• About
  • About the Brooklyn Project
  • Allies
  • Bound to the Flame Chapters and Artwork
  • Definitions and Erin-isms
  • Erin’s Point-Based Guide for Evaluating Movie Adaptions
  • Novels
  • The Archives of Selay’uu

The Upstairs Archives

~ A random repository of how-to-write and geekery, with an occasional snippet of accidental wisdom.

The Upstairs Archives

Tag Archives: completely random posts

Love Is For Children

09 Wednesday Sep 2015

Posted by erinkenobi2893 in Living Life with Passion, Story Dynamics, Tales of a Wandering Bard

≈ 20 Comments

Tags

avengers, black widow, completed stories, completely random posts, crossovers, doctor who, fanfiction, marvel, original work, short stories

I don’t know where this came from. Out of the blue, probably.

Anyway, on with the show and hopefully you all like the twist ending!

Love Is For Children

                Love is for children. I owe him a debt.

He’s sitting in her apartment when she opens the door, holding a glass that’s half-full of untouched vodka, just for the look of the thing. She’s never been able to keep him out, not that she ever really tried.

“Rough day?” she asks, setting down her Glock on the table beside the door. He inhales through his nose.

“You should know.” Setting down the glass, he stands and walks to the window. “What a view.”

Natasha sighs and reflects on the fact that she knows barely anything about this man, except for the fact that his story is rather like hers.

Too much like hers. Filled with death and betrayal.

“Is there a reason why you’re in my apartment?” He shakes his head. There never is. The Black Widow doesn’t pursue relationships, but sometimes people ask for an in. He never did and she knows he never will.

For some reason, he seems to like her company—only her company—Natasha Romanoff, the woman who built her own life back up from the rubble she was left with when she walked away from those who stole it from her, she, Natasha, who knows the feeling of dust and ash in her nose and throat, the feeling of blood spilled out onto squelching shoes and the pain of bloody broken fingernails as she claws herself by her own willpower up out of the pit.

They’re survivors, both of them. And both of them are quick to deny the simple truth that they both need anyone—someone.

Though, maybe, not so much tonight.

“I met someone,” he says. “She was special and clever and innocent, but she wasn’t naïve. And… she wouldn’t run. It was nice.”

“So, what happened?” Natasha asks, taking off her leather jacket.

“I lost her.”

Love is for children. Love is for children. Love is for children.

They would be someone else’s children, now.

The record in the background was caught in one track, skipping absurdly on one phrase.

Love is for love is for love is for…

He walked over and lifted the needle.

“I should go.” Natasha gripped his arm as he walked by her.

“Did she love you?”

“She never said.”

“But you could tell.”

“Yes.” He inhaled sharply. “I could tell.”

“And did you love her?”

“Yes.” It came out, and it sounded hollow.

“Stay with the Avengers, Natasha. All of you… you’re all going to be legends. And they’re going to need you.” he said suddenly. Natasha swallowed.

“Do you want anything? Tea?”

“Make it matter,” he said. Natasha took a deep breath.

“Will you be all right?” she asked. He turned halfway to look at her.

“I’m always all right.” Then he was gone again, and Natasha wondered just how much—or how little—she knew the Doctor.

Archivist of Selay’uu’s Journal: Summer, Day 49

04 Tuesday Aug 2015

Posted by erinkenobi2893 in Tales from Selay'uu, Tales of a Wandering Bard

≈ 406 Comments

Tags

arthurian legends, bbc merlin, completely random posts, doctor who, doomyness, humor, long rants, long rants that do not technically belong to me, marvel, randomness, selay'uu, steven moffat, the avengers, the Thing, thor

“Try the… thing!”

“I have tried it, Master Doctor!”

“Then try the other thing! I don’t know how it works! Just… poke it, I guess.”

“Why do you not use the mallet you do when your ship slips off course?”

“Why don’t you?”

“I fear I might accidentally demolish it if I did.”

“…touche.”

I opened the door to my room, only to find that it led not into the hallway, but into somewhere else. The Doctor was running circles around an object that could only be described as a Thing, while Thor was gingerly prodding it. It was shaking dramatically from side to side, glinting like a disco ball and buzzing ineffectually, like an annoyed insect.

“What’s going on?” I demanded. Thor looked up apologetically, while the Doctor opened his mouth irately and went off into a long rant or complaint (it didn’t sound much like an explanation) about rogue Time Lords, King Arthur’s second-best hat, a green-eyed basilisk, a carrot and a pigeon.*

“If you can’t get it to work,” I said practically, “and you don’t know what it is or what it does, why not just destroy it?”

On second thought, maybe not so practical–but I had had work (not the fun kind, the kind that brings in money and is miserable) and was in a vicious mood.

The Doctor opened his mouth and shut it again. “That just might work,” he said dubiously.

I looked around. “Also, why is my bedroom in the TARDIS?”

“I think the TARDIS likes you,” said Thor, bringing Mjolnir down on the Thing with a resounding clang. The Doctor muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “traitor”.

It also sounded like the TARDIS was laughing in the background.

We never did find out what the Thing was for.

It was probably a dummy and did not do anything. It is also likely that the Thing was constructed by the Master (who we put in a looney bin) as a chew toy. Or a cuddle beastie.

Who knows?

(It was a very confusing day.)


*Please don’t ask me to tell you how those particular objects are related. One: I am not Steven Moffat. Two: I doubt even Steven Moffat can understand the Doctor when he starts babbling like that. Three: I also doubt that even Steven Moffat can explain the “three things and a lizard” comment, so you should definitely NOT ask me.

Author’s Note: Who wants Thor to be a companion on Doctor Who? *raises hand* (Weeeell, any of the Avengers, really. Except maybe Tony, because he’d try to take the TARDIS apart, and that would make the Doctor really mad. Maybe. I don’t actually know.)

Hours of Men and Monsters

27 Friday Feb 2015

Posted by erinkenobi2893 in Living Life with Passion, Story Dynamics, Tales of a Wandering Bard

≈ 46 Comments

Tags

bbc sherlock, completed stories, completely random posts, fanfiction, marvel, short stories, the avengers

And now, it’s here. Two-thousand-plus words of world-saving and humor, for your enjoyment! (Also, I think the Avengers already know that Coulson’s still alive in this one… um, I don’t know why, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was Tony’s doing.) Just in time to make the deadline for proverbs31teen’s Super-Duper Fanfiction Crossover Challenge! 😀

Enjoy!


Hours of Men and Monsters

                “Mycroft, you know I always hate you, but today I want to murder you even more than usual.” Sherlock glared through the frosted glass in between the living room and dining room-cum-kitchen at the Avenger sitting uncomfortably on a couch that was not designed for a man his size. Fortunately, the man couldn’t see him. What really got to Sherlock, though, was how much Mrs. Hudson seemed to appreciate the superhero’s manners. No sooner had he walked in the door than he proceeded to charm the landlady.

“Sherlock, perhaps next time it would be better if you were to simply not interfere in my business,” Mycroft scolded. Sherlock heard it and promptly decided to ignore it. “Fury is a law unto himself. If I had my way, the men assigned to your detail would be much less… conspicuous.” Much as Sherlock disdained most of Mycroft’s associates, this Fury character must indeed be quite daring to cross Mycroft in one of these subtle ways. And it was only according to the man’s abominable sense of humor that he assigned this particular Avenger, Mycroft didn’t add, but it would have not taken a Holmes to deduce that he was thinking it. Apparently, Fury, whoever Fury was, had been making a point to Mycroft.

“I will do all in my power to break custody, Mycroft,” Sherlock vowed and cut Mycroft off, deciding as an afterthought to lock Mycroft out of his mobile for a while as a further precaution. That done, he re-entered the living room and stalked across to his pile of case files, pointedly ignoring the man on the couch. This didn’t seem to bother the superhero; not that it would. This man had been fighting off what was apparently an alien invasion mere months before. That said, it seemed like overkill to dispatch him for a simple protection detail.

Mrs. Hudson came back with tea, serving Sherlock as well as the American despite Sherlock’s patent displeasure with her usual impossible calm. After she had gone, Captain America spoke up suddenly. His voice was a low baritone, with the startling quality of an unusual pitch range and a flat Yankee twang. “I don’t trust your brother, Mr. Holmes.” Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Does anyone? I’m not to be trusted, either,” he added for his bodyguard’s benefit. The captain coughed noncommittally.

“Noted.” He continued to work carefully on a drawing. It was only Sherlock’s boredom that made him curious about the artwork, but he reined in his curiosity, determined not to show any interest whatsoever. He was Not Pleased.

A moment later, the superhero’s head came up, as if in response to some sound that, Sherlock noted with displeasure, was inaudible to him. A second later, the front door opened and shut and John’s awkward, still-slightly-lopsided-on-bad-days walk was heard coming up the stairs. The superhero appeared relaxed on the surface, but he was posed in the peculiar stance of a soldier ready to leap into action at any second. Sherlock had seen John adopt that posture any number of times. A moment later, Sherlock’s flatmate and assistant in all criminal investigations opened the door. John took it all with his usual calm. “Did one of your nonexsistent friends finally turn up or do we have a client?” he asked, shrugging out of his coat, but not setting it down or hanging it up. Sherlock frowned.

“Neither. Mycroft seems to think I need protection.”

“Last night was a bit much,” John said, remonstrating with him.

“Mycroft has no respect for me,” Sherlock announced.

“You refer to him as your ‘archenemy,’” John remarked. “I think he’s entitled.” He turned to the superhero. “I’m John Watson,” he said. Rather than shaking his hand right away, the tall man saluted.

“Steve Rogers, sir,” he said. “Captain.” John blinked and saluted back.

“I’m retired,” John said. “You knew I was a soldier.” Rogers shrugged, awkwardly.

“I’ve been in London before, used to spend quite a bit of time around your special forces and SIS… I mean intelligence…” He stammered slightly at the end. “It’s just been… a while,” he concluded, lamely. Sherlock made a face at the superhero’s back.

“Sherlock, have you done anything productive today?” John asked, ignoring the stranger for a moment, taking it in his stride, like he normally did.

“There’s nothing productive to do,” Sherlock complained, throwing himself on the couch. He watched with interest for a moment as Rogers flinched involuntarily and reached, inconspicuously, for one ear. Barely touching it, he reached into his pocket instead and hurriedly sent off a text.

“Mr. Holmes, I hope you’ll pardon the profanity—” John snorted—“but what the hell have you been getting into?” As if in response to the sudden words, a gun went off in the street below. Sherlock’s head came up. Before he could do anything, though, Rogers flinched again and actually touched the concealed earpiece this time. “Barton, speak clearly. I can’t tell what you’re trying to say.” Both Sherlock and John froze. John looked both irritated and dismayed, as if he’d been hoping for a peaceful evening, for once. Sherlock was more curious. “All right, all right! Stop shouting!” Listening again. Then, Rogers hissed an imprecation through his teeth. He turned to Sherlock and John. “Gentlemen, it seems my backup has found trouble more quickly than I gave him credit for. We’re going to have to go take care of it.” Sherlock brightened up. John shook his head, but went for his sidearm all the same. Rogers lifted a large, circular—was that actually a shield?—from behind the sofa. Sherlock had thought, hearing about the Battle of Manhattan, that the shield was just a gimmick, but now it was clear it wasn’t so. From the way the superhero held it, it was actually a weapon, and one he knew how to use. It looked slightly out of place, the silvery red and white bands and blue field with its star, with his civilian outfit of mostly navy, white and gray, but it looked anything but silly. Sherlock moved toward the front door, but Rogers caught the sleeve of his coat and pulled him with almost gingerly gentleness toward the fire escape instead. The next several minutes were a rapid journey through the alleys and back-streets of London. Rogers’ knowledge of London’s backways seemed to even rival Sherlock’s. Not long later, they arrived at a run-down district. Rogers slipped his phone out of his pocket and nodded, once, grimly. Any trace of the slightly-awkward young man of only minutes before was gone; now, he was a soldier, entirely focused on the mission. He looked at Sherlock.

“In a few minutes, we’re going to go in there, get Hawkeye, and blow those scum to kingdom come,” he said. “I’d ask you to stay back, Mr. Holmes, but I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t listen to me, and I generally make it a point not to give orders when people are just going to disobey them.” There was a brief flash of humor in the American’s gray eyes, then he walked briskly toward the entrance to the empty warehouse.

“How cliché can they make it?” John muttered. Rogers cocked his head, as if listening to something on his earpiece. Then he reached down, grabbing the padlock and slipping two fingers on each hand into the metal loop. He pulled straight out and the loop bent, then simply shattered. He slid the door open a crack, looking in.

“Let’s move,” he said.

It was eerily silent inside. The warehouse was almost entirely empty, gutted. It had been recently swept and dusted, though, as if waiting for sale to a new owner. For such a big man, Captain Rogers could move with astoundingly little sound. They kept to the shadows, hoping to remain undetected, as Rogers scanned the area.

“Five men on the upper level. Two below. The two down here are supposed to be keeping watch. If we can slip past them, though, we’ll have the upper hand. We’ll get to the upper level, free Hawkeye, and then take them out.” That said, he shot off into a flat run, entirely silent and completely unnoticed by the men who Sherlock could just barely make out. He sprang to the upper level, using hand- and foot-holds that most people would not have been able to find or utilize. Tucking into a tight roll, he flipped over the bannister and slammed the shield into the back of someone’s head. Sherlock sprinted to the stairs, followed by the doctor. Rogers had grabbed a knife from someone else’s sheath and cut up through the cuffs on the man kneeling on the floor. The blade snapped with the strain, but it did the trick, freeing the other man, who leaped to his feet, swiping the legs out from under one of his former captors. Sherlock swept out the gun and shot one of the men in the shoulder; John’s revolver cracked and another fell, clutching his leg. All the hits were non-lethal, through unspoken consent. If Mycroft chose to clean up the mess later, that was his affair.

Between the four of them, they took down all but one of the seven men. The last of the enemy footsoldiers stood awkwardly, half-on and half-off the stairs, one leg over the banister in his nervousness and eagerness to escape. “Sir, please dismount the banister,” Rogers shouted at him. John cleared his throat, to cover up a laugh. “Last warning.” The man pulled out a gun, shakily. Hawkeye had a bow now, an arrow on the string.

“Want me to put one through his eye, sir?”

“I’d prefer the hand, but he’ll get a concussion either way,” Rogers said. The man on the railing tried to bring the gun up, but Rogers threw the shield in a single smooth, powerful motion. It ricocheted off the man’s chest and knocked him from his perch. Without batting an eye, the soldier caught it easily. “Idiot.” John snorted again. Rogers glanced at him. “What?”

“You know, you sounded exactly like Coulson for a moment there,” Hawkeye remarked, quietly.

“Are you sure it’s not the other way around and Coulson sounds like me? Because that might make more sense, considering the time displacement.” Hawkeye scowled at him. Rogers gave the other superhero an innocent look. “What? You said you liked mind-benders.”

“It’s a wonder the Avengers ever get anything done,” Sherlock mumbled as he fired off a text at Mycroft. John cleared his throat and shot him a meaningful look.

“We’ll probably end up hanging around for a few days, but that’s only a formality,” Hawkeye—or Clint Barton—informed the detective and doctor over tea, later. “And to assuage your brother’s paranoia.”

“You do realize that Mycroft probably has the flat bugged, right?” John said quietly. Rogers shrugged.

“I refused to turn up at my own Medal of Honor ceremony last time I was in London, despite all the brass and politicians who were planning on coming. I don’t care what they think or want to hear, I’m always going to stick with the honest truth, no matter how much they hate me for it. And Clint would prod them just to see them fume. Trust me, doctor; neither of us cares who overhears what we say. While SHIELD sponsors the Avengers, we’re technically independent, which means that the WSC doesn’t have us in their pocket. I’m sure that doesn’t bother Mycroft Holmes, because he can predict us, but it does rather put a nettle in the trousers of certain of the other members.”

“It’s almost frightening how good a judge of character you are,” John remarked. Rogers made a face.

“It’s a necessary part of being a leader.”

“Hey, at least he won’t tell you where you’ve been just by the pebble stuck in your shoe,” Barton chimed in. “Though he is a pain at other times. He tries to make the rest of us eat—” he shuddered—“healthy food. And exercise. And do stuff like that.”

“You’re just a lazy donkey, Barton,” Rogers teased. Barton leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head, and whistled.

“I’m good at what I do,” he said. “I don’t care about what I don’t.” Rogers looked at John.

“I think you know what I have to put up with. I stepped into their last handler’s place as the official babysitter for five superheroes.” John gave him a conspiratorial look.

“I’m surprised you don’t have gray hair lurking somewhere,” he said, obviously actually directed at Sherlock.

“It might be hard to find,” Rogers mused, tongue in cheek, as he ran a hand through his dirty-blond hair. Barton poked his team leader in the side.

“You’re only twenty-six,” he accused.

“Almost twenty-seven,” Rogers protested.

“Details, details,” Clint waved his hand airily. “You’re still the baby of the team.”

“I am not!”

John grinned. Sherlock gave him the not-quite-smiling look that said I’m-actually-laughing-now-but-you’ve-never-heard-me-so-you-wouldn’t-know.

Later on, when John typed up this strange case of the globetrotting supervillains, he posed the question on everyone’s minds.

In the time of gods and monsters, what is the worth of a man?

                Whatever he makes it.


What say you, readers mine? Did it make the cut? Would you like to see an expanded version? Please tell me in the comments. 🙂

Thanks for reading, and God Bless!

Marvel’s Red Shirts?

02 Friday Jan 2015

Posted by erinkenobi2893 in Living Life with Passion

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

captain america: the first avenger, completely random posts, iron man, marvel, rambling musings, randomness, stuff i notice

I just noticed something. But rather than tell you, I think I’ll show you:

yinsenerskine

Okay? You know who those guys are, right? Well, if you were paying attention in Iron Man (and even if you weren’t while watching Captain America: The First Avenger), you’d know that the first one is Dr. Yinsen, incidentally the guy who saves Tony Stark’s life in the first couple minutes of the movie and helps him ultimately escape (oh, did I forget to say “spoiler alert?” Whoopsie…), and the second one is Dr. Abraham Erskine, the man who created the supersoldier serum and who was instrumental in making Steve Rogers into a superhero.

What the flaming kerfuffle, Marvel?

I’m noticing a pattern here. Scientist person. Key to the early character development/hero’s journey of the central character. Gunned down early in the film.

The guy with the glasses always dies. (Except for Brucie, but he’s a central character. He doesn’t count.)

I hope this isn’t a pattern. I was enjoying the feeling that Marvel movies were unpredictable.

Ladies and gentlemen: legitimate Red Shirt of the Marvelverse. The guy with the glasses.

(And now that I’ve, hopefully, made you laugh, here’s something I found while out browsing the web that hit me right in the feels.)

oh, look! Guys in parkas and someone lying frozen solid on a table!

These guys are going to be in SO MUCH TROUBLE when SHIELD finds out that Steve was actually aware of them the entire time. It was in the flashback–he remembers it! *cries* Poor guy… *sobs wildly*

i dont know if anyone cares

*cries* No. Just… no.

He froze to death and he remembers it.

People, that’s just too much… *goes to cry in a shrubbery*

Silliness, Part Two

19 Friday Dec 2014

Posted by erinkenobi2893 in Living Life with Passion, Story Dynamics, Tales of a Wandering Bard, Uncategorized

≈ 12 Comments

Tags

bbc merlin, completely random posts, confusing nonsense, extremely random posts, humor, insanity, j.r.r. tolkien, rambling musings, randomness, silliness, the chronicles of narnia, the hobbit, the lord of the rings

Does anyone remember A Random Story, that silly take-a-turn writing piece I did back in January with two friends to pass the time as we headed back from the March for Life?

Well, here’s some more! With thanks to everyone at Mockingjay14’s birthday party. (The first part is mine, the second is Iris‘… it was her sister’s birthday party, anyway. 😉 ) Everyone took a turn at writing a little more onto a story, and each paragraph represents a different writer. Enjoy the silliness!


Once upon a time in a room full of dead ferns a man in black rose from purple moss and strode purposefully away. He threw a black sword into the black air with a black scowl and proclaimed, “WOOF!”

No, really, that wasn’t what he actually said… what he actually said was, “I summon thee, Dark One,” after which a cloaked figure appeared. The man was surprised by the Dark One’s short stature, and when he threw back his cloak, he turned out to be…

Bilbo in disguise! He was quite grumpy because he had lost all of his pocket-handkerchiefs. He had been searching for one when he had…

fallen down a cliff, meanwhile hitting his head, passing out, and rolled into the purple moss. He happened to be allergic to it, so…

his whole face swelled up, and he began to notice that it was becoming hard to breathe. So, he threw himself down, and took a nap.

Then, when he woke up, he suddenly felt an urge to eat circus peanuts when he saw…

an elephant who wanted peanuts as well. The elephant said, “I DON’T LIKE PURPLE!”

Bilbo ran away from the elephant because it was scaring him, but it chased him! Then a flying figure appeared above Bilbo. It was…

Fledge, with Merlin, Frodo, and Cor and Corin on his back and all of them were having a huge argument. Bilbo and everyone else…

decided to get as far away as possible. On the way, they ran into Tauriel. She saw Bilbo and said, “Aww, you poor little hobbit. Here, let me help.” Then she healed Bilbo, and they set off for the Shire. But if they ever got there or not, we’ll never know.


Author’s note: Erm… sorry about this. It’s been in my drafts for months. About five months, in fact. Apparently I lost it in my drafts–you’re just super fortunate I finally found it again. Always good for a laugh, right?

Thanks for reading, and God Bless! (Merry Christmas!)

 

When Can I See You Again? (Song fic, multi-fandom)

02 Thursday Oct 2014

Posted by erinkenobi2893 in Tales of a Wandering Bard

≈ 29 Comments

Tags

bbc sherlock, completed stories, completely random posts, rise of the guardians, sherlock holmes, song-related fiction, star wars

Here it is, darling readers, my first multi-fandom song fic!

I’ve done enough depressing stuff recently, so I thought I’d do something happy and fun and upbeat for a change. And I used “When Can I see You Again” by Owl City (from Wreck-it Ralph) because I liked it better than “Here’s To Never Growing Up” and I LIKE IT OKAY. 😛 Just one thing: This isn’t intended to be romantic (though I do have John and Mary and Obi-Wan and Siri in it…) It’s mostly just for fun.

So, why Jack Frost and Jamie, Obi-Wan and Siri, and Sherlock and John? Well… this song fits Jack Frost, and I thought it would be fun to have Obi-Wan and Siri just be teenagers for once, and I’m STILL dealing with the Season Three mood swings from Sherlock. Please, don’t ask me what and why and when. It’s artistic license. 😛 Also, I love these adorable kids. Do I really need a better reason…?

Anyway, enjoy the song fic! 😀


When Can I See You Again?

When can we do this again?

When can I see you again?

                Jack leaped to the sky, waving goodbye to Jamie. There were other places he had to visit, other children to protect, but Jamie would always have a special place in his heart.

When can we do this again?

When can I see you again?

                Obi-Wan dashed down the alleyway, laughing so hard he could scarcely stand upright. Garen dashed after him. “Come back here, you villain!” he shouted dramatically.

“Not on your life!” Obi-Wan shouted back, still laughing. He leaped sideways and ducked under the edge of a building, flattening himself against the wall and trying his hardest to stifle his chuckles before Garen caught him. A hand grasped his shoulder, and he looked sharply over. Siri was standing right next to him, trying with equal fervor to silence her own amusement.

When can we do this again?

When can I see you again?

                Sherlock and John dashed down an alleyway, and their pursuers rushed by. “If you girls are done playing, the case is waiting,” Lestrade shouted them. John almost laughed around.

“This was fun,” he said. Sherlock seemed surprised to find himself nodding.

Switch on the sky and the stars glow for you

Go see the world ‘cause it’s all so brand new

Don’t close your eyes ‘cause your future’s ready to shine

It’s just a matter of time, before we learn how to fly

Welcome to the rhythm of the night

There’s something in the air you can’t deny

                Jack chased the wind, with Sandy beside him. “I’d forgotten how much fun this is!” he shouted over the wind. Sandy grinned widely. Suddenly, the Sandman’s eyes widened and he pointed down.

Jack stared down, shouting aloud in joy and wonder at the sight of the majestic waterfall below them. They raced over the peaks of mountains, flying as fast as a heartbeat.

They chased the northern lights, toward the sunset, watching as the sky turned to night, sprinkled with countless stars.

It’s been fun but now I’ve got to go

Life is way too short to take it slow

But before I go and hit the road

I gotta know, ‘til then,

When can we do this again?

Oh oh oh oh

When can I see you again?

Oh oh oh oh

When can we do this again?

Oh oh oh oh

I gotta know, when can I see you again?

                “We should do this again sometime,” John smiled. Sherlock smiled back. It felt surprisingly good to see a smile on the former army doctor’s face. He hadn’t even been aware that it had been missing, but it felt so right, now.

Donovan might frown and shake her head behind their backs, but Lestrade shut her up. Who cared what Mycroft thought?

Caring might be a disadvantage, but it was one that he would be glad to assume.

When can I see you again?

                Jack gripped Jamie by the hand. “Come on, you have to see this!”

Scraping the sky, Jamie laughed with exhilaration. He wasn’t afraid at all; he trusted Jack. “Wow!”

Joined at the hip, yeah your sidekick needs you

Life is a trip down the road that leads you

Look all around at all the mountains you haven’t climbed

It’s just a matter of time, before we learn how to fly

Welcome to the rhythm of the night

There’s something in the air you can’t deny

                Obi-Wan smiled up at Qui-Gon. “I was wrong. This was a great idea.” Qui-Gon gave him a silly smirk.

“I told you so, my young apprentice. I am never wrong.” They fell around the hotel room, laughing. It just felt so good to relax like this after so long. “What shall we do next, Padawan?” Qui-Gon asked. Obi-Wan smiled.

“Let’s go find out where Master Adi and Siri are staying and… I don’t know. Maybe just go visit the Old Market?” Qui-Gon grinned.

“That sounds like a good idea, Padawan mine.”

It’s been fun but now I’ve got to go

Life is way too short to take it slow

But before I go and hit the road

I gotta know, ‘til then,

When can we do this again?

Oh oh oh oh

When can I see you again?

Oh oh oh oh

When can we do this again?

Oh oh oh oh

I gotta know,

When can I see you again?

                Sherlock gripped John by the shoulders. “Listen to me. Listen to me, John. I’m back now. I won’t leave again. I promise you.” John took a deep breath.

“Mary, what do you think?” Mary Morstan smiled.

“I think you have incredible friends,” she said. At last, John smiled back. Mary slung her arms around their shoulders. “We should do this again.” To John’s incredulous snort and Sherlock’s “What!”, she replied, “No, not the whole faking deaths thing. I mean, just going out and solving a mystery together, the three of us.”

“You’re right,” said Sherlock.

“We should do this again,” John finished for him.

Don’t close your eyes ‘cause your future’s ready to shine

It’s just a matter of time, before we learn how to fly

Welcome to the rhythm of the night

There’s something in the air you can’t deny

So let me know before I wave goodbye

                “Come on, Kenobi!” Siri gripped Obi-Wan’s arm and dragged him out onto the dance floor.

“Siri, no—”

“Don’t be such a stick in the mud!” Siri laughed, her hair flying in time to the music. Obi-Wan made one last, abortive attempt to escape. Siri recaptured him easily. Obi-Wan glanced pleadingly at the two masters, who were standing by the edge of the square. Qui-Gon made a shooing motion at him, grinning from ear to ear. Obi-Wan made a face at him. Master Gallia was laughing. A moment later, Qui-Gon turned to look at her. Offering her his arm, gallantly, he led her out onto the floor. Shrugging in resignation, Obi-Wan turned back to Siri. She grinned with exhilaration. “You ready, Obi-Wan?”

When can I see you again?

Oh oh oh oh

                Jack perched on the spire, Jamie on his shoulder. Sandy hovered nearby, sending out the soft golden tendrils of dreamsand. Jamie sat open-mouthed, watching. Jack smiled. It wasn’t that surprising. Jamie had only seen this in waking life once before.

When can we do this again?

Oh oh oh oh

                “Just one more song!” Siri whispered as Obi-Wan was about to lead her off the dance floor. Obi-Wan hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

When can I see you again?

Oh oh oh oh

                Mary fell asleep in the cab on the way home, her head on John’s shoulder. John glanced over and smiled at Sherlock, and the detective smiled back.

All was well with their world at long last.

When can we do this again?

Oh oh oh oh

                Siri and Obi-Wan slipped out the back way, sneaking away from Garen and back to the Temple. It might be only a game, but they figured that, at least for now, they had a right to play it.

Yeah, it’s been fun but now I’ve got to go

Life is way too short to take it slow

But before I go and hit the road

Tell me when

When can I see you again?

When can I see you again?

Tell me when

When can I see you again?

                As Jack was carrying Jamie back to bed, Jamie sleepily murmured, “Do this again?” Jack grinned at Sandy.

“Of course.”

“Let’s do this again sometime,” Adi said as the four Jedi were heading back to their hotel. Obi-Wan gaped at her for a moment, then Siri poked him in the arm.

“As long as it gets you off your high horse,” she teased.

“Are we doing this again?” Sherlock asked. John smiled, helping Mary out of the cab.

“Definitely.”

Checkmate

25 Monday Aug 2014

Posted by erinkenobi2893 in Tales of a Wandering Bard

≈ 35 Comments

Tags

completed stories, completely random posts, experiments, short stories

Hello, readers all!

My being sick has led to this. I offer no apology or explanation. I just hope you all enjoy it. Caveat Lector: It’s rather dark. If you want to know… partly a challenge from Iris. She wanted me to write something in first person, present tense. Here you go, Iris dear. I hope you like it. 😛


Checkmate

                I am so tired.

I didn’t sleep last night; the coughing got worse. I couldn’t sleep much. Apparently it’s impossible to sleep while you’re coughing the fluid out of your lungs. I almost wish I hadn’t been coughing all night long—just gone to sleep and drowned, quietly, in my sleep—never woken up—been at peace—

No. I can’t wish that. There are things I have to do.

I press a hand to my chest as I break out into hollow coughing, yet again. It’s so bad this time that I find myself not just coughing, but throwing up as well. Just perfect. And there are red streaks in it too, which means that I’m sicker than I thought. I’m going to die soon.

I can’t die yet. There are things that must be done first. After that, I don’t care. It doesn’t matter.

To die would be an awfully big adventure.

I slide into a corner, trying to stifle the coughs, at least to make them quieter, perhaps to silence them. Or… since I have to sneak in, perhaps I could just cough myself dry—purge the fluid, so I could breathe—for a little longer—yes.

I force myself to cough, until I am doubled over and wrung out, panting with the effort. It hurts, but I embrace the pain. Pain is good. It tells me that I’m not done yet.

Exhaustion dogging my steps, I creep into the fortress. It is ironically easy, as if she is still subtly mocking me with this. I don’t care. I am grateful.

I don’t think she really planned for this eventuality.

The weapons room is not so easy to find. That’s not surprising. My mind is growing clouded, spinning out of control with fever and illness. But I do find it. And when I do, I destroy it.

The feeling of my fist smashing into the screen is a good one, despite that my knuckles crack and burn, blood streaming down over my hand. It gives me the illusion of power—power that I actually do, ironically, have, now. I rip out the circuits and smash the memory chip. The whole matrix fritzes out. I have just destroyed her entire operation. And even though I am weak and ill, I’ve just done it. I succeeded. It’s an exhilarating feeling, almost like a drug, and it gives me strength I don’t have, I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t use it—but I don’t care. I am already dying, and I might as well make the most of it.

I find her. Not the other way around. I smile. I can spare her that much.

“Goldan,” she says, in a flat, dead voice. What have they done to you, littleing? I miss you. I miss you.

“Hello, sister dear.” I say, and then I fall, in slow motion.

It doesn’t hurt anymore.

Checkmate.

Morality Sans Preachiness

29 Tuesday Jul 2014

Posted by erinkenobi2893 in Living Life with Passion, Story Dynamics, Uncategorized

≈ 38 Comments

Tags

author, avoiding preachiness, characters, completely random posts, confusing nonsense, editor, insanity, muse, small rants, story dynamics, writer, writing

In modern writing, there is one big no-no, above every other taboo, except, perhaps, a poorly-thought-out plot or out-of-character characters (see Out of Character Syndrome or OOCS), and that is sounding preachy. Whatever your authorly stance on controversial issues, you must never, ever preach. Nothing sends readers running for the hills like a sanctimonious bludgeoning of preachiness thinly disguised as a story. For one thing, authors of such tripe rarely take the time to actually write a story instead of just a sermon. Your story should not be a story with a moral, it should be a story that “just happens” to have a moral. It takes talent and practice to write a story that happens to have a moral. The moral should not be the be-all and end-all of the story–rather, it should rise gradually, organically, from the rest of the tale.

But the simplest way of putting morals and morality into your story without sounding preachy can and should be easy. (Mind, I didn’t say simple–just simplest.) Simply put, neither should you as the narrator intrude on the story to preach, nor should your characters. They should not–unless it is absolutely necessary to the story–ever state their moral code, but it should be abundantly clear by their actions that they do have one. This is the very heart of good writing. Also, if the moral code in your story is ever stated, hypocrisy will become a very serious offense in your reader’s eyes. It can be used in order to create hate for a given character in your readers, and can cause a serious “alignment check.” Which means, your character may be on a fast road to the Dark Side, even if it’s only in your reader’s eyes; what your readers see is everything to them. It’s better to manipulate those emotions than it is to have those emotions slip out and betray you, which is why it’s also important to check back a couple times on what your readers will be thinking, and what they should be thinking.

To recap, your characters should not preach; they should not say “right” or “wrong” unless it’s necessary to the plot. Rather, make it clear by their actions that they are good people.

Thanks for reading, and God Bless! Love all you wonderful people. 😉

Quote

A few thoughts on homeschooling

23 Wednesday Jul 2014

Posted by erinkenobi2893 in Living Life with Passion, Uncategorized

≈ 37 Comments

Tags

completely random posts, homeschooling, humor, life, rambling musings, small rants, wisdom, yay

I was commenting on Rachel Carrera’s blog, and we got to talking about homeschooling. (I also was talking about it with pinkdoughnuts15, too. HOMESCHOOLERS UNITE!!!) Anyway, I somehow (it happens, sometimes,) came out with this pithy piece of wisdom:

At public school, kids learn stuff. Homeschooling kids learn how to think.

I don’t know how I got to that conclusion, but that’s how I feel. At college last year, I met other students, and was in the top 10% of all my classes. About my lowest grade was a B+. People thought I was really smart, but I think it was partly because I had already covered a great deal of the material before, and partly because being homeschooled had taught me good thinking strategies.

Also, for some reason “homeschooling” is accepted as correct by this stupid word processing program, but not “homeschooled” or “homeschool.” What’s with that?

Hooray for homeschoolers! X-D

Archivist of Selay’uu’s Journal: Vivaldi

21 Monday Jul 2014

Posted by erinkenobi2893 in Living Life with Passion, Tales from Selay'uu, Uncategorized

≈ 12 Comments

Tags

completely random posts, disney, frozen, humor, insanity, pixar, selay'uu, star wars

A couple of days ago, I was walking past Obi-Wan’s room on my way to the breakfast room, which was empty, to meet with Gervaise in order to get to work on his story. However, as I drew level with his room, I spotted Ventress standing outside it, shouting through the keyhole. Instantly intrigued, I ducked into one of the conveniently-placed curtained alcoves that are scattered all over the old house. Frankly, with those things in place, I’m surprised there are any secrets left in the House of Selay’uu at all.

I had arrived too late to witness Ventress’ initial arrival and shouts through the keyhole, but now I could hear Obi-Wan’s reply quite clearly, despite the fact that there was a door, a hallway’s worth of open space, a former Sith, and a curtain between us. “Go away, Ventress! I’m busy!”

“Oh, come on!” Ventress growled, at her most sultry (and, most irritating, for both me and Obi-Wan,) I thought. Was she trying to ask him out? I stuffed my hand in my mouth to stifle the giggles. If she was, she’d have to beat Morgana to it–and besides, Obi-Wan didn’t date people that I knew of, and I could not imagine him dating anyone at any rate. “What’s so important? What are you doing in there? Not washing up, I hope?” There was a loud bang and a sharp clatter as something hit the door and Ventress jumped backwards in an attempt to not get jarred. Obi-Wan had thrown something–a pewter mug, perhaps. Maybe even the self-same one he normally kept his pens in. I inwardly grinned. Testy. This was going to be a show to remember.

“I’m listening to Vivaldi! Clear off!” Obi-Wan shouted back. Ventress growled again, really grumpy now.

“You need to learn to make better excuses, Obi-Wan dear.”

“You scarcely know me, Ventress. That wasn’t an excuse. Go boil your head.”

No matter what else Ventress said or did, short of cutting the door open (which would have gotten her confined to her own room, sans either lightsaber and stripped of the Force by the order of the Council), Obi-Wan would not make any further reply to her shouts, and at last Ventress lost interest and wandered off. Suddenly remembering my own appointment, I hurried off as well. I was late, but Gervaise didn’t complain.

Later, as I passed Ventress on the way to bed, I added insult to her injury by humming “Do You Want to Build a Snowman” rather conspicuously. Ahhh… life in the House of Selay’uu.

← Older posts

The Teenaged Superhero Society

Proud Member of the Teenaged Superhero Society

Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 300 other followers
Follow The Upstairs Archives on WordPress.com

Categories

  • Artwork (19)
  • Living Life with Passion (204)
  • Story Dynamics (156)
  • Tales from Selay'uu (36)
  • Tales of a Wandering Bard (229)
    • Bound to the Flame (21)
    • Shifting Tides Series (20)
      • Battlefield of the Soul (5)
      • The Hero's Dream (15)
  • The Brooklyn Project (11)
  • The Music Writing Challenge (5)
  • Uncategorized (231)

Archives

  • March 2018
  • December 2017
  • November 2017
  • October 2017
  • April 2017
  • February 2017
  • December 2016
  • November 2016
  • October 2016
  • September 2016
  • August 2016
  • June 2016
  • May 2016
  • April 2016
  • February 2016
  • January 2016
  • December 2015
  • November 2015
  • October 2015
  • September 2015
  • August 2015
  • July 2015
  • June 2015
  • May 2015
  • April 2015
  • March 2015
  • February 2015
  • January 2015
  • December 2014
  • November 2014
  • October 2014
  • September 2014
  • August 2014
  • July 2014
  • June 2014
  • May 2014
  • April 2014
  • March 2014
  • February 2014
  • January 2014
  • December 2013
  • November 2013
  • October 2013
  • September 2013
  • August 2013

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.

Privacy & Cookies: This site uses cookies. By continuing to use this website, you agree to their use.
To find out more, including how to control cookies, see here: Cookie Policy
  • Follow Following
    • The Upstairs Archives
    • Join 300 other followers
    • Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
    • The Upstairs Archives
    • Customize
    • Follow Following
    • Sign up
    • Log in
    • Report this content
    • View site in Reader
    • Manage subscriptions
    • Collapse this bar
 

Loading Comments...