Archive | June 13, 2011

Help, my brain is making crossover fanfic

Jun13

Item the first: I watch crime shows while knitting. This month is Criminal Minds.

Item the second: I have this lovely abduction-and-slavery setting, Tir Na Cali.

Item the third: the two would marry pretty nicely, if Crim. Minds didn’t keep ending in people dying. Well, beginning that way.

So, I have this scene in my head where the Cali Agency slave-running team accidentally finds one of the girl-abduction-etc. stories in Criminal Minds (thinking the one I barely remember, involving impregnating girls in cages in a basement), ‘rescues(*)’ the girls, locks the bad guys in a cage, and sends the BAU a note.

(*) See slave-raiding. But at least now they’re not getting killed, right?

And then I was watching the episode where Reid is abducted, and imagined that this was a series of Cali taunts, one-upping the BAU, and it ended with them yoinking an FBI agent from the brink of death, only to kidnap him of to Cali.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/57011.html. You can comment here or there.

Interesting links re. ethnicity

Jun13

I find 2a in this post by [personal profile] recessional to be very interesting.

I confess, I rarely notice ethnicity in stories and tend to fill in my own coloration (I wish wish wish cover art matched author’s descriptions!); in Addergoole, when trying to get an ethnic mix that approximated the ethnic mix of the US (while not having quarters of students), I still ended up with some weird concentrations. Maybe I should do an ethnicity cloud for Ag. Hunh, that would probably look weird.

But anyway, I liked the link.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/56730.html. You can comment here or there.

30daysmeme Roses are Red, Violets are Dead

Jun13

Day 9 of 30 days of Fiction: “9) Write a scene working from the title ‘Roses are Red, Violets are Dead'”

Jack brought me roses on our first date.

A little clichéd, certainly, thorns and all, but the thing about roses is, even after they dry, they hold their color.

That’s what we were like, Jack and I. The relationship faded over time, lost its fresh bloom, but the friendship lingered.

Kyle brought me daisies and took me to summer theatre in the park.

It was very earthy, pleasant; a nice time, all in all, but with a very short lifespan. A summer romance, if you will.

Daisies look nice, when they dry, if a little flattened, and so did he.

Harold went with calla lilies. The funereal aspect was strange, I’ll admit, but that fit with the macabre theme of the restaurant and movie he picked. The whole date had a strange haze, as it in an old movie, and the lilies yellowed, like a newspaper clipping, like something over.

Martin came with carnations, a bad start before I’d even opened the door. The date itself was tolerable, in a sort of plastic way, as if it came pre-packaged from the store, bow tie and all, and left no aftertaste at all.

Carnations look just as cheap dried as fresh.

Peter’s arms were full of violets, a gesture both over the top and so underdone, as was he. The date was distasteful from start to finish, his hands sweaty, his breath rancid, his come-ons uncouth, underhanded, sneaky, and then intolerable.

Violets just look dead when dried – and so does he.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/56435.html. You can comment here or there.

Beginning of a Winter story, per ClareDragonfly & @Inventrix’s request

Jun13

There were times when Winter thought his mother had chosen to have him first, to be there for the girls when their father died.

It wasn’t a possibility he ever talked about; Mom, who would know, he’d never ask. Other people would either think he was crazy for at least three facets of that thought, and the ones who wouldn’t, well, were either just as close to the situation as he was, or would have reactions to it he wouldn’t like.

Pre-planned or not, he had been the father figure to his sisters since he was seven years old and now, as an adult with his “daughters” grown up and out of the house, he found the habits hard to put aside. His nature, the way the strands of the world reacted to him, was either created by that situation or exacerbated it, and either way seemed to solidify it.

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