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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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stargate, DanielJackson

Week 7, Title: I'm from a mother...

Posted on 2017.01.31 at 20:36
Tags: , ,
I’m from a mother who hugged me every night before bed,
I’m from a mother who waved a knife at me and threatened to cut me to pieces,
I’m from a father who quit smoking when I was one,
I’m from a father who died of lung cancer when I was twenty three.

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“So we’re getting to your super-secret hide out by car?” Ridian asks as he’s lead towards the sedan. Colt merely raises an eyebrow and Ridian adds, “I was expecting I’d have to crawl through sewer tunnels.”

Colt grins. “Who says you won’t?”

Ridian snorts and gets into the car. Colt doesn’t join him, dancing searchingly instead.

“What are you doing?”

“Just a quick check for bugs or GPS trackers,” Colt replies, finally opening the driver’s door.

It’s then that Ridian spots them. “You still have cassette tapes! How do you still have cassette tapes?”

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stargate, DanielJackson

Week 5, Title: Safe

Posted on 2017.01.15 at 20:26
Tags: ,
Colt bears the stares. The hatred and fear of his people stings, weighs him down. Their jittery broken pleas shake him. He knows it has to be this way. To keep them all safe. He shields himself with a face of nonchalance as another is dragged out to be killed, even as he twists the fates, casts his illusions, changes it all.

His mind worries at the edges of the sanctuary as he lets the new guy in. He fidgets at his illusions, checking every spot, over and over. To any who approaches the place is an empty shell. Only he knows it’s a place their dead walk. He has strong connections but this is the one thing that must remain hidden from them all. One misstep, one moment and it will all come tumbling down.

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stargate, DanielJackson

Week 2, Title: What it seems

Posted on 2016.12.04 at 19:46
Tags: ,
Ridian’s mind strays to his plans for later as he clears and wipes down the tables. The last few stragglers are making their way outside. Fangs is cashing up. Unyehla is pulling jogging bottoms and a ratty t-shirt on over the slip of a thing she wears for dancing. Adron locks the door.

“Who’s up for a drink?” Fangs asks, already pouring as Unyehla slides onto a bar stool.

“Sorry, places to be,” Ridian answers.

Fangs raises a sceptical eyebrow.

“I’m learning to use my powers through the collar,” Ridian tells her.
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stargate, DanielJackson

Week 1, Title: Power

Posted on 2016.11.23 at 21:52
Tags: ,
Ridian awakens drowsily, lazily beckoning the clock to him. Nothing happens. He rubs a fist against his eyes, but the dream remains. The clock doesn’t move. He gestures towards the room in general, just to draw something- anything- to him. Still nothing. Confusion slides sharp-spiked into panic. He’s not in his room. His powers aren’t working and he doesn’t know where he is. There’s a weight around his neck. His chest clenches and his stomach drops. No. This can’t be happening. No. No. No. His hands grip fiercely at the metal band around his throat. He’s been collared.

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Dear my fifteen year old self,

I’m thirty now and I thought I’d write a letter to the me I was half of my lifetime ago. Rather predictably, a lot has changed and a lot has stayed the same. The years have taken many of your steel certainties and cast them into doubts. For one, I’m not a teacher. I can hear your horrified gasp from here, you’re wondering what it’s all for, all those efforts, all those perfectly sculpted plans. That solid stalwart dream you’ve had for as long as you can remember. Well, things change. Calm down, it’s fine, I promise. I’m a rota manager at a GP practice, I deal with organising the appointments on the system and the doctors’ schedules, it requires a need for organisational problem solving that I enjoy. All is good.

I expect you want me to tell you what sexual orientation we are. Well, I’ll leave you to figure that out for yourself. Really, the whole ‘I think I like girls but I can’t be gay because I also think I like guys’ thing. The answer is obvious. But you’re allowed to take your time and figure it out. I suppose that’s what being fifteen is for.

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stargate, DanielJackson

LJ Idol sign up

Posted on 2016.11.01 at 08:03
And we're here again.

This is my therealljidol sign up post. Let the madness begin!

For people who enjoy writing, I encourage you to join too.

penny dreadful

Penny Dreadful Comm. and stuff

Posted on 2016.06.28 at 16:06
Tags: ,
bleodswean and I are the co-mods of a NEW Penny Dreadful comm, check it out verbis_diablo

To kick off the new comm. we've got a comment ficathon going and a discussion post.

Come and enjoy!


I’m currently watching the second season of Penny Dreadful. I absolutely adore Vanessa’s storyline through these two seasons and also adore Frankenstein’s storyline with his creatures and the depictions of them and surprises, light and dark. And the poetry, lyricism and philosophy they all hold. I really love the way this show conveys the weight of guilt. It brings a visceral depth. There’s a realness to the slowness of developments, of things ongoing affecting the characters continually, it’s real and not forced or exaggerated. Which speaks greatly to the actors talents as well as the writing.

I especially love the way Vanessa’s fight is conveyed, throughout but particularly in S1 episode 8. Fighting the darkness with everything, while loving the darkness, while being the darkness. This is also true of Jon Clare, thinking himself much darker than he is but also having the darkness, but then so outmatched by Lily’s darkness. Also Lily’s entire deception, especially her outburst with Jon Clare, a schizophrenic burst from one extreme to another and yet entirely believable and poignant.

Everyones pain and guilt and sorrow in their interactions is done so beautifully. I love the way the characters all meet each other in odd places, forming random yet significant connections to each other. Especially Jon Clare and Vanessa.  

stargate, DanielJackson

Captain America: Civil War Review

Posted on 2016.05.09 at 15:40
Tags: , , ,
Gah. Perfect film is perfect.

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stargate, DanielJackson

50 days of LJ: Day 7

Posted on 2016.04.16 at 20:46
Tags: , , ,
I’m still waiting to start my new job, very excited, I think it will probably end up starting in May. I’m thinking of taking a hiatus from writing when I start the job for a couple of months, partly so I can focus on the job and not have the combined stress of job and writing. But also because I’ve gotten into this head-space where there’s always something I’m ‘supposed’ to be writing at the weekend. I feel pressure to get all the things in my head out of my head and onto the page. I have a list of things I want to write and I try to stop myself from spurious ‘other’ writing. And it’s all a bit of a mess. I think I need to allow myself to not write for a while. I was also thinking that in a few years I’ll have a family and kids and won’t have the luxury of having nothing to do. So I shouldn’t spend so much time stressing over making writing ‘a thing I should be doing’. Also, I don’t let it stop me from going out and doing other things, but it does make me frame going out as more of a nuisance and as something that takes time away from writing, even when it’s something I will enjoy, which seems an unhealthy thought process. So I think I just need a writing break in general.

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stargate, DanielJackson

Week 13, Title: Unlit

Posted on 2016.03.11 at 21:01
Tags: , ,
One step outside and the world will burn,
A lesson none should have to learn,
So she sits in this tower,
Eschewing this power,
Lets them call her strumpet, vain, irrelevant.

The fog is white- her time is figures in the distance,
Four walls and a singular tumbler of red wine,
The world pulls away at her touch,
This lead-plated gold of her self,
She is a footnote.

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