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The plagues hit the news on a Wednesday. By Friday the word zombies is being thrown around.

They wait for the world to end.

(Supermarkets overflow with crowds filling up their trolleys, emptying the shelves. Doors are locked, chained, bolted. Every channel is showing the news and all the news is the mounting disaster).

But it doesn’t.

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“To grand new alliances; and the joining of our kingdoms!”

Everyone cheers, though some of them still strained. It’s a good alliance, one that will lead both kingdoms to prosper, but there are better ones.
The king of the East sea lands wanted her hand and would’ve brought great wealth and power to them, but the man also had a reputation as a brute and she had told everyone very plainly that if he left bruises on her she would murder him in his sleep. She had also composed essays, which were eloquent, compelling, well-reasoned, and dreadfully long (the record length being thirty four pages) of why every other suitor for her hand would lead to a poor alliance. And she would read them out for everyone.

There seemed to be an inherent promise that if they tried to push her into one of these marriages they would be listening to these essays until the end of their days (and she would out-live all of them to ensure this was the case).

And so, they had eventually given in.
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stargate, DanielJackson

Week 4, Title: Insurmountable

Posted on 2019.10.26 at 19:00
Tags: ,
The measuring tape is well worn, many numbers faded, but he can still read it, knows every crinkle and tear and smudge. He slides it around his waist, around his arms, around his thighs (and ankles and wrists and neck). He writes the numbers down. 
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stargate, DanielJackson

Week 1, Title: Cybervision

Posted on 2019.09.29 at 20:02
Tags: ,

No more glasses. No more contacts. No more eye exams.

Say goodbye to the expense and hassle with a Cybervision chip. The insertion of which is simple and painless. With Cybervision you will be able to see the world in crisp, high definition as well as having zoom functionality and night-vision which you can control from your phone.   

And unlike laser surgery, Cybervision chips are inexpensive and affective with all ages and against all types of eye-sight problems.

Book your appointment today!
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“Do you want to go on a quest?” She asks.

“What’s the quest for?”

“Technically it’s for a square.”

“A square?”

“Well digital squares are the only true squares, because a paper square includes the thickness of the ink so technically has depth and is a cuboid.”


“The square is symbolic: an icon as a decorative badge of victory. Anyway, I don’t think we get them anymore.”
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stargate, DanielJackson


Posted on 2019.09.07 at 14:25
This is my sign up for LJIdol season 11

stargate, DanielJackson

week 9, Title: Sucker punch

Posted on 2018.12.16 at 18:31
Tags: ,
“You can do whatever you want to me,” he says, “It doesn’t matter.”

The words hit her hard and for several moments the world loses all cohesion. She can’t breathe. She wants to scream. Who did this to you? Who hurt you? Who made you think it was okay for people to hurt you? But he’s just looking at her with confusion. As though the words aren’t dark and cold and bloody, as if the words are just a simple statement of facts.

She takes one step and two and three and takes him into her arms and just holds him.
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Jake stands in line for lunch, his hands gripping the tray too tight, and his heart-beat pounding in his ears. He wants to look around, but can’t afford to seem skittish. Tries to hold steel in his spine and isn’t sure he succeeds. Jake’s not sure whether he should be more concerned about being a cop sharing a cell block with guys he’s put away or being Jewish and sharing a cell block with Nazi’s who’ve been convicted of murder. He moves through the day with muscles coiled, fear wrapped around him like a skin.

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Ellie is good at pretending. She watches and listens and mimics what others say, mimics what others do. By the time she reaches adulthood she can feign compassion and caring like a pro. She doesn’t tell anyone about her desire to rend and maim and kill, to taste blood on her lips and feel broken flesh beneath her fingers.

She puts on her face in the morning, expressions well-learned and laboured over. Everyone knows she would never hurt a fly. And if everyone knows- it must be true.

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stargate, DanielJackson

Writing Prompt

Posted on 2018.07.06 at 17:28
Hello. These are the second writing prompts for July. Everyone feel free to write something. The next prompt will be on Thursday, and will be given by the first person to post a piece. Comment in this post with a link to your piece.

You can write whatever you want, as long as it includes the following words:


And the line: Things that drift away

stargate, DanielJackson

Fic; Summer

Posted on 2018.07.04 at 21:14
Tags: ,
Canicule –can-i-cule-  noun- heat wave

Jake remembers the word being an answer in one of Amy’s crossword puzzles. He never thought he would come to know it so well.

The world ends quick, a snap-back of too-stretched elastic, a cacophony of too much heat and too much melted ice.

Jake always thought he would do well in an apocalypse scenario. Between being the amazing detective that he was and his great taste in movies, it should’ve been easy. But then his pesky moral compass got in the way.

So here he was, with a skill-set in high demand and a face that lent to creeps leering at him to ‘give them some sugar’, he’d swiftly been kidnapped and sold.

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Yana enters her new master’s home, keeping her head down and fighting the urge to fidget. It’s a new place. There will be new rules. And she’s never good enough. Never follows them properly. She’s too stupid. So stupid. She doesn’t do things right and has to be punished. And that still never works, her masters always tire of her and sell her off. But this is a new chance. And she has to be good. She has to be perfect. She just has to. Tears spring to her eyes. But she can’t, she doesn’t know how. She’s a terrible, useless, slave who doesn’t deserve to be alive. 

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A four-foot box, a foot for every year
- Seamus Heaney

Juanita screams. It’s not a cry. It’s a feral, angry thing. A mother lion reaching out to tear her too-young child from death’s maw.


Andy, almost catatonic, paws ineffectually at his clothes. Juanita, already dressed, pins the last strand of hair into place and then helps her partner out of his pyjamas and into his funeral suit.

Some family members comment on the horribly ironic sunshine of the day. She doesn’t think much of it.

Some friends mention Heaven. She doesn’t think much of that either.

Andy’s fingers are clasped onto hers, desperate. She finds it cloying. She can’t give him what he needs. She doesn’t have the strength.

Juanita stands up and says words and forces inflection into them. Forces the feeling her daughter, Marie, deserves. She feels empty.

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Lydia has worked at the Uber-mart for a long time. She’s been there through loves lost and found, through raising kids and babysitting grandkids. She’s been there for countless birthdays and anniversaries, births and deaths (those of both personal and work families). Innumerable people have come and gone; retirements, graduations, promotions. She’s taken joy in their joys and pain in their pains. She’s watched the store through corporate restructurings and recessions, through bustling holidays and quiet lazy afternoons, through mass hiring and mass firing. Through take-overs and remodelling and the slow-grinding changes of stock. She’s seen the chaos of product recalls and was there the day the last pricing gun stopped working.

She knows the store, knows the people, knows the products, knows the cracks on the shelves and the sight-line of every mirror. And she knows something is different. She knows something is wrong.

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stargate, DanielJackson

Week 20, Title: The losing card

Posted on 2017.06.06 at 20:29
Tags: ,
Daria grows in a world of whispers and taunts, her nose pressed up to the frosted glass, outside looking in. Here’s the thing: any defining feature she may have -any quirky twist of personality, any beauty or ugliness, any kindness or wickedness, any passions or dislikes- slips past others; are stripped away against the only thing they care to notice. From her forehead protrude two little horns.

People stare. Or avert their eyes. Or giggle and point and take pictures. Or, on the odd occasion, cross themselves.

She learns to wear large hats. She learns to walk with her head down.

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The knock on the door comes a little after sunset.

Pippa sighs upon seeing who it is. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Jacob nods. “I know. I’m sorry. I had to see you. I missed you.”

“I’m not inviting you in.”

“Then I’ll wait out here.”

Pippa walks away from the open door. “I need a cigarette.”

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Gia’s drinking black coffee in a cosy olive-walled café when she first sees him. The hairs at her nape stand on end inexplicably and cause her to turn. He’s wearing a trench-coat and his fedora is pulled down over his face, its wide brim shadows his mouth and chin from view. He’s here for her. The thought springs to her mind wildly, like church-bells against her ribcage. She gathers her things, swift but unhurried (she’s just being silly) and steps outside.

She hasn’t seen him move, but he’s closer. Gia rushes to her car, key in hand- poking out between fisted fingers. She starts the engine, turns to see him standing statuesque; even closer. She yanks the hand-brake. Another glance, his hat upturned now. The breath leaves her lungs. He has no face. More than that, it’s an absence, an abyss. And it’s peering into her, its darkness slides sickly against her skin, readying to tear her apart. She floors the gas.

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This is an intersection piece with ryl their entry is here: ryl.livejournal.com/970347.html 

stargate, DanielJackson

Week 17, Title: Hold onto this lullaby

Posted on 2017.05.07 at 22:21
Tags: ,
Love is always enough.

It’s Elle’s mantra, sitting in their tiny, cold flat. Broke and hungry. She snaps sometimes. Terry snaps sometimes. Words meted out harsh in compromises. They don’t go out, there’s no money. And the cupboards are filled with non-perishables.

But as stressed as Elle is, lying in bed with Terry on a warm summer morning; she knows she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Her mantra sits in her heart like certainty, like a kernel of divine truth.

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Lissa grins. “So, you’ve joined a cult.”

Erica snorts. Mia chuckles.

“It’s not a cult,” Rena protests, stifling her own laughter.

Erica says, “Oh, it so is a cult. Though to be fair most religions started as cults. And you can do worse than worshipping Thor.”

“We don’t worship Thor, he’s mythological. We worship the true Thunder God.”

Erica counters, “Ah, but if a Thunder God truly exists, that means Thor truly exists; a Thunder God by any other name still smells as smoking hot etc.”

Rena laughs. “You’re horrible.”

“You don’t really believe this stuff though.”

“No one there does. It’s just a bit of fun. It makes me feel good.”

Mia nods and Erica gives a grunt of acceptance. Lissa rolls her eyes but says, “Fair enough.”

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stargate, DanielJackson

LJ stats

Posted on 2017.04.25 at 18:38

On that note: I've made a dreamwidth account (swirlsofpurple). I'll be staying on LJ, but it's mainly to keep in touch with all the people who've moved over and in case LJ gives in and finally collapses. Please add me if you'd like.

Sarah’s glad to take a break from eternally half-unpacked boxes and let her new neighbour, Candice, explain the area.

“You can get good chips from Franco’s over there but don’t go during the lunch rush. He’s too cheap to hire anyone and they’re always undercooked.”

Sarah nods and points. “What’s that place?”

“Oh that’s The Store. It’s weird. If you go in there, they just stare at you until you leave. Don’t know how they manage to keep running. Some think it’s a mafia front. Some think they’re selling drugs. Some tell stories with warnings about mystical shit.”

“And what do you think?”

Candice shrugs. “It’s just an odd little place; owners likely just have too much time and too much money, probably nothing to it.”


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Terrence runs his hand along the metal wall, holding his place in the dark. He’s heard the stories of course, of the tunnel monsters, but they only increase his urge to explore. He walks for an age, but the anticipation in his heart doesn’t dull. Fingers run sticky against cobwebs and a hollow whistle echoes through the place. There shouldn’t be sound here. He knows this. He keeps walking.

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stargate, DanielJackson

Week 13, Title: Avarice

Posted on 2017.03.28 at 21:21
Tags: ,
“I don’t know how I got here,” Talia says. The place is oddly bright and the walls seem to spiral into themselves; spinning tops of blue and pink and orange. Her first thought is that she’s dreaming. But she’s never able to tell when she’s dreaming even with the ones where she’s levitating through a den of centaurs. It’s too hot and too cold at the same time. And it doesn’t feel like she’s asleep.

“Welcome to the Hell-scape!” A stout man says, grinning wildly. He’s an odd sight; his bushy hair neon green and his face painted alabaster. “Choose your dystopia wisely. You’ll only be there forever!”

It’s then that Talia notices all the doors running down the corridor. She could’ve sworn they weren’t there a second ago. Her head is spinning. She’s off-kilter.

“What am I doing here? What is this place?”

“Oh honey. You’re dead.”

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stargate, DanielJackson

Week 12, Title: Scar

Posted on 2017.03.19 at 21:33
Tags: ,
Can’t breathe. Lungs burning. Can’t breathe. Struggle. Struggle. Struggle. Hands holding her down. Too much water. Can’t breathe. Can’t move. Too much pain. Drowning. Drowning. Drowning. Need air. Rise. Coughing. Spluttering. Gasping. Gasping. Gasping.


She sits on her bed, shaking slightly; salt from the brine still soils her skin. She tries to be good. She tries and tries and tries. And it keeps happening anyway and she can’t stop it. He says she’s a demon. She doesn’t want to be a demon. She wants to get better. Be good.

She hates him and is afraid of him.
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AN: I'm trying to improve my writing so any concrit would be much appreciated. Thank you.

stargate, DanielJackson

Week 11, Title: Blue Hour

Posted on 2017.03.10 at 22:49
Tags: ,
“We only have an hour.”

Alec stares at them uncomprehending. He thought they were weak- all used up by the vampires- but now their every movement is swift and efficient and synchronised.

“What…what is going on?” Alec asks.

“We’re making an escape tunnel.” The words are quick and curt.

A chisel is handed to him but his hands are trembling too much to do a thing. This is insane. The vampires will catch them. They will all be caught. They will all be killed. The chisel falls and clangs onto the floor. Everyone pauses and stares.

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It wakes her. She stands swiftly. Turns her head. The dark is just shadows, empty. The sound is just midnight shuffling, meek. These do not frighten her. It’s something with no specificity, tangibility or form. Something she is certain of. A presence.

Her breath shudders. It’s out here. Or it’s inside her. It has burrowed into her brain matter. It sits there in her neurons. It sits there, in her throat, in her lungs, in the roof of her mouth.

She tilts her jaw to scream but doesn’t say a word. Her mind screams in her stead:

Get lost. Get out. Get out. Get out.
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Ridian avoids Colt. He’s still furious and, even though he doesn’t want to admit it, hurt. Colt had betrayed them all; ensured that powered people would never make a successful stand. Ridian spends the next couple of days speaking with the inhabitants of the hideout and Colt allows him his space. But eventually they have to head back, lest their absence be noticed. The idea of spending hours in a car with Colt has him wanting to pull his hair out.

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Sierra watches their silent gestures- a secret language borne of this place. And she watches as those who do speak are beaten and broken.

She watches as some plan, with half aborted motions and determined facial expressions. And watches as those who escape are dragged back and shot.

She watches people dying of disease, of starvation, of cold. And watches people lose their minds in response.

She watches and says nothing.

And thinks there must be some other way.

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