[random] i get a shot right through
Aug. 16th, 2005 09:35 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bantha_fodderthe reason why i've disowned claira is because she was committing the filthy sin of writing kara/anders with no undertones of lee. i mean, how hard is it to humour me?
and when he turns his head, he looks familiar
is all it would take, because i'm easy, but NO, she refuses to even give me that.
and it's NEEDED, because hello, four days ago she was all, "would you miss me?" and fantacising about him, so, yo.
i'm a sucker for shout outs in fic and in movies and tv. seriously, a tiny line like that, that could be read fifty million ways, can make or break a fic for me.
also, claira fails at life for not recommending byzantium at crack_van for crossovers day.
*
because i'm five, you all need to stop squeeing about the extra userpics. it's making me stroppy and sulky, because i don't have a credit card and i can't find a (who does). seriously, i'm this close to ranting, and nobody wants that.
ETA: OMG WHICH ONE OF YOU BOUGHT ME USERPICS? that wasn't, you know, what this post was about, but i NEVER SAY NO TO PRESENTS OMG. OMG. O. M. G.
*
it's raining, quite heavily, so it's a good thing i found the time to go to archery yesterday as i cannot be arsed going today (unless it clears up a little). it's looking pretty gross, but i might go out anyway because i had a spectacularly bad training session yesterday. stupid sport.
*
When the world ends, the cards they carry identify them as Mr and Mrs Matthew and Fay Aritola, socialites off to a charity function. They're primped and preened, and asleep on the luxury cruiser Cloud Nine.
Before the end of the world, they were assassins for a covert anti-terrorist operation, but when the world ends they're free, and they don't know what to do with themselves.
When the officials come to survey what's left of humanity, he's still a self-made millionaire from Geminon, whose fortune was made in bed springs. She is still his elegant, well-educated wife from Picon. She studied fine art and literature, and such skills are of no use to the fleet. The fleet has no need for poetry or paintings, and there is no need for bed springs when there are no beds to be made.
They are never made to relocate from their lodgings, but eventually, gradually, the rooms they originally kept are reduced in number; divvied up to those that need them.
In private, he calls her Nikita, and she calls him Michael. They are not so happy with the roles they have been reduced to for the rest of their lives, but, she argues, with the Twelve Colonies reduced to this fleet of fifty thousand, there is almost no need for the most well-trained assassins in the Colonies.
He nearly smiles at this, because it is true, and because it is Nikita.
One day, Michael meets a man named Zarek, and he wonders at Nikita's use of almost.
and when he turns his head, he looks familiar
is all it would take, because i'm easy, but NO, she refuses to even give me that.
and it's NEEDED, because hello, four days ago she was all, "would you miss me?" and fantacising about him, so, yo.
i'm a sucker for shout outs in fic and in movies and tv. seriously, a tiny line like that, that could be read fifty million ways, can make or break a fic for me.
also, claira fails at life for not recommending byzantium at crack_van for crossovers day.
*
because i'm five, you all need to stop squeeing about the extra userpics. it's making me stroppy and sulky, because i don't have a credit card and i can't find a (who does). seriously, i'm this close to ranting, and nobody wants that.
ETA: OMG WHICH ONE OF YOU BOUGHT ME USERPICS? that wasn't, you know, what this post was about, but i NEVER SAY NO TO PRESENTS OMG. OMG. O. M. G.
*
it's raining, quite heavily, so it's a good thing i found the time to go to archery yesterday as i cannot be arsed going today (unless it clears up a little). it's looking pretty gross, but i might go out anyway because i had a spectacularly bad training session yesterday. stupid sport.
*
When the world ends, the cards they carry identify them as Mr and Mrs Matthew and Fay Aritola, socialites off to a charity function. They're primped and preened, and asleep on the luxury cruiser Cloud Nine.
Before the end of the world, they were assassins for a covert anti-terrorist operation, but when the world ends they're free, and they don't know what to do with themselves.
When the officials come to survey what's left of humanity, he's still a self-made millionaire from Geminon, whose fortune was made in bed springs. She is still his elegant, well-educated wife from Picon. She studied fine art and literature, and such skills are of no use to the fleet. The fleet has no need for poetry or paintings, and there is no need for bed springs when there are no beds to be made.
They are never made to relocate from their lodgings, but eventually, gradually, the rooms they originally kept are reduced in number; divvied up to those that need them.
In private, he calls her Nikita, and she calls him Michael. They are not so happy with the roles they have been reduced to for the rest of their lives, but, she argues, with the Twelve Colonies reduced to this fleet of fifty thousand, there is almost no need for the most well-trained assassins in the Colonies.
He nearly smiles at this, because it is true, and because it is Nikita.
One day, Michael meets a man named Zarek, and he wonders at Nikita's use of almost.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-15 07:34 pm (UTC)And they said the world wasn't ending.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-15 07:45 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-15 07:55 pm (UTC)Also, more LFN/BSG, pleeeeeeeeease.