telephone conversations started by perfume
i will count the pearls lingering around your neck
Recent Entries 
24th-Jul-2013 03:56 pm - the big damn master post
cridecoeur: (Default)
I would hope the title would be enough, but in case it isn't: here you will find links to all the work contained within this journal. The poetry is closed-access because I am a sensitive little flower and don't want people I don't know seeing it, which is kind of perverse because I like it best. Oh well. Anyways!

fiction )

scriptwriting )

poetry )

prose-poetry )
16th-Nov-2011 09:32 am - The Meaning And Depth Cycle
cridecoeur: (raichu a love song)
Title: The Meaning and Depth Cycle
Author: [personal profile] cridecoeur
Pairing: Nicholas/Peter, Tess/Claudia
Rating: Individual Stories Rated PG - R
Warning: None apply. Unless you have a problem with slash. Then you are really going to have problems with these stories.
Summary:Nicholas and Peter have been living together for two years - Nicholas a starving medical student on early discharge from the army and Peter a university drama student - when all their pining for each other transforms into an actual relationship. This is the story of the next three years of their lives, a romance involving stuffed dragons, inappropriate medical conference sex toys, Crododile apartments, transexual sweaters, Swappeez, inept proposals, and love. But mostly love.
A/N: This would be the OBB fic I've been blithering about for like 3 months! It has been a serious labor of love, the first OBB I've won, and the first story over 10,000 words I have finished. Also, I really hope no one is offended by the transexual sweater bit. It is not meant to be offensive or inflammatory, but sometimes it's hard to judge these things.

Also there is totally amazing art for this story! Seriously it is better than the fic. It is over on ruins_of_sodom's LJ, here. Go tell him how freaking amazing he is!

Boardwalk Jitters
Nicholas/Peter | PG | 1307 words
Peter and Nicholas were half-way down the boardwalk on a blustery Saturday afternoon, coat collars turned up against the wind, when Peter caught sight of a booth that boasted over-large stuffed animals for anyone who could knock down a pyramid of glass bottles - a game that was undoubtedly rigged, which did not seem to matter to Peter. )

Dragons Will Never Hurt You
Nicholas/Peter, Tess/Claudia | PG-13 | 1896 words

By the time Nicholas had left the train station, staggered onto the bus, and then staggered, perhaps with even less grace, onto the sidewalk out front of his and Peter’s apartment building, one o’clock had well and truly passed, and he was exhausted enough that when his key to the building did not work the first three times, Nicholas seriously considered sleeping on the sidewalk. )

Crocodiles, Revisited
Nicholas/Peter | PG-13 | 2333 words

Nicholas was fairly certain shopping for his last apartment had not been so utterly horrific. )

Ho Ho Ho, Etc.
Nicholas/Peter, Tess/Claudia | PG-13 | 1722

Nicholas, as everyone knew, was a terrible gift giver, which was embarrassing for a man of 28 to say, especially one who could afford to give at least moderately extravagant gifts - he did not lack funding, but according to Tess, he did lack taste. )

The End. Until They Get Gay Married!
Nicholas/Peter, Tess/Claudia | R | 4281

They were at He’s Not Here when the news broke; Vasya was the first to know because he had, Nicholas thought, a vast and terrifying spy network and so knew of everything that happened in tristate area before anyone else did. That, and he compulsively checked his phone, his e-mail, and, more to the point, the news, despite the fact that he should be checking none of them while working. )
15th-Sep-2011 01:53 pm - Otherwise, On The Web
cridecoeur: (Default)
I FINISHED MY OBB FIC. THE FIRST BIG BANG I HAVE EVER WON. It is sitting at a little over 11,000 words, which makes it the first story over 10,000 words I have finished. And now I am working on a second story that is about the same length and... weird. Really weird. Like a bunch of people maybe just got turned into zombies - except without the mindless hunger for brains or whatever - but you don't know for certain, and the main character just hit and killed Death and his horse with her car. Which could happen to anyone really. That's why you don't cross dark, winding country roads at night. Because women who are possibly hallucinating you might hit you with their car, and then you'll die.

IDEK, guys. IDEK.
16th-Jun-2011 01:08 pm - bang, bang, you're dead.
cridecoeur: (Default)
I'm fucking weak. By which I mean I signed up for another Big Bang. Horror Big Bang! I'll be using my lesbian werewolf horror story for it, which means I have no idea what I will be doing for Original Big Bang now. Dropping out again probably. I have been total failcakes where that community is concerned. But at least now I have more time to write the lesbian horror story! I'm going to need it ha ha (why so long, sob).

Here is a banner! They are taking original fic (obviously)! You should sign up so I have more original horror stories to read!


ETA: I am trying, so very hard, to get into Dioscorus' head. He is, without a doubt, the character I have the most difficulty with. I have not had much success aside from these lines:

He hit the floor and didn’t get up. She hit her knees and dropped the gun. I hit Koralo over the back of his head, so he crumpled to the ground. Didn’t really need to. I just didn’t like him much.

cridecoeur: (i'm not here to save you)
So basically I have written the most annoyingly formatted scenes in the history of creation. And now I am giving them to you! This is the revamped first novel in the space dragon universe, and in revamping I apparently lost my mind and thought, hey! In the original novel it's half-told through footnotes, because the narrating character is psychic, and the story is two-leveled, I should do that here, but in, like, a style that suits Nikolao!

Ha ha ha ha, what have I created, etc. If it weren't for rich text formatting I would have wept profusely trying to format this. I am madly, deeply, truly in love with the rich text feature. (I should be proposing any day now.) I suddenly understand how people do awesome things with footnotes! Wow!

title: the ghost in my mouth
author: [personal profile] cridecoeur/[personal profile] dextrocardiac
prompt: prompt #173 for [community profile] stayintheroom and lost colony for [community profile] parthenon. i, uh, kind of twisted the prompts to my own nefarious ends.
rating: pg-13
pairings: um, this story will eventually be nikolao/pipra, but pipra's like ten in this one. so, basically, none.
warning: subscripts. lots of them. for real.

There's... really no good quote to take for this. Read on, I guess! )

The man who mistakes divinity for superstition
has made a fatal mistake."
Nikolao Luchjo

The drumbeats[1] (120 beats per minute, rapid, leading through the final stages of dying) were audible even as we stepped from the drop ship. The night was humid and hot – even after dark there is little escape from the heat, during Amah’s summers – and as Dioscorus stepped from the ship beside me, he grunted in surprise.

“Still not used to it,” he said, when I slanted him a look. “Never been anywhere this hot.”

“You’ve had three years,” I said, “I’d suggest you adjust.”

Dioscorus grunted, again, and walked away without any further reply. I sighed and followed behind him (in the distance voices were raised to singing, adding another tone, higher frequency, stimulating the higher mind) and behind me came Vespera and Venka, Vespera already suffused with white light, Venka shifting to long lean muscle[2], Jejohil Temol (54 stretches per hour, mottled, rippling green to hide among the brush). We had not landed far from the camp, just far enough for the rest of the Tijojil not to be disturbed by our landing. Soon I could clearly make out their shapes, thrown by firelight.

“Vespera,” Dioscorus said, and she nodded and went ahead of us. As she broke from the scrublands, into the circle, cries were raised, before a sudden silence was thrown over them, as Vespera’s innate light soothed them to mind-blankness (veritable mass hypnosis, patently unbelievable until I met her) .

We broke from the shadows and into the circle, passing blank-faced dancers and drummers, to where a man lay (breathing thready, weak – we had little time before he came up, soulless and mindless, trapped between worlds, undying). in the center on a pallet woven of river reeds. Beside him sat a small child, neither obviously male nor female (womanly curves at their hips, flatness at chest, leanness in musculature, and delicacy in facial features) with the soft haze of light about their head that signified one who traveled to Zejohus Mbuol, the Dying Lands, to heal fractured souls.

“Cefus Aru!” I said, shocked into indiscretion[3].

Dioscorus looked at me in a way that said, quite clearly, that I was lucky it was only he and Venka and Vespera who had heard me[4]. I was careful not to apologize, simply turning back to regard the child, taking a deep breath (trembling somewhere in my chest). Their eyes were closed, seeing into another world, but their face was expressive, radiant. I took another, steadier breath.

“I’m going,” I said and hesitated only a moment before crossing the distance and crouching down to sit beside them. I looked at their face a final time (trying to memorize features that would, no doubt, change in Zehojus Mbuol, making the attempt rather futile) before closing my eyes and reaching for my heartbeat and the world behind it.


I traveled down the roots of the brush land, through a tunnel of packed-dirt walls and emerged on a red-rock mesa, where above hung the planets and stars (overlarge, hanging close, an impossible gravitation had Zehojus Mbuol played by the otherwise unbendable laws of the universe). Astoo was not immediately visible, and so I called for her, ending on a shrill whistle. A sudden flutter of wings and she was beside me (a bird, small in size, feathers riotously purple and red, wing span no more than two hands across) twittering and dipping her head. She turned once in the air, then darted off, wings fluttering, and I was quick to shift (four-legged muzzled, 32 stretches in an hour, pure white, an unsuited predator for the mesa, had my intention been to hunt or hide) following her.

“Hurry, hurry,” she said, “He’s going to wake up,” and I pressed my lean muscles for all they were worth, stretching long over the mesa, running hard.

We came upon him in the sudden way things happened, here, and I shifted to a halt, claws biting into the dust. He spirit was not old or decrepit like his body had been, but spry with youth, timeless. A child held on to one of his hands, clearly neither boy nor girl, the same Twice-Born who had sat beside him in life (features hardly shifted, as if they did not play by the usual rules of World-Walkers). Beside them sat Jortur (four-legged, long-necked, ornately horned, coat the color of rich earth) watching with an unnerving intensity.

The child blinked up at me, several times, before smiling and swinging the arm they were holding.

“It’s okay,” they said. “He’s better, now. You can take him.”

Astoo circled several times, twittering. “Be quick,” she said, and I shifted again, back to my common form, standing up from where I crouched among the rocks. I closed the distance between us in two strides, only stopping when bare inches separated the spirit and I, looking into his eyes. I set one hand on his cheek, his form cool to the touch, leaning closer so that my lips nearly touched his ear.

“E hepus gosen,” I whispered. “Fummus en, ‘A cefus hepur oc.’” and then I kissed him firmly on the mouth, sealing the words between his lips. He vanished, entirely (his spirit for the gates, his next life buried under his skin). I stepped back, closing my eyes, tipping my head back and breathing out the smoke that filled my lungs.

When I looked down again, the Twice-Born child was watching me through big, blue eyes, smiling. He reached out with the hand that had held the spirit’s, only to take mine, turning it palm-up, and touching a curious finger to the blood-red crystal imbedded in my palm.

“U cefus temol,” they said and then bent down to kiss my palm, directly over the crystal. My body was suddenly filled with such heat, felt as if it had been split so wide open that I crumpled to the ground, one arm across my stomach as if trying to hold in my guts. I gasped, feeling my mind blossoming open, suddenly, thoughts visible, spiraling, written clearly across the air. The child reached out to touch them, smiling wider, then closed their eyes and thought, my name is Pipra, clearly, in my own mind.

The pain vanished, suddenly, leaving only the noise of a fresh link between us, thoughts spiraling around each other, intimate.

Cefus Aru,” I said and was suddenly flying back, upwards, through a dirt-packed tunnel, along the roots of the brush-land, Pipra beside me, with me, to the Living World in which our bodies waited for us.

[1] Now that they think I do not come for them my people have taken to using their drums to try to lead the dying through to the other side. If they had chance to ask me I would have told them that such efforts were futile. Only the words I kiss between their lips can lead them through to the next life.

[2] She had, at least, activated her personal shield, first. Perhaps she had actually learned from the darts she had taken in our first trip to the camps. Near death experiences did seem to be the only thing that would teach Venka a lesson.

[3] I had been entirely ignorant that one of the Tijojil had birthed a Twice-Born, an event which had not happened in well over 200 years. I could hardly fathom what that meant for my people and, more importantly, the course of the war and the survival of the resistance.

[4] The LimmilI took ill any reminder of my heritage and the goddess I had supposedly renounced.

9th-Jun-2011 03:11 pm - origfic bingo and reading fail
cridecoeur: (failed)
I wrote some more extremely silly things for [community profile] origfic_bingo. Including a story about Cupid in which I lightly sprinkle fandom references over everything. I think most of them are pretty obvious but I could be wrong.

Also, I bought Ulysses from Half-Price books and now am trying to make myself read it. I'm pretty sure I don't get it, not helped by the fact that I can only make myself read like two pages of a book these days with completely losing focus. I'm like a 6-year-old on a sugar high. I didn't have any luck getting myself to read Love in the Time of Cholera, and usually I love Márquez. My next option is Sputnik Sweetheart. I'm in intense fanboy love with Murakami. Maybe I should have started with him.
cridecoeur: (Default)
title: the house of yellow roses
prompt: doll for [community profile] originalfic100
rating: r. ish.
word count: 1118
a/n and kind of a warning: the r is for murdering. the ish is for that murder being non-explicit. honestly, i'm not very good at rating things to begin with, so i'm not 100% sure about this one.

What Jamison would always remember was the steeple of the church submerged in the lake and the ghosts of a congregation long passed. )
7th-Jun-2011 07:48 pm - bingo, six ficlets
cridecoeur: (Default)
So the thing is, I think I have given you guys the wrong impression of me, as a whole. Because, by and large, my posts here are of serious content/have at least a little meaning to them/aren't so stupid you just want to roll your eyes. So, the thing: many, many things I write and then let languish on my hard drive are incredibly stupid and done simply to entertain me, spur of the moment, and never meant to be finished. Which is separated only from all the other things I never finish only by original intent. I even have a special file for them. The file is called "what the hell why not - OR - what happens when you have stupid ideas often."

The reason I am telling you this: a forewarning. These bingo fills are really fucking stupid. For real. No joke. I dare you to get through this without rolling your eyes. In fact, I double dog dare you. (Luckily I have no idea what that actually means - double dog? - so you can probably slide by, even if you don't.)

So, my fills.

title: because i like skaters, okay
prompt: celebrity/notable person
rating: pg. and then only for using the lord's name in vain.
universe: amé

Dafydd is pretty sure he hasn’t reached epic levels of pathetic-ness as far as Amé goes - he hasn’t bought notebooks just so he can write their names all over them, surrounded by little hearts and stars, and he hasn’t once stolen an article of Amé’s clothes, even though he has legitimate access, which is more than can be said for Amé’s fans, who don’t - but that doesn’t mean he isn’t kind of pathetic. )

title: when a rock star stalks a fan
prompt: celebrity/notable person. that's right, i was so excited about this one, i filled it twice.
rating: pg-13
universe: mazurka

Marlowe spots him for the first time at a show in San Francisco, which turns out to be where he lives so, okay, not unusual. )

title: this is why you don't let strange men tattoo you
prompt: ghosts/hauntings/afterlife
rating: pg
universe: eGad

Reagan probably should have listened to his mom when she said not to get tattoos outside of parlors. )

title: that was stupid, dude
prompt: free space
rating: pg
universe: eGad

Mister Seed turned away from the controls he was fiddling with - hopefully not to, like, flood the chamber Reagan was in with gas or something. )

title: what the heck... you have breasts!
prompt: genderswap
rating: pg
universe: mazurka

When Chick Reed turned into a girl, Marlowe didn’t even notice, at first. )

title: like blake, except for how i haven't read blake
prompt: fairy tales/folk lore/mythology
rating: pg.
universe: space dragon au 'verse. so au you probably won't even know which character's au forms these are.

Only an angel would hold a protest of one. )

What am I, what am I, etc.

These were also posted on [community profile] origfic_bingo over here where people were very tolerant of my silliness.
6th-Jun-2011 11:46 am
cridecoeur: (hero crossing)
title: machines and spirits ought to know
author: [personal profile] cridecoeur
prompt: faith for [community profile] parthenon
pairing: hestia/leper (or daniel/gabriel if you're freaky.)
rating: r
word count: 1232
warnings: a sociopath with super powers and a serious god complex, a cross-dressing negative who does not wear shoes despite the fact that it's really not working in his favor, and a serious disregard for quotation marks. also, i've killed off another minor character, isn't this fun?
a/n: god, does anyone but me even remember this story? i've had this part sitting on my hard drive for probably a year, and finally decided to finish it. here you go, internet, another scene from a kind-of horror story about a super powered sociopath who kills other super powered folk in really nasty ways! it's good times for all!

The shadow of a cross bisects the ground: a tilting steeple, moss-green and slick, white walls chipped away to bare boards, a door hanging off its hinges, creaking as the wind blows it back and forth, rock-shattered windows, littering colored glass, and, within, the groaning of an organ, badly played. )
5th-Jun-2011 08:41 am - a corps perdu; freyja/liv; scene one
cridecoeur: (the flowers are growing)
title: a corps perdu
author: [personal profile] cridecoeur
pairing: freyja/liv
rating: pg-13
word count: 1963
a/n: oh, look, yet another universe. this is one of the, like, million stories i keep going back and forth on for OBB. lesbian horror! with werewolves! and names picked for thematic reasons! no, really, this isn't me just being weird, again, there is history behind them. this feels like the first story with real atmosphere i have written in a long time. i approve. also, i have no idea what time dusk actually falls in the canadian wild, so i googled and took my best guess.

Gloaming spread across the countryside like blood blackening dirt as would happen, yet, yet, but not now. )

This story was also posted over here where a very kind Canadian helped me sort out my setting.
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