kerkevik_2014: (Default)
 
   First saw the Joanie (Stubbs) and Calamity (Jane) of Deadwood fanvid some time ago now, but recently I suddenly started investigating the availabiltiy of DVDs because something in me had fallen in love with both of them; particularly Jane Cannary. 

   Got the DVDs having ONLY seen this one fanvid, because I knew I wanted to write them. 

    I honestly don;t think I can ever have been more grateful that someone made a fanvid. Deadwood has to be one of the best TV series ever made, and Joanie Stubbs and Calamity Jane (as portrayed) two of the most identifiable, to me, characters. I still have to watch the third, and final, season; so recently did I purchase the boxsets and Joanie and Jane didn't even meet until the EIGHTH episode of the second season, but the cast of characters is so rich, and so wonderfully portrayed that I almost feel that I could write any of them. I could have done with some subtitles for the Chinese speaking characters, but I shall investigate getting some translations of their dialogue. 

 Anyway here is that original fanvid, as well as what I assume is a video of the song from the TV show that originated this version. 

 



 



 I will likely watch the show over again before I consider writing stories, but stories I shall write. 


 Goddess preserve us all in these dark times, 

 

 Kerk(evik) TehKek Hiraeth 





kerkevik_2014: (Default)
 
  As anyone who follows my fics will know I have written an awful lot of stories about Dawn and her friend; only appearing in one act of one episode; The Body. 

  I have created an entire backstory; strill in progress for her, but this is the song that inspired the very first serious story; Lisa, My Reflection, set on the morning of Dawn's first day back in school after her Mom's death. This is the one they are headbanging to as they enter their first class of the day. 

  


  Goddess preserve us all in these dark times, 

  

  Kerk(evik) TehKek Hiraeth 



kerkevik_2014: (Default)

  
  

 

 

TITLE: 22

AUTHOR: kerkevik_2014

FANDOM: Buffy the Vampire Slayer

CHARACTERS: Buffy, Angel, Dawn, Rona, Chao-Ahn, various other characters being mentioned.

WORD COUNT: 1360

A/N: http://kerkevik.livejournal.com/19023.html contains the original version of this story; written before three characters; Satsu's wife (Gazaleh), Dawn's wife (Lisa, from “The Body”) and the Chaplain all became much clearer, and important, to my imagining of this world.

It was also written before I realised that Satsu & Gazaleh were connected so strongly to this older; polyamorous, version of Buffy.

Roughly two years after I first wrote in this Buffyverse; which I call the 22'verse, after this fic I began writing a series of drabbles for elisi 's birthday. I got badly detoured part way through that, though the initial image; with sound effects stayed strong in my mind. So strong it's taken more than three years to get my head back to where it needed to be to complete the stories.

I can't honestly say that the collection traversed the same path between part five and its conclusion that it did back then, but I have written other stories in this 'verse, and there will be many more; some, possibly peering back into Spike's adventures, as well as stories about the Slayers in those intervening years.

 

 

They never knew where they came from; every year, almost to the hour, they arrived.

Neither did they know who sent them. When the investigated, it always a different person; usually Human, and female, and always a friend to the sender.

They always sent a Council Operative; even Buffy couldn't get the Council she led to approve the release of an actual Slayer and, invariably, the word would come back that the return address 'was vacated within the last couple of days; rent paid up to the end of the month.

And always in untraceable currencies.

But she had a fair idea, since they always arrived in time for the anniversary of the night Buffy had been kicked out of her own house by Dawn and the others and it was always Dawn she remembered; Dawn she felt she'd let down by letting things get that bad.

The night she'd been held, comforted; strengthened to finish the fight by a stroppy, bitchy, poetic undead...

Whatever, wherever they were, they gathered at dawn for a breakfast of the contents of the packages; always as fresh as any guest of a five star Mayfair hotel could expect.

Nothing changed until the Slayers on the Council finally outnumbered the Watchers; when Buffy got Dawn installed as Council Head; together with Kennedy installed as Operations Chief of the newly-unified Intelligence Division.

Which, of course, meant she rarely saw either anymore; or their wives... especially Willow, because whither Kennedy etc...

Soon they had linked into the fact that it had always been the same woman; female usually; one of only two unconfirmed survivors of the Great Los Angeles Holocaust of '04, which had left the majority of southern California a blasted wasteland; LA itself a virtual no-man's land for Humans.

Once they knew for certain who She was, tracking down the identity of the sender, and his whereabouts was a cinch.

 

It had just turned dark on the evening of the twenty-fifth of June; two thousand and twenty-one of the Common Era, when Buffy sat down to review the daily reports from Senior Slayers across the globe.

She was on her fifth cup of very strong, and very bad – ironic, given they were based not too distant from the capital of one of the world's largest coffee producers – when a knock on the door announced the unexpected arrival of her kid sister, who entered the room with a very sober expression on her face.

Buffy saw past Dawn and saw others behind her, especially Satsu. A brief smile crossed her lips; she and the Head of Asian Operations always had a good time whenever she was at HQ; meals; walks, a fuck; as Satsu was wont to put it, despite she being a married woman, to an Iranian Ironwoman Buffy had ironically introduced her to, though her boss always countered she was as equally married to her destiny.

Then she saw Kennedy grasping Will's hand, which she rarely ever did; Dawn's wife standing behind them; Faith with Xander's arm around her shoulders; even rarer.

Her eyes travelled back to the wet glow to her sister's eyes; the bleakness of her expression, then back to the door as Vi and Rona, currently her senior Slayers based at, their always mobile, HQ; then Riley and Sam entered, holding the door wide as Angel pushed Giles in his wheelchair into the room.

Buffy felt a chill run through her; heart turning to a heavy lump forcing unwanted life through her veins; forcing her eyes down she stared blankly at the sheet of paper she'd been about to sign off on.

Insensibly she placed the black pen down, and pulled a victorian-era eagle feather quill pen that had been a reverse wedding gift.

Carefully, hiding the turmoil of her emotions, she dipped the nib into an inkwell.

Carefully she tapped off the excess, and inscribed a red number one in one of the columns; where she had been about to mark a zero in black. Laying down the pen she looked up as Dawn; hand stroking Buffy's hair placed the transcribed message in front of her sister.

Carefully She leant into Dawn's comforting arms as her eyes; brain took in the message that Chao-Ahn had sent from the West of Ireland.

Chao-Ahn's English was much better written, than spoken, but a smile threatened as she recalled the jokes that passed around the commissary at her exaggeration of her accent whenever she'd been regaling newbies with tales of slaying.

Having spoken to the inhabitants of Clonteach, I regret to report the death of William Pratt; known as Spike, this last seventh day of May, in the two thousand and twenty-first year of the Common Era. The Anglican Pastor; Reverend Jean Renfield, and Catholic Priest; Father William Donachie, of the parish, both reported how he seemed to appear from nowhere to defend the Combined Children's Pipe Band from Demons who attacked during practice in the Community Hall. He fell before a female of a blue demonic visage could reach him; she killed the demons who took his life.

Before she could take note of something erased from the message Angel was suddenly standing in front of her; Nina brushing his cheek with a kiss as he leant in and brushed tears from Buffy's face.

We thought we'd have breakfast in the courtyard at daybreak. The Chaplain will lead us in a prayer before we sing a hymn that he liked... if that's okay with you?

Numb, and simply grateful not to have to do too much thinking, she grasped his hand; feeling strange still over the unaccustomed heat it held, and squeezed it as everyone gathered around her; sharing an communal grief at a fallen comrade; at her loss, and the sense of their common mortality it all awakened.

They'd all known he was out there somewhere; somehow managing to make the Scarlet Pimpernel look as hard to find as Clem when there was a Cat Show in town. Known, but nobody had ever spoken, about the newly-assigned Slayers who reported being rescued by an indescribable stranger, and his companion, who never spoke to them.

 

~~~~~

 

As dawn broke the next morning; eighteen years and eighty days after that night he'd held her; given her the faith; strength, and courage to go out and enter the valley once more, the Chaplain raised her lone voice and led them all in singing Abide With Me, his favourite Hymn; the only Hymn they knew he knew if she was honest.

Buffy broke the seal of the tin box containing, as always, several dozen home-made victorian recipe ginger cook... biscuits, and several boxes of old-fashioned; as in loose, no bags for him, English Blend Indian Tea.

She watched as the now well-practiced rituals of this, their very own tea ceremony were played out; noting with tearful pleasure the greater than usual attendance then, when everybody had their cups of tea to hand, she got up to speak.

This poem was one of his favourites. It was written, he believed, to commemorate the pilots who defended his birthplace from the German Luftwaffe bombers during the Battle of Britain. It goes something like this...

 

Remember those not here today,

and those unwell, or far away.

 

And those who never lived to see

the end of War, and Victory.

 

And every friend who passed our way.

Remembered as of yesterday.

 

It's absent friends

We miss the most.

 

To all, let's drink a loving toast.

 

To some muted sounds of china cups touching; softly spoken, “To absent friends,” they all toasted ALL those who'd been lost; even if they were all focussed on different people.

She heard Rona, from somewhere to her left, and behind, say (in a bad cockney accent), “Goodbye, you wankers!

Bittersweet smile on her face she sought out Angel and, catching his eye, they shared a nod of acknowledgement, of their shared love of their lost friend, and of each other.

 

Mind full of the last time she'd seen him; her lover, she raised her cup to Angel and mouthed a silent, “Thanks.



 May the Goddess watch over us all, 

 
 

 Kerk TehKek 








kerkevik_2014: (I Am Yours)

  Still can't get the formatting to work on DW, so that will have to wait to be edited in when I get a new laptop (whenever *sighs* that is) but in the meantime this is the original version, with two corrections I didn't have the confidence to make at the time. 
  It was written sometime in the autumn of 2002, probably two, or three, months after "Seeing Red" aired in the UK. There are links to the various places it has been seen on the web before. 
  (It is also to be noted that a btvs, which I believe was willow/buffy; or wuffy (wiffy?) slanted, online fan radio show did a podcast reading of this fic which I never did get to hear. If anyone has a recording of that please, please let me have a copy!) 
  It was not the first story I completed after "Seeing Red" aired, but it was the first I feel happy with now. I'll go into why at another time, when I have re-written that other story; which will then be posted with the original fic for comparison, though that leaves a nasty taste in my mouth now. 
  To me now, though I am still pleased with it, this seems a little naive with none of the writing ability I think I had shown many years before when I had written not just Blake's 7 fanfic, but original stories set in a world from which I took my online name. 
  I really want to beta this, if that is a proper term for doing that myself. Whatever I shall do so as I cannot but see changes I would make now, that I was in too much of a rush to see back then. I cannot now be certain how much time had passed between the shock of "Seeing Red" kick-started me into writing again, and when I had last written anything meaningful, but it was almost certainly longer in passage than that which has occurred between first posting this on the now sadly-deceased willtara yahoo mailing list and when I started posting new fics on livejournal. 
  Not that I didn't write anything in that time; just that it offered no joy and has thus been forgotten. 

  As stated the lack of my usual titling style will be corrected as soon as a better computer can be purchased. These are also different here than in any of the original posting sites. 

   TITLE: The Dance of the Happy Little Toaster 
   AUTHOR: [personal profile] kerkevik_2014 
   RATING: PG-15 (for some adult themes) 
   FANDOM: BtVS S4; post-Hush. 
   CHARACTERS/SHIP: Willow Rosenberg; Tara Maclay; Willow/Tara (willtara); 
   A/N: There are several references herein, to a Beatles song; to the concluding scene of Ellen DeGeneres' coming out, or 'Puppy' episode; to, via the title, to a movie that I had not, at that time seen; referenced by Xander in "Something Blue" (worth mentioning that over the holidays ~ either christmas, or easter, following first 'publication' I actually got to see that film), and the last line is unashamedly stolen from the very first Lesbian film I ever saw Lianna. 
   I recently posted a prequel to this http://kerkevik-2014.livejournal.com/52259.html to fill a prompt at femslash100. 

 
     Willow stirred from her slumber just as false dawn was creeping into the room. She opened her eyes carefully, not quite fully aware of where she was until her nudity hit her.

   She was naked! In Tara's bed!

   The sudden enormity of her situation made her giggle, albeit quietly. 

   "Wow!" She gasped, hushing herself instantly. 

   And it had been wow! 

   They'd been intimate before, they'd been (half) naked before, but it had been nothing more than high-class, chocolate-frosted, necking. 

   Last night had been an entirely different matter. 

   Low-class, chocolate honey-filled, high-caffeine... lust-lovin'. 

   Wow! 

   She glanced over at the sleeping face of her lover... 

   Her lover. Tara was her lover. 

   Trying not to laugh out loud Willow wondered if she was now an official lesbian, if Tara would now get an official Ellen, 'I've turned a straight girl' toaster. She giggled once more. Then she smirked as she noticed the tiniest hint of drool on Tara's cheek. If she wasn't frightened of waking her up, Willow would have kissed it away. 

   Wow. 

   Then she stroked some hair away from Tara's face and dared to kiss her anyway. Ever so slightly, ever so carefully, ever so daintily, on the forehead. She closed her eyes and breathed in the still sweaty scent of her lover. 

   Her lover. Tara was her lover. 

   Wow. 

   It was a fact now. No going back. 

   She snorted as she fought back a laugh. Hell, she wanted to shout. To cry out. She was too happy. She contented herself with another gentle kiss, this time, on her lover's cheek. 

   She held her breath as Tara stirred slightly. 

   For several minutes then, she took in the sight of Tara breathing, in, out, deep in sleep. Oh god, but she was beautiful. 

   Her lover. Tara was her lover. 

   She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah... 

   She was drunk. She wanted to tell the world. She felt like dancing, and singing. 

   Instead she contented herself with continuing to watch Tara sleeping. For over half an hour she simply watched her breathng, occasionally gifting herself the slightest of kisses. On the cheek, on the forehead, once, daringly, on the lips. 

   She even stroked Tara's shoulder at one point. 

   Finally she felt forced to action. She could no longer keep her hands off her lover. 

   Her lover, she repeated yet again. 

   "Tara Maclay is my lover," she whispered, breaking into a grin wider than the Grand Canyon. 

   Was it possible to be too happy? 

   Nuh-uh! 

   She felt compelled to laugh, to cry, to shout, to scream. She couldn't even begin to decide which. And she knew she couldn't bear to disturb the peaceful sleep Tara was enjoying. 

   She wondered if Tara was dreaming about her. 

   Carefully Willow disengaged herself from the bedclothes, and clambered reluctantly free of Tara. She picked up a discarded t-shirt and grasped her overnight bathroom bag. One last look at Tara's peaceful features and she opened the door and slowly wandered down the hall to the showers. 

   There, despite the early hour, she showered. Slowly, langorously, she ran her fingers over her body, touched her lips, brushed her nipples, stroked her belly, teased herself (hissing at just how ready she was) between the legs... 

   Everywhere Tara had touched her the night before. 

   She stepped dripping from the shower and went to stand in front of the mirror. She placed a finger on her tongue, tasting it. Just to se if it felt any different. She finally let out the long-suppressed laughter. 

   It tasted like it had recently showered. 

   She was almost disappointed. 

   She stared at the face she she saw in the mirror for several minutes, studying the inanely stupid grinning face of a woman she could hardly recognise. 

   Yet seemed to know for the first time. 

   She seemed to be glowing. Was she glowing? She laughed again. Of course she was glowing! She was fresh from the shower. 

   Fresh from her lover. Her lover Tara Maclay. 

   She repeated it out loud and laughed as she wiped wet hair from her face. 

   The she stared defiantly at the face in the mirror and declared... 

   "Willow Rosenberg eats pussy!" 

    FINIS 

---
http://kerkevik.livejournal.com/1791.html 
http://mysticmuse.net/authors/rayharley/danceofthehappylittletoaster.htm 

http://nha.magical-worlds.us/viewstory.php?sid=3435 

http://www.ralst.com/DanceHappyLittleToaster.HTM 

---
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hush_(Buffy_the_Vampire_Slayer) 
http://www.buffyworld.com/buffy/season4.php#ep066 
4x1066Hush
Production Code: 4ABB10
Written By:
    Joss Whedon
Directed By:
    Joss Whedon
USA, The WB
Tue, 14 Dec 1999
Trailer   (5.46MB)
Summary
Transcript
Shooting Script
---
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seeing_Red_(Buffy_the_Vampire_Slayer) 
http://www.buffyworld.com/buffy/season6.php#ep119 
6x19119Seeing Red
Production Code: 6ABB19
Written By:
    Steven DeKnight
Directed By:
    Michael Gershman
USA, UPN
Tue, 07 May 2002
Trailer   (3.80MB)
Summary
Transcript
Shooting Script
---
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lianna 
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0085838/fullcredits/ 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zHw7L6Hn4jk (still on You Tube with Spanish subs) 

      • Inline image 1

  1. Lianna
    1983 film
  2. Linda Griffiths plays Lianna, the naive young wife of a professor bored with her life and angered at her husband's blatant sexual indiscretions. She has an affair with another woman, Ruth (Jane Hallaren), and when her affair becomes common knowledge, she finds herself shunned by both her friends and… More
  3.  
  4. Initial releaseJanuary 18, 1983 (USA)
  5. Running time1h 55m
  6. Budget300,000 USD
  7.  
---

  Goddess watch over us all, 
  
  Kerk TehKek 

kerkevik_2014: (Pingu)
Hey!

A very strange and disconcerting thing has happened to me recently. I've had a story nominated for the Sunnydale Memorial Awards.

http://sunnydawards.dragonydreams.com/nominees.html

For this fic http://kerkevik-2014.livejournal.com/26981.html

This may seem like not a bad thing, which is indeed true, but it's also something for which it seems my psyche is totally unprepared to deal with.

This weekend I have been down in Yorkshire, and have not long been returned, visiting one of my best friends and her family.

Elisi you are a wonderful Human Being and I wish I'd grown up in a family like yours so very, very much.

I have asperger's and I can get very hyperly over-excited in new and strange situations; exhibiting all the symptoms of full-blown panic attacks. This seemed to be on the edge of happening for a good part of early Saturday, as elisi was showing me around a small part of Wakefield (more about that in another post).

Anyhow, to the point ie. that nomination for The Seekers.

I have had a very strange and, even for me, who is not one who can easily accept compliments, unexpected reaction. Thank you so much for whoever nominated me; that has to be said first of all. I wouldn't want to take that back for all the world. Still I have found myself almost totally unable to know how to deal with this. Thankfully I've managed to have a relatively calm conversation with elisi about the situation.

I couldn't have asked for a better friend in my time of need.

This will have to be edited before posting; partly because the wi-fi on the train isn't free and won't let me use my dongle, but also because I want a sane person to look it over.

Guess who? :-) Thank heavens for word is all I can say here :-) Hopefully this will all make sense when it is read, and I will get a few votes. To be honest I feel like I've already won though. Even getting no votes could change that. It has proved to me that I am, beyond all doubt, a very strange person.

Thanking the Goddess for you all,
'tis ok to be Takei,
Kerk TehKek
kerkevik_2014: (Default)
http://minathevampireslayer.tumblr.com/post/94196253843/what-is-significant-about-fan-fiction-is-that-it


What is significant about fan fiction is that it often spins the kind of stories that showrunners wouldn’t think to tell, because fanficcers often come from a different demographic. The discomfort seems to be not that the shows are being reinterpreted by fans, but that they are being reinterpreted by the wrong sorts of fans - women, people of colour, queer kids, horny teenagers, people who are not professional writers, people who actually care about continuity (sorry). The proper way for cultural mythmaking to progress, it is implied, is for privileged men to recreate the works of privileged men from previous generations whilst everyone else listens quietly.
— Sherlock and the Adventure of the Overzealous Fanbase by Laurie Penny (via basilandtheblues)
(Source: linpatootie)

Profile

kerkevik_2014: (Default)
kerkevik_2014

May 2017

S M T W T F S
 123456
78910111213
1415 1617181920
21222324252627
28293031   

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated 24 September 2017 21:15
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios