Aug. 19th, 2008

karanguni: (terry MCGINNIS)
that I knew would not be there

Fandom: DCAU: Batman Beyond
Characters: Terry\Bruce (oddstroke for potential gen; tomato/tomahto)
Rating: PG
Warnings: Post-Lazarus Pit Bruce. Jason Todd Exists. Gen pretending to be slash pretending to be gen!
Summary Training with Bruce should be a game played by Bruce's rules: should.
Arc: Counting down the hours

1458 words, and Bruce is a really creepy old man - almost as creepy as Terry is, well, saucy. And a wench. The first one in the series that reads like it should.

The thing, Terry thinks desperately, about Bruce is that he always pays you back. )
karanguni: (BATMAN and NIGHTWING)
Sometimes I feel, in the middle of an urban city of concrete, like the most beautiful thing in the world that could be done would be to stand above a city of lights and jump, and not be afraid of falling: I can't do that, but music and writing sometimes can, by proxy. /random emoface

Something about Dick Grayson means that one day, very soon, I'm going to have to write meta on him, the same way I want to write meta about anything that changes my world in the smallest, most deliberate ways.

P.S: Soren Kirkegaard, I'm sorry. Almost.

So here:

#1: Download this song. (65daysofstatic - The Major Cities of The World Are Being Destroyed One By One By The Monsters) (Instrumental, and beautiful.)

#2: Close your eyes, stop for a moment, breathe in, and then out.

#3: Play the song.

#4: Loop it.

#5: Read the fic.

#6: Milk and sugar optional.

Teleological

Fandom: Batman (comics)
Characters: Bruce, on Dick
Rating: G
Summary: His is physical, not cognitive.

468 words, and grace.

The leap is, by virtue of its temporality, its blindness and its trust, alone in the way we greet it with universal admiration.  )

 

A universe of unmapped grief and love
And new master light is beyond
The pleiades and plow and southern stars.

O soaring
Icarus of outworld, burn bright
The traceries of known skymarks,
Slide the highway planets behind
Your clear waxed wings.

Go conquer the everywhere left
Beyond your sad confinement
In a predicted bonehouse,
Witch thrown riddle of flesh
And water.

O soar until nothing
remains but great glittering holes
In the black godspun shirt over your head.

- John Fairfax