that's how you let the beat build, bitch.

all your dreams are made of strawberry lemonade

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day. To the last syllable of recorded time, and all our yesterdays have lighted fools, the way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more: it is a tale, told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

November 2009

30 July 2020 @ 02:01 am

fic masterlist.

This would be an attempt to motivate myself into getting over this huge dose of writers' block and finish the fic that I'm working on right now, pretty much. I thought that maybeeee seeing everything I've done laid out in one go might work? Either that or it's just going to make me cringe so hard I'll end up deleting it all/never posting anything again. In any case, I thought I'd try it. (There's other fic that I didn't put on this list because um, ha, yeah, it's awful and the less people that read them, the better.)

Fic Masterlist By Fandom.
(ordered by date within each fandom.)
( fic list under the cut. )

Tags: (my embarassingly bad) fic, deciple of the blue box, merlin, this is american idol, torchwood, we stand alone; together

Current Mood:

annoyed

Current Music: Sage Francis - Slow Down Gandhi | Powered by Last.fm

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11 November 2009 @ 04:02 pm

lest we forget.

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal,
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres.
There is music in the midst of desolation,
And a glory that shines upon her tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young.
Straight of limb, true of eyes, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning,
We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables at home;
They have no lot in our labour of the daytime;
They sleep beyond England's foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known,
As the stars are known to the night.

As the stars will be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.

Current Mood:

thoughtful

Current Music: David Cook - Make Believe (Live In St. Louis) | Powered by Last.fm

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14 October 2009 @ 05:06 pm

this is what they will call our life.

AAAAAH, I'M ACTUALLY POSTING THIS. So, um, I don't even know how this fic happened, you guys. One moment I was just talking about how if Archie was a vampire, he'd totally be Godric and that means that Cook would be Eric and then I was writing down words and-- yeah, I DON'T KNOW, OKAY. IT JUST HAPPENED. It's kind of a weird fic, I wrote most of the parts when I was really over-tired and that means that my synaesthesia was on overdrive and I think you can tell in the way it's written. It's weird. And um, not that great? Anyway, here it is.

a thread cut with a carving knife
cook/archie. ~4000 words. r for themes.
beta-ed by

jehane18 and

faerie_vixen -- both of them infinitely more talented than i ♥

( a thread cut with a carving knife-- that is what they will call our life )

Tags: (my embarassingly bad) fic, david cook is better than you, this is american idol

Current Mood:

EEEEP

Current Music: MWK - 'Til I'm Blue | Powered by Last.fm

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