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Wednesday, December 5th, 2007
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8:21 pm - Sky of Dust 05/?
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Title: Sky of Dust 05
Author: Deoridhe Grimsdottir
Archive: http://www.livejournal.com/users/usuyami/,
http://dryerspace.fanworkrecs.com/gundaniumline/deoridhe/deoridhe.html
Category: Post-series
Rating: PG
Warnings: Angst, pilot vs. pilot, violence, language
Spoilers: The entire series and Endless Waltz.
Notes: All of the writers of SDQB for inspiring a need for revenge via cliffhanger. The quote at the beginning is from ‘Pushing Me Away,’ by Linkin Park from their first album.
Thanks to: Anne for her wonderful beta. The series creators to give me something so fun to work off of!
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(Everything falls apart
Even the people who never frown
Eventually break down)
The sacrifice of hiding in a lie
(Everything has to end
You'll soon find we're out of time left
To watch it all unwind)
The sacrifice is never knowing
Why I never walked away
Why I played myself this way
Now I see you're testing me pushes me away
( Read more... )
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(comment on this)
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8:01 pm - Sky of Dust 04/?
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Title: Sky of Dust 04
Author: Deoridhe Grimsdottir
Archive: http://www.livejournal.com/users/usuyami/,
http://dryerspace.fanworkrecs.com/
Category: Post-series
Rating: PG
Warnings: Angst, pilot vs. pilot, violence, language
Spoilers: The entire series and Endless Waltz.
Notes: All of the writers of SDQB for inspiring a need for revenge via
cliffhanger. The quote at the beginning is from the remix of ‘Forgotten,’
by Linkin Park from their second album.
Thanks to: Anne for her wonderful beta. The series creators to give me
something so fun to work off of!
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Moving all around / screaming of the ups and downs
Pollution manifested in perpetual sound
The wheels go round and the sunset creeps behind
Street lamps, chain-link and concrete
A little piece of paper with a picture drawn floats
On down the street till the wind is gone
The memory now is like the picture was then
When the paper’s crumpled up it can’t be perfect again
( Read more... )
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(comment on this)
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| Tuesday, November 27th, 2007
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9:27 pm - Sky of Dust 03
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Name: Deoridhe Grimsdottir
Title: Sky of Dust
Series: Gundam Wing
Warnings: Dark storyline, ambiguous characters
Credits: All of the writers of SDQB for inspiring a need for revenge via cliffhanger. The quote at the beginning is from ‘Points Of Authority,’ by Linkin Park from their first album.
Spoilers: The entire series and Endless Waltz
Thanks to: Anne, for excellent Beta and encouragement. Misanagi, for not singing too much. Sorry for the long wait since chapter two.
( The Story )
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(comment on this)
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| Tuesday, November 7th, 2006
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3:52 pm - Ode to the Razor, Choice
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currently unfinished
Time twists and sheers the limb from tree
Both bark and blood descending free
In time with choice's cruel decree.
Curled in the night
When fears take flight
Beware the sight
Of apples floating on the sea.
Refracting back into the sky
The winds of choice are riding high
White hunters seek and dare and die.
Under the moon
They will come soon
Fast cries the loon -
Your pains are riding passions by.
You cannot bind them -
Free they dance.
You cannot hide them -
Come now chance.
You cannot mind them -
They seek the edge.
You can only bide them -
Cling to the ledge.
Two coursers bright with blood ride past,
Then two of pale and tattered past,
Two more of shadowed scar the last
With screams of fear
Pale rider's spear -
Collapse the steer
Of hope and dream the sun had cast.
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(comment on this)
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| Wednesday, February 23rd, 2005
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10:55 pm - Sky of Dust 2/?
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Name: Deoridhe Grimsdottir
Fandom: Gundam Wing
Title: Sky of Dust
Warnings: Dark storyline, ambiguous characters
Credits: All of the writers of SDQB for inspiring a need for revenge via cliffhanger. The quote at the beginning is from ‘Papercut,’ by Linkin Park from their first album.
Spoilers: The entire series and Endless Waltz
Thanks to: Anne, for excellent Beta and encouragement. Misanagi, for not singing too much. Sorry for the long wait since chapter one.
Chapter one is here: http://www.psinergy.com/dryerspace/gundaniumline/deoridhe/sky_of_dust_01.html
( The story )
current mood: accomplished
current music: my own sneezes
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(2 comments | comment on this)
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| Monday, November 15th, 2004
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10:15 am - And Then There Were None (1/1, R)
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Name: Deoridhe Grimsdottir
Recipient: Hex, in the Nov. 2004 Smutathon (theme - school smut)
Title: And Then There Were None
Pairings: DxRx1, 3x4xS, 2xC, background 5x6xHx9
Warnings: This was my first time writing a lot of these characters, and my first time writing Yuri. Please use the heavy whip in any feedback!
Disclaimer: Gundam Wing isn't mine, I just use the characters in my perverted fantasies before washing them carefully and returning them to Bandai.
( And Then There Were None )
current mood: dorky
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| Thursday, September 30th, 2004
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10:18 am - Snakebite
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Fear
Coils double in my hand
Fang shine
Eyes flash
A turn of hand, a grip of palm,
It lies quiescent.
Skill stills the snake.
current mood:  thoughtful
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(comment on this)
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| Monday, June 14th, 2004
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12:23 pm - Sky of Dust 1/?
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Credits: All of the writers of SDQB for inspiring a need for revenge via cliffhanger. The quote at the beginning is from the remix of 'Runaway,' by Linkin Park from their second album. 'Biggs' and 'Wedge' are courtesy of Final Fantasy 6-8 and Star Wars.
Spoilers: The entire series and Endless Waltz
Thanks to: Anne, for excellent Beta and encouragement
Rating: Eventual R rating
Pairings: Wouldn't you like to know?
Warnings: Quatre pushed to the edge; people doing destructive things in the name of good ideals; pilot versus pilot.
Archives: http://www.psinergy.com/dryerspace/gundaniumline/deoridhe/deoridhe.html
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Graffiti decorations
Under a sky of dust
A constant wave of tension
On top of broken trust
The lessons that you taught me
I learn were never true
Now I find myself in question
(They point the finger at me again)
Guilty by association
(You point the finger at me again)
The smell of humans pressed closely together was almost overpowering. One hand covering his face, Quatre moved cautiously through the back of the crowd. Although his trench coat and bandana should obscure his identity, there were still fans of the great "Gundam Pilots" of five years ago around and one of them could potentially recognize him, despite the differences those five years had wrought. Snatches of conversation teased his ears as he passed, his uneven path taking him inexorably toward the building behind the large field where the government had collected the protestors to the new era.
( Read more... )
current mood:  bitchy
current music: The Perfect Drug, NIN
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| Sunday, June 6th, 2004
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11:17 am - Disaster Watcher
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The first precog in our family is lost in the dim mists of time. His, or her, name was never written down, and by the time anyone figured out we had something unusual he, or she, was long dead. The Book, as I've always known it, was started some two hundred and fifty years ago by Lucinda du Lac - Lucinda of the Lake for those who are French-impaired. I learned French because I wanted to read those early, yellowed entries written in a shaking hand. Great, great, great, great aunt Lucinda was a spinster, but our family line continued merrily down through her sister and two brothers, and by the time you reach the current day there is a whole hoard of us, and most of us have 'The Talent' as I've always known it.
I've got 'The Talent.' I've got it in spades. I'd be happy to give it to you, if you'd like, but I don't think you'd want it.
The Book lives with me, now, crammed into my expensive bookshelves between the windows - I'd not risk light damaging the Book or any of the others in my collection there. The sunlit bookshelf is reserved for paperbacks and the odd knick knack that I've picked up over my twenty-some years of life. Most of them are recent knick knacks - for some reason my clients seem to want to press something into my hands along with the money. I don't get it myself, but maybe it's some instinctive need to reward the shaman of the modern age - the private investigator. Or maybe they're just hoping I won't come after them if they give me more than my fee. In any case, the bookcase in the sun is littered with assorted shiny baubles, feathers, wooden masks, and other bits or frippery that almost hide the books that also live there.
I've been a PI for a while now, I guess, judging by these shelves.
Most of the rest of the common room is taken up by kitchen or couch, and I've got only one bedroom, but by New York standards my apartment is lavish in size. Of course, by New York standards, a cardboard box isn't a bad place to settle down for the night. I keep it clean enough, not that many people see it. Despite my huge family - or perhaps because of it - I'm a loner most of the time. Being the youngest of seven will do that to a boy.
Right. You want to know about the Talent, don't you. Those capital letters really give it an added importance, doesn't it? The Talent explains why I can live alone in a large apartment in downtown New York where there are more cops than vandals; it also explains some of why I became a PI, though it's not very useful when I am a PI except for keeping me from being dead. See, in my family, seeing the future isn't a pipe dream - it's a way of life.
Heh. You don't believe me. I can tell.
My father, by the standards of the family, is a weak precog. He knows when he's going to die - we all know that - and he foresees weather. Pretty boring unless you hate to get wet. Most of my siblings are stronger than average, though, since we got it from both sides. Mom is dad's third cousin, judging by the details in the Book, and a stronger precog to boot. She gets flashes of up to a month away with fair reliability, and more importantly she can summon those flashes - an unusual talent in our family. Surprisingly, she doesn't have a specialty like most of my family; my uncle, for instance, foresees finances and my third older brother has the same useful talent - that financial advice is why the family doesn't need to work too hard in order to live. Of course, we have to be careful to not shift things; too much stock buying can lead to changes in the market that won't be foreseen until too late and our sight is, more often than not, mutable.
Except for when we die. Well, in most cases. One of my great, great grandmothers managed to avoid her foreseen death, though she died a few years later. It's still the talk of the family.
I have one of the most common family abilities - I foresee disasters. I'm unusual in how clearly I foresee them, though, and how often I can cause them to not come about. Of course bigger disasters are larger blips on the radar, but I often can't do anything about them, and my Talent, for all its strength, took an odd turn.
The bigger the disaster, the less time I'm given to react to it.
It's a perverse sort of situation, really; I can save that kid from falling out of the tree and breaking his leg, but I stood by helplessly while almost three thousand people died twenty blocks from my apartment.
Ironic, really.
---Excerpt from The Book, Volume 3, dated 11 September, 2001.
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| Monday, April 5th, 2004
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9:02 pm - Gallows Load
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Burnished gallows set with red
Caress the fevered, empty mind
Of man who hangs bloodied and blind
To reach for wisdom, not for bread.
I think to hang there in his stead
And wonder if I dare to bind
My destiny to be his kind
And follow where he never lead.
To ride my orlog like a steed,
If I could dare to take the plunge
Into the noiseless emptiness
That calls me with its baseless need,
Of wisdom’s touch and daring’s lunge
To aid with endless lovingness.
Posted at the request of Naienko; this is one of my more overtly religious poems and is, of course, a sonnet to Odin and deals with our relationship.
Orlog is a basic concept in the Icelandic Eddas having to do with the destiny of an individual. As I understand it, orlog is what is written of a person at the time of their birth and it is unchanging; one can either deny it, and thus try to work against it, or accept it and thus move forward, but one cannot ever escape it.
current mood:  chipper
current music: Bald, by Call Me Alice
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| Wednesday, February 18th, 2004
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11:39 pm - Artificial Life, chapter 3
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In space, when I had seen the sun, it had seemed a distant and unimportant thing; a momentary flash of brilliance that windows closed to and eyes avoided. Now, it dominated the world around me - never to be looked at but not to be ignored. The clothing I'm wearing today is unfamiliar but more practical for this new terrain: loose white pants and a light top which covers all of me but my hands and head. The latter is covered by a long coil of cloth that Rashid helped me to put on, this first morning in the desert, but it will only be a matter of time before I wear my native dress as casually as any earth-born Arab. I can feel the desert wind slithering along the sand to lift the fabric along my back, but I don't take my gaze from the darkness along the edge of the distant horizon.
( ...continued )
current mood: blithe
current music: Cyber Battle, from Ghost int he Shell
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| Tuesday, February 10th, 2004
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10:40 am - Break Stuff
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This is posted without being betaed, so any horrific and glaring errors are entirly mine to cherish and love. "Break Stuff" is written and sung by Limp Biskit.
There is no cycle of days in space, though most of the individuals there keep to a relative day system based upon who they have the most interaction with. Peacemillion is an anomaly, though; trading through space with such a wide variety of mysterious "Sweeper" organizations, the inhabitants of Peacemillion have taken to shift-sleeping, an arrangement that also allows for rapid responses and more thorough repairs on all of the Gundam suits currently hidden within its bays. Through some sort of unspoken agreement, though, the five Gundam pilots began rising and going to sleep at the same point, sharing their meals in one of the smaller kitchen and dining areas. Past experience had proven that Trowa is the best cook of the lot, that Heero is a close second and that Wufei makes a surprisingly close third. Duo's concoctions, though warm, tend toward the bland. Quatre skill is still in dispute, however, as he seems content to confine himself to setting out, retrieving, and cleaning dishes.
It is the morning after the first battle with OZ and White Fang, but everyone still manages to stumble out of bed and reach their communal living space with some amount of skill. Trowa is the first in the kitchen to turn on a burner, so the rest settle blearily on folding chairs as they arrive and offer the occasional extra hand. Quatre manages the tea and coffee supply while Trowa begins to crack eggs and add various spices, vegetables, and dairy products to the bowl. A pan heats slowly next to his elbow. Wufei corners the potatoes, though he's taking his time this morning - favoring the left wrist he sprained yesterday. Heero breaks out the batter and begins adding ingredients.
The first words of the morning are Duo's, the last to arrive. Still dressed in black sweats, he slumps onto the last - and most uncomfortable - chair with a muttered, "It's just one of those days when ya don't wanna wake up." ( continued... )
current mood: jubilant
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(15 comments | comment on this)
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| Wednesday, January 14th, 2004
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10:54 am - Seduction
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This fic is NC-17! If you are too young, have prudish parents, or are a prude yourself, then go away. If you like this sort of smut, ( check it out. )
current mood: chipper
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(4 comments | comment on this)
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| Wednesday, December 31st, 2003
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9:44 am - Artificial Life - Chapter 2
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When I was thirteen, I decided to run away from home. It wasn't a particularly well-thought out course of action, but I had become so tired of being on display. I felt like a toy poodle strutted out to demonstrate that Winner Enterprises wasn't going into the hands of some foolish woman, before being sent back to my kennel with a bone. I was tired of being a thing created by my Father to become his replacement. My tutor at the time, Michael Jenkin, was a toad of a man, but he was an acclaimed scholar and so my father employed him. I suppose, in some ways, you could blame Jenkin for my dislike of test tube babies – he was horrified by the idea of creating progeny through science, and though he didn't often indulge his dislike, when he did it was …memorable. Ultimately though, I have no one to blame but myself. Although I disliked my father for creating his army of Winners, I should never have held contempt for him.
I didn't know what I planned to do on Earth once I got there. I had put aside pocket money, so I wouldn't have been destitute. With the distance of age I wonder if Jenkin had actually meant to ransom me – certainly there were few other reasons to encourage me to run away from my wealthy and influential father. I had been so naive. That innocent sullenness was rudely interrupted by the Maguanac's hijacking of our ship to save that colony of people – I had met Instructor H there too. I don't think I'll ever quite forgive myself for not tying up the Maguanac traitor, though; it seems incredible that one of the Maguanac could act against his brothers, but OZ had somehow bribed Yuda to betray them, and by betraying them he betrayed us all. I hadn't even been able to keep him from shooting Rashid; the most I could do was pilot for Rashid since I'd only been hit in the arm.
Now, two years later, I'm running away from home again. I'm forced to wonder if I'll be in a similar situation two years from now, looking back on my past actions with shame instead of pride. I suppose only time will tell.
( ...continued )
current mood: chipper
current music: Are You Gonna Be My Girl, Jet
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9:42 am - Artificial Life - Chapter 1 (revised 31 December, 2003)
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Although this dawn is artificial, it matches many of the things I have heard about Earth sunrises; the dew is cold and darkens my khaki pants with moisture; the air seems fresher and damper that at noon; the light is subdued and peaceful. The only thing missing from the illusion is the sun; the light source on Colony 04 is diffused even when the sun should be cresting the hill.
But soon, I would see a real sunrise.
( ...continued )
current mood: chipper
current music: Are You Gonna Be My Girl, Jet
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(comment on this)
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| Tuesday, November 25th, 2003
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11:33 am - Counterpoint
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Not in order, just in dreams,
Look in secret in the seams.
Look in silence, look inside
Find the sense where songs reside.
Not in classrooms - look not there.
Sometimes, seemingly, nowhere.
Hidden in both word and deed,
Truth a harsh and painful steed.
Fades away when fingers grab;
Strings of logic hard to nab.
Images are all that stand
On elastic, fragile land.
Webs of thoughts react and change -
Endless shifting through the range,
One adjustment leads to more
Drifting, slashing, through the core.
Dancer's body, will entwined,
Mind and body here combined,
Dance the anguish, dance the joy,
Memories both knife and toy.
Reach to poems, find the trail.
Look beneath the surface frail.
Love of shadows, love of steel -
Here I stand and here I kneel.
( A discussion of some of the poem )
I'm not sure how other people would view this poem since so much of its meaning is intensely personal. I'd be curious to hear what people think, both before and after reading my own thoughts on it.
And as a note, I welcome comments on any and all of the poems here; please don't feel as if you have to stay quiet out of deference to some mythical poetic ability. I put these out in an attempt to hear what people think of them, not in an attempt to hear myself talk; I'm fully capable to talking when no one is listening if I want the latter.
current mood:  melancholy
current music: Flame, from Witch Hunter Robin
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| Sunday, November 9th, 2003
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10:44 pm - Stillbirth
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last ember fades, though't clung valiantly to life,
glowing whitish-gold in deep'ning twilight strife
the logs are but half burnt, and still the ember fades;
a building broken down was built with just-born logs,
but still there is a rafter cracked, wrapped well within the fogs
that curl around its dying bones like new-born, healthy skin;
some seedlings pass away within a violent frost
claiming their slim lives to join all other's lost
instead of gaining bloom to continue on with life;
in spring a tree lies dead, bereft of all its bloom,
locked within a cycle that brought it naught but doom
as slowly half-dead leaves are blown by bitter winds;
within the earth there is a grave of a babe who knew no breath;
the mother, weeping, lies above, for she has nothing left;
last remnants of a well-loved man followed him to death;
the light is fading fast, leaving me with night,
around my shoulders he has curled, removing all my light
as last ember falls away, and is covered up with ash,
and on my back, like bite of snake, I feel my heart-ache's lash.
Amusingly, to me at least, I initially wrote this in the long moments of self-indulgent pain of one of the two breakups with Ace. You should see some of the nonsense from then! If anyone actually wants to read the 'Deoridhe is so sad, look she's sad' stuff, let me know and I'll trot some of it out. Perhaps my example will serve as a warning to others. When my best friend died, I ran across this poem again and realized that, against all expectation, it was a lot broader than I had initially meant it to be. I posted it in an online forum and was semi-slammed by one of the readers (at the time it was called 'last ember'), and though I ended up deciding any readers who couldn't understand the connection between the verses would simply not understand, I did end up renaming it to 'Stillbirth,' a title which I think carries across more of the full meaning of the poem.
current mood: hopeful
current music: Plot, from Witch Hunter Robin
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(3 comments | comment on this)
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| Friday, November 7th, 2003
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12:49 pm - Lorelocked
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The lore of those who passed before
Rings hollowly on burnished knees,
And nibs that shatter can't release
The ache which traps me in the door.
No step ahead, I lack the lore
And turning back is no reprise,
So I stand, stranded, wisdom flees
These broken fingers battered more.
I reach, and knowledge through me tears
To break the surface, stain foolscrap.
Deep bone-ed bile, entrapped veneers,
And untrue teachings, soul's mishap,
Have bound me in a web of fears
While 'round my heels, my failings lap.
This is an Italian style sonnet, which consists of an octet and a sextet. The rhyme scheme is very limited in this style of sonnet; the octet is (theoretically) abba abba; the sextet is (theoretically) cdcdcd.
current mood: grumpy
current music: The washing machine downstairs
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(3 comments | comment on this)
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| Thursday, November 6th, 2003
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10:48 am - Artificial Lifeforms
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Although the dawn was artificial, it matched many of the things I had been told about by people who lived on earth; the dew was cold and darkened my khaki pants with moisture; the air seemed fresher and damper that at noon; the light was subdued and peaceful. The only thing missing from the illusion was the sun; the light source on Colony 04 was diffused even when the sun should have been cresting the hill.
But soon, I would see a real sunrise.
My entire plan rested tenuously on a paper trail I had spent the last few months building up, hinged on the board members who had approved my leaving the colony to not speak up during their morning meeting with my father. I had played on their desire to get me out of the way and it had worked better than I initially thought it would. A rock appeared against my shoe as I took a step and I flipped it casually, sending a spray of moisture out in front of me. They thought I was running away again. I was fairly certain at least one of them was hoping I'd never make it back to take over my father's company. Seized with a sudden rage, I kicked the rock as far as I could and watched it arch away from me. I wasn't running away again, damn it. This time I was running to do something; I was running to protect my family before OZ could hurt them.
Several feet from the old warehouse where the Professor and I had built Sandrock, I paused to look back at where I'd come from. The large white house at the end of the street was mostly hidden behind rows of houses, but it was still a dominating white structure. Somewhere in there, my father was meeting with a delegation of one of the Earthside companies interested in manufacturing in space. "Goodbye, Father."
( ...continued )
current mood: enthralled
current music: Untold Blasphemies V.3, Hocico
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(2 comments | comment on this)
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| Wednesday, November 5th, 2003
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10:54 pm - Iris Begats Iris
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This story is based around the history of Ran Fujimiya, commonly known as Aya. I have retained a few Japanese customs in the writing of this, for instance the last names come first when referring to individuals by their full name, and honorifics are used (so far -kun, commonly used for a close male, and -chan, commonly used for a close female). I also used the word 'gaijin,' which is a semi-polite way to refer to a foreigner. Aya-chan is wearing the traditional clothing of a young Japanese girl; Ran-kun is wearing more modern clothing. Their visit to the temple is my attempt to represent Shinto beliefs. Please excuse any errors I may have made in Japanese culture when writing this. For those keeping track, this is set right before the first scenes of Aya-kun seen in any canon source.
Fujimiya Aya was sixteen and in love with the world. She ran ahead of her brother, her sandals clicking softly on the stone of the temple grounds, and crouched down to look at the tiny chicks that were prizes for one of the games. "Ran-kun, Ran-kun look! Aren't they cute?"
Fujimiya Ran leaned over his younger sister, recently dyed red hair brushing his eyelashes. He flicked it out of the way. "Not as cute as my sister."
Aya leaned her head back and beamed up at him. "You only say that because it's my birthday, she teased. "Win me one, Ran-kun? Please?" She stood, then, smoothing her Kimono with practiced hands and unleashed a pleading look up at her much taller brother. He capitulated in no time.
"I'm no good at these games," he warned, giving the game seller fifty yen and receiving three ping-pong balls for his trouble. The first ball flew wide, landing in the middle of the mass of glasses and disappearing. The second ball fell too short - much too short - and rolled under the table that all of the glasses rested on.
( ...continued )
current music: Shell, Witch Hunter Robin (TV Edit)
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