Give me three words and an optional non-sadistic form and I will write you a poem or song lyrics.
Give me a setting, main character, or single line of dialogue and I will write you a snippet of original fiction.
Give me a character or a pairing and a situation and I will write you fanfic for BTVS/ATS, Firefly, first 2 seasons of Torchwood, The Vorkosiganverse, Good Omens. (Other fandoms by negotiation but keep in mind i basically haven't watched TV in years.)
Got a prompt that doesn't fit the above? Throw it at the wall and see if it sticks.
She still keeps the sea shells
that she used to live in
though she can't fit in them
no more. They think she's hoarding
and she can't explain that she's
only her own girl next door.
She loves comfort food, and her
comfortable bed, with the comforter
so thick and white. Comfortable books
soothe the voice in her head
Until she turns out the light.
But she's not a comfortable girl
Though she moves at comfortable speed
Hugging the comfortable, rolling curved hips
That take her wherever she needs.
She never thought she was immortal
She never thought kisses could heal
She never thought what she needed
Made a difference to what's real.
She knows that wishes are horses
she can ride to a land
hers alone. But she'd rather remain
where the faces aren't all hers
peaking out through masks of bone
Even if it takes all of her comforts
to make it feel almost like home.
She knows it's time to move on.
But it's so hard to find
an apartment with room for the
sea shells that's she's left behind.
By an unkind person, someone who understands that it is neither easy
Nor always desirable, but only sometimes and nevertheless necessary,
The usual lumpy collection of congealed feather pillows and old knives,
Not as sharp as they'd like to be, or as soft either,
Never sure which should be applied, scalpel or shuriken, smother or soothe.
I am looking for a poem which nobody sane would print in a greeting card
Or read at a funeral. I am looking for a poem that says, I don’t pretend to know
where the border is, what we owe to the world, to each other,
to ourselves, to the taste of Scotch and sweat and smoke,
to the things that we believe are beautiful.
But I know it is no longer enough for me
That you are so altogether and entirely satisfied
Not to be good.
Want to write, not up for anything big and serious. Give me prompts and I will write you things in the comments. Unless I flake, which is why this is called Aluminum Author and not Iron Author like normal people do.
Original fic, poetry (if you want obscure forms, please link to an explanation thereof), wordy song lyrics all on offer.
The fanfic muse has been on sabbatical but I can take a stab at Buffy, Angel, Firefly, Vorkosiganverse, Heyer, Austen... if there's some other fandom you want and the author hasn't asked us not to write it, you can always ask. I've not watched much but I've read like whoa.
If you lose your elf, we will replace it
or provide a pot of gold of equivalent value
up to the mean Rainbow Standard
adjusted for inflation.
Some exclusions apply.
Loss of elf must be due to natural
or unnatural disaster
(acts of the Smaller Gods included
for an additional fee).
( Read more... )
Old engines leak oil
dead leaves and greasy rainbows
choke up the storm drain
In subway tunnels
rats who never see daylight
dream trains with cats' eyes
Up twenty stories
A clapboard house and garden
Perch on the rooftop
Four basements' basements
Lurk below this thing called ground
Anyone else want to play?
And then the memory at all. I forget to call,
I forget the first three digits of your phone number
I forget which arm bears vaccination scars
I forget if you’re the one who liked to kiss until they’re gasping
I forget the way your mouth moved in your sleep
I remember stories I have told about you
Better than the days that turned into the stories.
For all the years left I will know that it is not forever,
this scant handful of years till I forget your middle name.
I need to get writing again, and it's way past time I gave something back to LJ, so I'm gonna try writing to order again. But I am still stressed from work and don't want to add to it, so this time round I won't promise I'll be able to deliver on every request.
( Details behind the cut )
So -- poetry therapy. I'm breaking my own rule about not taking new challenges till the last round of Iron Author requests are completed. This one is poetry only. If you're interested, leave me a comment with three words and a form, or a character/situation you want me to write as, and I'll write you a poem. However I reserve the right to flake if the words or form are too sadistic -- the point of this is to keep what remains of my sanity, not lose it trying to rhyme sesquipidalian in a natural-sounding manner.
but a serviceable content spreading like sunlight,
like buttery white wine. I wish you ripe pears in hanging baskets,
an orderly kitchen, open shelves stacked high with clean crockery,
ironed sheets. ( Read more... )