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Feb. 28th, 2009 12:08 am:::::
The real life (insofar as I post about it) and fandom chatter on this journal is now friends only. Some of the more recent fiction can be seen below in public posts. Most all is archived over at AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Damson
If you'd like to friend me, by all means go ahead.
And if you should somehow know me in real life, let yourself be known!
:::::
FIC: SPN | all things go
Oct. 7th, 2006 07:22 pmTitle: All Things Go
Author: Damson
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: Gen
Spoilers: 2.01, 2.02.
[ An episode bridge (if you will) ~670 words.]
Notes: This is with many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
likethesun2 for the beta. She’s a gem, and so if there are any mistakes left in this, or any pieces of dodginess, it’s all my fault. Title rather gratefully nicked from a Sufjan Stevens track. This is set, as you shall see, between 2.01 and 2.02. Feedback is held and petted!
( There was an entry at the back of John’s journal written in tidy black ink, two paragraphs on the inside of the back cover, on a page that would never fall out. )
Author: Damson
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: Gen
Spoilers: 2.01, 2.02.
[ An episode bridge (if you will) ~670 words.]
Notes: This is with many thanks to
likethesun2 for the beta. She’s a gem, and so if there are any mistakes left in this, or any pieces of dodginess, it’s all my fault. Title rather gratefully nicked from a Sufjan Stevens track. This is set, as you shall see, between 2.01 and 2.02. Feedback is held and petted!( There was an entry at the back of John’s journal written in tidy black ink, two paragraphs on the inside of the back cover, on a page that would never fall out. )
So, em, throughout the first flushes of new fandom lust love—just the month before last in fact—I began to bookmark the occasional mp3 that, sortof-kindof, shouted McKay/Sheppard through my earphones. This, rather eclectic mix, is a grouping of those. And with the proviso that I’m playing fast and loose with the lyrical meanings, hopefully a few other people might get a kick out of them too. If nothing else, have a few mp3s on me, yarrr m’mateys...
So, let me know your thoughts, I'd love to hear any comments, and if the sendspace link dies let me know that too and I'll stick up a replacement when I get a chance. The files are also very generously hosted bymegolas in trade for my first-born, so be sure to comment if you snag them, or the ZIP, from her server.
So, let me know your thoughts, I'd love to hear any comments, and if the sendspace link dies let me know that too and I'll stick up a replacement when I get a chance. The files are also very generously hosted by
megolas in trade for my first-born, so be sure to comment if you snag them, or the ZIP, from her server. 
Fic written in the dead of night.
Jan. 12th, 2004 01:43 pmOMG! where does this shit come from?
This takes place in Le chateau of nco lust as seen in Points. Because if ever there was a stage for a soap opera... just kidding. //laughs// As usual, unbetaed, so apologies for questionable (or as I like to call it groundbreakingly inventive) grammar. This is for Azure, who sprinkled a bit of Talbert/Grant joy into my journal by way of drabbage the other day to cheer me up, and who is a doll.
( Theirlovetastesofwhiskeyandfeelsassmoothasanewdeckofcards. )
Now, off to college I go!
This takes place in Le chateau of nco lust as seen in Points. Because if ever there was a stage for a soap opera... just kidding. //laughs// As usual, unbetaed, so apologies for questionable (or as I like to call it groundbreakingly inventive) grammar. This is for Azure, who sprinkled a bit of Talbert/Grant joy into my journal by way of drabbage the other day to cheer me up, and who is a doll.
( Theirlovetastesofwhiskeyandfeelsassmoothasanewdeckofcards. )
Now, off to college I go!
Done and dusted.
Dec. 31st, 2003 04:59 amFinally. I'm going to bed now, but before I do, might I offer BoB fic.
F R A G M E N T
Lipton/Luz.
Band of Brothers
pg-13
Feedback & constructive criticism welcomed.
orange petals beneath his fingertips, soft as Lipton's skin where his scar lies, his lowdown scar, the stems of tall grass, crops, standing to attention, in his other hand he holds his M1, rests its barrel against his shoulder, such duplicity has become commonplace and more often than not, the darkness and light coexist in fraught harmony, the pale blue flock wallpaper glints in the low light, they finished playing cards hours ago, no monetary gambling, just gambling futures on the spin of die, he could feel his hands chill in the draft that swept from behind him, through an open doorway, clenched fists, white sheets beneath them, privacy is never found here, it's stolen.
( Alternatively you can read the entire thing at once, in a sequence of my own choosing, after this lj-cut. Happy New Year all. )
F R A G M E N T
Lipton/Luz.
Band of Brothers
pg-13
Feedback & constructive criticism welcomed.
orange petals beneath his fingertips, soft as Lipton's skin where his scar lies, his lowdown scar, the stems of tall grass, crops, standing to attention, in his other hand he holds his M1, rests its barrel against his shoulder, such duplicity has become commonplace and more often than not, the darkness and light coexist in fraught harmony, the pale blue flock wallpaper glints in the low light, they finished playing cards hours ago, no monetary gambling, just gambling futures on the spin of die, he could feel his hands chill in the draft that swept from behind him, through an open doorway, clenched fists, white sheets beneath them, privacy is never found here, it's stolen.
( Alternatively you can read the entire thing at once, in a sequence of my own choosing, after this lj-cut. Happy New Year all. )
ah, feck it.
Nov. 22nd, 2003 02:09 amHave decided to just jump and post. I could go into why I always need to work up the courage to post any fic here, but I'd bore you all myself to tears.
So. Erm, sparked by this which is Hot. And like yes, without further ado. Unbetad et al. Apologies for anydodgy inventive grammar, I try my best. plus it's 2am and eh, ideas always seem good this time of night.
...
Untitled #01. PerconteLuz.
George tastes like smoke, unsurprising really, since every time Frank sees him he's got a cigarette in his mouth. Smoke and ash - and when Frank kisses him there's grit in their mouths and possibly shells exploding all around the foxhole they're in. He cares to keep his body intact, so he darts away, looks up, looks around. Ready to fire, ready to run. But there's nothing. The earth around is as still and silent and white as it's been for hours. George is looking at him with dark eyes, mouth slightly open, there's no cigarette, but. George reaches into his pocket, pulls out one of his last two. Frank buries his face as far down into his coat as he can, tucks his hands under his arms. Needs to get away from the cold; they're always trying to get away from it. He watches George light up, his hands shake as he grinds the flint on the lighter. Sucking in a deep drag he lets it spill out through his nose and mouth, into the cold night.
...
So. Erm, sparked by this which is Hot. And like yes, without further ado. Unbetad et al. Apologies for any
...
Untitled #01. PerconteLuz.
George tastes like smoke, unsurprising really, since every time Frank sees him he's got a cigarette in his mouth. Smoke and ash - and when Frank kisses him there's grit in their mouths and possibly shells exploding all around the foxhole they're in. He cares to keep his body intact, so he darts away, looks up, looks around. Ready to fire, ready to run. But there's nothing. The earth around is as still and silent and white as it's been for hours. George is looking at him with dark eyes, mouth slightly open, there's no cigarette, but. George reaches into his pocket, pulls out one of his last two. Frank buries his face as far down into his coat as he can, tucks his hands under his arms. Needs to get away from the cold; they're always trying to get away from it. He watches George light up, his hands shake as he grinds the flint on the lighter. Sucking in a deep drag he lets it spill out through his nose and mouth, into the cold night.
...
Why is it that (occasionally) I can write pages and pages of slash and not blink but when it comes to writing 2000 words of an essay I crawl through it. Hrm, I'm really not looking for an answer to that... ;)
Draft 1 mostly done. Leaving to settle before editing.
Watched some BoB. I was having lunch, it's allowed!
My brain won't stop plotting angsty sonnet-esque stuff featuring mainly Bastogne trench ugliness.
I was making up paragraphs of such things whilst in the damn shower last night.
This however is set D-Day: just a small clip at the mo, apologies if it's utter shite. I just want to give back to you lovely people who've been so welcoming of late.
[They fell to the ground like angels with their wings clipped. But there was nothing angelic about hitting the ground hard, joints jarring, that was if you hit the ground with your parachute open at all. The air around was close and damp, and quiet, but the noise of anti-aircraft fire drove home the fact that their enemy lay close, or at least a notion of enemy some abstract distance away. Ridding himself of his chute while observing the surrounding hedgerows for signs of his platoon, he wondered again what he'd feel when he killed his first Nazi.]
[transmission truncated. Damson has been overwhelmed by thenerves of posting own stuff angst. Overload. Overload. Normal transmissions will continue soon.]
Draft 1 mostly done. Leaving to settle before editing.
Watched some BoB. I was having lunch, it's allowed!
My brain won't stop plotting angsty sonnet-esque stuff featuring mainly Bastogne trench ugliness.
I was making up paragraphs of such things whilst in the damn shower last night.
This however is set D-Day: just a small clip at the mo, apologies if it's utter shite. I just want to give back to you lovely people who've been so welcoming of late.
[They fell to the ground like angels with their wings clipped. But there was nothing angelic about hitting the ground hard, joints jarring, that was if you hit the ground with your parachute open at all. The air around was close and damp, and quiet, but the noise of anti-aircraft fire drove home the fact that their enemy lay close, or at least a notion of enemy some abstract distance away. Ridding himself of his chute while observing the surrounding hedgerows for signs of his platoon, he wondered again what he'd feel when he killed his first Nazi.]
[transmission truncated. Damson has been overwhelmed by the
