the edge of the horizon, illuminated by the last dying rays of the sun. The day had been a productive one, and the members of SG-12 were ready to head home. Caiman was sorry to see them go; they hadn’t spent nearly enough time learning from each other. It wasn’t until the team had the gate dialed up and ready to go that they all received word of what had happened – a time loop had trapped their world along with a number of others, apparently causing them all to relive the same handful of hours again and again and again. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately for them, their loop had begun shortly after they’d gone to sleep the night before. They had slept most of their loops away. Upon hearing all of this news, Caiman absently rubbed the back of his head, as though subconsciously feeling the pain from an injury he never received.