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We're prompting fluffy, lighthearted stuff of any variety, no canon/pairing/character information required, though permitted.

Cones and Constancy 1/3

Date: 2014-06-27 01:30 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] thecatisacritic.livejournal.com
A/N: Wrote this in one of those vain attempts to get back into a story. Don't think it worked, and it didn't come out as planned (again.)



“Do you like ice cream?”

Dillon jumped, flinching as he realized what he'd done again, telling himself that he would stop that. He'd make all that fear go away—or he'd make it look like it had. If he ever met up with his father again, he'd be sure that the man didn't see it.

Of course, first he had to make it so that Larina didn't see it.

“Sorry I spooked you.”

“You didn't.”

“Liar,” she muttered, and he glared at her. She shifted her feet, arms behind her back as she kicked the dirt of the barn with the tip of her shoe. “So... answer me. Do you like ice cream? I know you don't like milk, and so if you don't like milk, you probably don't like ice cream in which case I—”

“I like ice cream,” he interrupted, not wanting to think about what his father had done to make him hate milk. He still had nightmares about that day. “Just not milk. It's different. Why are you asking me about ice cream anyway?”

“Here,” she said, bringing her arm forward and holding out an ice cream cone to him. He blinked, about to take the melting mess of what he figured was vanilla when it fell right off the top of it. She cursed, and he frowned at her. “Sorry. Burditt says I shouldn't talk like that and Sorina says it's not ladylike, but I'm not a lady. I'm just mad because I shouldn't have waited to give it to you. If I hadn't, then it wouldn't be on the ground now.”

He shrugged. “Maybe Moxie will eat it. She should be here somewhere.”

Larina nodded, stopping herself from kicking the ice cream into the dirt so the dog could have it. She moved her other arm around forward, holding out a second cone to him. “You can have this. Well, unless you assume girls have cooties because I did eat some of this one. It was mine until I dropped yours.”

He shrugged. “You can keep it.”

She rolled her eyes. “I don't have cooties.”

“It's yours.”

She sighed. “You are so stubborn sometimes. We can share, you know.”

He figured if he didn't agree to that, she'd stick the cone in his face, right up his nose, so he took the cone from her instead, taking a bite and waiting for her to give him that look she always did followed right by that wide, smug grin when she got her way.
She leaned forward, taking a bit of the ice cream and smiling up at him. Larina was terrible sometimes, but she was his best friend.



Larina wore a summer dress, but it wasn't enough to cool her off in the heat of the summer, leaning against the barn wall and fanning herself with a cowboy hat like she was part of some advertisement, and Dillon had to frown and wonder what she was playing at when she did that. She was more of a practical girl, always hardworking though not exactly levelheaded, and the whole look wasn't really her, not when they had more work than ever got done. She should be as dirty as he was, hair full of straw and everything else that got in it while cleaning out the stalls.

“You know, posing for a magazine wouldn't make me like you more.”

She laughed, the hat stilling in her hand. “Like you could like me less—you love me.”

He rolled his eyes. Sometimes he wished he didn't. Sometimes it would have been better if they could both have ignored the way the other was growing up because he didn't think he'd ever really overcome his father enough to be comfortable with how he felt about Larina. They were dating but they weren't—he'd said maybe he'd marry her someday, but he was still scared of that someday and all that came with it. His father hadn't married his mother, but that hadn't stopped him from blaming everything that went wrong on her and later her son, drinking too much and hurting everyone he could.

Dillon hated his father. He hated himself more for being so afraid of becoming him.

Re: Cones and Constancy 2/3

Date: 2014-06-27 01:30 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] thecatisacritic.livejournal.com
“I thought Thyda said there was ice cream up at the house. You could have some if you're so desperate to cool off.”

“I'm not accepting any ice cream from them. They can't accept us, so I don't want their ice cream,” Larina said, her chin jutting out a little as her stubbornness showed through. She shook her head, setting the hat on the gate and crossing over to him. “It doesn't make sense. Burditt loves you like a son. You'd think he'd find this perfect, you and me being together.”

Dillon shook his head. “Maybe he doesn't feel like that at all. Everyone assumes he did, but maybe he's never really liked me.”

“You say that because you're afraid that's true, but I know he's just being dumb,” Larina said, stepping up next to Dillon and tugging on his soaked shirt. “He's afraid of this, of me growing up and leaving him, but that's not going to happen. You're here, and that's where I'll be always.”

“And those papers for college?”

“Who needs college?” She asked, wrapping her arm around his neck and pulling him into a kiss. He tried to ignore his own doubts about that—she wouldn't have picked up the flyers if college didn't interest her at least a little, and she was too smart not to go to college just because he was almost a drop out with a fear of dormitories and hadn't gone himself.

“I see how this is,” Dillon said, pushing her back so that he could talk. “You think you don't need anything that doesn't involve us. You know that's not true. You need your family and your horses and even the little things like ice cream.”

She rolled her eyes. “If it really meant that they wouldn't let us be together—and I don't see why not—you and I would find a farm of our own and build it up from nothing the way Burditt's great-great grandparents did. We'd make things work.”

“Choosing us over ice cream is not going to make them come around to the idea, and Burditt would probably murder me if he knew you were out here in that dress.”

She looked down and back up at him with a snort. “It's almost to my ankles, is not showing off my breasts, and you're too much of a gentleman to ever think of looking up my skirt.”

“I don't think he's concerned as much with the looking as—”

“Stop that,” she said, putting her finger against his lips. “Don't cheapen what we have into a teenage cliché. Not only have we never done anything like that, this isn't about that, and we both know it. They might not see it that way, but even if my body reacts to yours a lot, that was never why I wanted to be around you and it still isn't. You were my friend first, and even if this thing fades, you'll always be my friend.”

He nodded, pulling her into his arms. “I know it's not about that. I'm not even sure it could be after all my father did to me.”

“You won't ever become him,” Larina insisted. “Ever. I won't let you.”

He leaned his head against hers with a sigh. “I wish I had your confidence.”

“You don't need confidence. You've got me. I'm your confidence,” she said, reaching up to pat his cheek before slipping out of his arms. He figured it was the heat—though he should have figured she'd hate having his sweaty dirty body next to hers in that dress. “And right now, I'm going to go get us both some ice cream.”

“I'm almost done here and then I'm headed out. Besides, they won't send you with any for me.”

“Who says they need to? We can share. I like it best when we do anyway.”

Dillon frowned as she skipped toward the barn door. “Larina Payne, have you been dropping ice cream on purpose all these years just to share it with me?”

She laughed. “Maybe. But you'll never know now, will you?”



“Here. I figure you need one of these.”

Dillon looked up from under the horse and frowned. “You know, if this is about our 'guest' earlier, me having to deal with my ex-wife requires something a lot stronger than ice cream.”

Edited Date: 2014-06-27 01:32 am (UTC)

Re: Cones and Constancy 3/3

Date: 2014-06-27 01:32 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] thecatisacritic.livejournal.com
Larina nodded. “I know, but then I also know how much you don't want to become your father, and since he abused alcohol instead of dealing with his problems, I figured ice cream was a better idea.”

He set the brush aside, accepting a cone from her, and she wondered again if she should have married him anyway to spare him from all that Meghan had done to him while she was gone. Still, if they couldn't stick together when she was in college, then it wasn't meant to be. That should have been obvious by now. Just because she was still as protective of him now as she'd been when he was a traumatized eight year old hiding in their barn because horses didn't scare him like people did—none of that changed what they were—and weren't—now.

“I don't understand her. This place was never worth that much. I don't see what she thinks she'll get out of it.”

Dillon shrugged. “Maybe it's still about making me miserable.”

“Why would anyone want to do that to you? You're only the kindest person around here since Burditt died,” Larina said. She shook her head. “I don't understand why people think they have to go around hurting others. Can that small bit of power be that worth it?”

“I don't know,” he said. “Neither of us has ever really craved that, so it's hard to know what the appeal of it would be. You could ask Will, though. He should know.”

She grimaced. “I'm not asking Will.”

“Your ice cream is melting.”

“And your horse is eating yours,” she said, laughing when he noticed Thunder's tongue lapping the top of his cone. “I think I'll have to start bringing him his own from now on.”

“Don't encourage him,” Dillon said, stepping away from Thunder. The gelding followed, trying to get at the ice cream. “No. This is—well, it was mine, and horses don't get ice cream and what is wrong with you anyway?”

“He's your horse,” she reminded him, and Dillon gave her a dark look. She smiled and reached over to pet Thunder's head, keeping her own ice cream out of reach. “You may as well give it to him. I don't think you want it back.”

“Not the point.”

“You used to let the dog eat yours when it fell.”

“That was different. Moxie was cleaning up. Thunder did this on purpose,” Dillon muttered, annoyed. He shook his head. “I'm not rewarding that kind of behavior. And I'm not sharing with you, horse, so you can stop now.”

“You want to share with me?” She asked, not realizing the danger of that until she'd already made the offer. He looked at her as though he was remembering the same thing—how much better ice cream seemed when it was shared—when it was their kisses more than anything that split a cone between the two of them—and she regretted saying it because that wasn't them anymore but for a moment she thought they'd both forget it.

“Yours is melting,” he said, and she nodded, because it was getting all over her, but she couldn't make herself eat it now. He took hold of her wrist and lifted it so that he could take a bite from the cone. She watched him, telling herself the past was bound to be caught up in even the littlest things and this didn't mean anything more than that.

Thunder snorted, shoving Dillon with his head, and Dillon let go of her hand as he stumbled. He lost his grip on the other cone, and it fell to the barn floor. He looked down at it with a smile. “Guess you don't get it after all, buddy.”

The horse stared at the mess, letting out an almost mournful noise. Larina laughed, and he turned to her with a pleading look.

“Is he really trying to beg?”

“It is a rather pathetic attempt, isn't it?” Dillon asked, smiling. “I keep telling him that, but he hasn't listened yet.”

“That's because you're normally a pushover and give in to his begging.”

“I do not.”

She should have known that would make him defensive, especially after a visit from his ex, but she would almost rather they fought then fell back into old patterns that had almost gotten the better of them before Thunder intervened. She kept her voice light and teasing. “You always give into mine.”

“You are different,” Dillon told her, shrugging. “You always were.”

He did not say that she always would be, but somehow she heard it anyway.
Edited Date: 2014-06-27 01:32 am (UTC)

Date: 2014-06-27 04:48 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] thecatisacritic.livejournal.com
I'm apparently still in the mood where nothing pleases me, which is why I should have said no to doing prompts. I was hoping it would change things, but it didn't, not unless they're worse, which is probably true of my behavior. I meant to delete this one. It's useless and has no place in the story, so I shouldn't have done it.

I'm sorry. I really should have gone with that instinct of saying no. Do you want to take my stuff out so you can keep your prompt page going?

Date: 2014-06-27 05:30 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] thecatisacritic.livejournal.com
My knee jerk reaction was to pull them all, but I'm trying not to let knee jerk reactions win.

I don't write short in general, and everything I do has a world/story behind it. If I can't find a use for a prompt in the story, I won't do it because I can't do short so I wouldn't have a place for something that counters canon. This one I thought I'd be able to split and use the past flashbacks, but I don't like them and the other part falls way short of mark because Thunder is much like Katya and Windingo, and that didn't come through at all.

I even figured I'd pull as much of the Fire and Water stuff into a sequel if I ever got around to it, but I need my stuff to agree with canon and not waste time or become an unusable tangent. I have that bad habit of wanting to include everything I write for a story in it. When that stuff diverges or is crap... That's when I start having issues again because I can't separate, hate editing, and refuse to lose things I've written.

None of my stuff stands alone and I know that. I just thought I could make this work to get pieces for larger stories and was wrong because the stories didn't lose their problems. The new pieces make those worse.

Date: 2014-06-27 06:55 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] thecatisacritic.livejournal.com
My way of doing fanfic, I think, is counter to most people's in the first place. I wrote it only to fix what I thought was wrong. If my work needs fanfic, then I did something wrong and I go fix canon.

I do have crossovers and little connections between stories that could make my stories into a larger universe, but I try not to make them very overt in the canon pieces. The trouble with me is that I'd make the crossovers canon, which is why I usually have some kind of outside threat to deal with when I combine worlds.

I am the express train writer. I usually do it in one pass, seldom switching tracks, and that one pass is what sees the story through from beginning to end. I can edit minor details to fix some bad track, but I can't mass edit until it's done and if I have to throw a large chunk out, I have to hate it because I do keep anything I can. I tend more to chuck the whole story than a section of it because once I know where it leads, altering its path means a completely different story, and that's not the one I meant to write, so I'd have to start all over.

I rarely do start over. There's too much baggage and water under the bridge and it's not the story I meant to tell, so I have to either give it to someone else (some other set of characters) or not do it at all.

Because I wrote fanfiction mainly to fix what bothered me about other people's writing, I don't usually fanfic myself because I've already cut most of that stuff out. The main characters are not people who would do the kind of things I object to, and so I don't go down those roads to begin with. I don't need a bunch of AUs when the story is going right.

I have accepted now, years too late, really, that I can never change the way others write what they do and the damage they do to the characters I love, even that the characters are not themselves if I wrote them the way I'd want them to be, and so I figure that I should stick to my own characters and writing because I don't need to change them and no one else's will ever be what I want because they will always be what they want.

I really wish I'd understood that earlier. So much could have been avoided if I did.

As for writing short, I'm not sure it's ever going to be for me. I do give my stories as much focus as I'm willing to give, and I generally only let one or two characters tell the story, which limits things as well. I'm just not willing to be word counting and trying to put in only what's absolutely necessary because my version of necessary is not someone else's, and too many times with short fic I've felt that things should have been explained and weren't, and part of my dislike for reading all together has come from consistently misunderstanding what I read. I put together details that writers forget, and I don't enjoy that how it feels when I realize everything I thought I knew and liked about a character was something I created in my head and not the story at all. I'd rather give more than the necessary details than make anyone feel the way I have, over and over again.

Like I said, I don't have the mental/emotional state to be a writer.

Date: 2014-06-27 07:54 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] thecatisacritic.livejournal.com
Makes it dumb that I tried to share it for so long, I guess. I really want people to like the stuff I write, and I have been desperate to share it before, but it's so pointless, isn't it? No one else wants to see that.

Wow. That is actually a very depressing realization.

Date: 2014-06-27 08:18 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] thecatisacritic.livejournal.com
I guess saying that people didn't want to see it was wrong, but... it just makes it all a very pointless exercise. I've basically wasted years now, and all this time I thought I wasn't, that I was doing something productive with my time, I wasn't. And I not only wasted my time but everyone else's. It would have been better to never have written at all. I've made such a mess of everything.

Date: 2014-06-27 09:24 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] thecatisacritic.livejournal.com
Choosing option two is wasting everyone's time, since I supposedly was going to publish and make it a part of my financial income instead of just a hobby. I got a website and had covers made, and if two was what I wanted, I shouldn't have done any of that.

I spent years in that path, not sharing anything with anyone, not people close to me or far away.

Then I started in fanfiction, that I shared, and it taught me a few things, but it put me into other people's worlds and things I knew better than to write about, but I didn't care because I was in a place where sharing my writing seemed like a good thing. Until I realized not only that I was writing against my own beliefs, I was doing it in part to get reviews. I did not think I was, wasn't one of those fanfic writers that held stories for ransom until they got reviews, but the way I reacted when I felt a story was getting ignored or when I had a bad review is not something I am proud of.

When I went into writing original fiction, I found I had almost no audience at all, and it was frustrating, but I thought it in some ways better that I didn't.

I thought I was chucking at least book 3 out there in accord with number one, same with my stubborn insistence on posting serials or snippets even after I left the few writing communities I'd tried and failed to join.

That didn't work, either.

I don't see how I can thrive on other people's interactions with my stuff. It isn't healthy for me. It puts too much of my happiness in other's hands, for one, but I also don't have all that many people to share with, and most of them don't have the time to read as much as I can write.

I don't have anyone to kick out of my space, either. I lost the twins in December, another friend a few months before that, and so I have a grand total of four people that see my stuff: you, my best friend (only one story there,) my mother, and one other girl who has seen a couple stories.

I know I'm not comfortable with interpretation. I have a lot of squiks, a lot of lines I don't want crossed, and I have also in the back of my head not wanting to stumble anyone else with what I've written.

I don't see anything to clear out, and I don't know how I could isolate myself more than I already have. *shrugs*

Date: 2014-06-27 10:01 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] thecatisacritic.livejournal.com
I don't think there is anything.

I don't think there is a viable way to make what I have and what I did work, and I don't see any way of continuing on as I have.

It doesn't work. I never did, and I do still think it would have been better not to write because it has distorted my path too much and it so much a part of me that i don't know how to separate it, but it seems the only way to move on and get out of this rut is to let it go.

Date: 2014-06-27 10:21 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] thecatisacritic.livejournal.com
I never considered writing as a means of control and when people brought up that phrase of playing God, it made me want to quit I found it that offensive. I was never trying to compete with God when I wrote. I was a documentary maker at best, along for the ride as an observer and nothing more.

When I discussed giving up writing before, the challenge was finding something that occupies my mind when I'm doing it. Most of the other things don't engage my brain enough. And I'm not an artist. It just frustrates me to see my lack of skill and inability to translate the images in my head to paper when I draw. So I can't see art as a viable alternative. I can shut down or divert my brain with video games or puzzles, but I have to have something that occupies it to maintain interest for more than a few obsessive hours.

There really isn't anything in the world quite like writing, so I don't see myself replacing it any time soon.

Date: 2014-06-27 11:07 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] thecatisacritic.livejournal.com
I know. I'm just saying I never consciously thought of writing as a means of control. It's dismaying on many levels to find that's what I have been doing because I really do hate the idea of playing God.

I only ever really did graphic art for my fandoms, and I sucked at it, too. There's a reason I have a cover artist. I wish art was a viable option, but it isn't. That's part of why writing is so soul destroying. There's nothing like it. There are creative endeavors like art or making things (sewing, crafting, etc,) but there isn't the same level of mental challenge in those things for me (or there is too much challenge on the physical side in art's case.)

So I don't really have anything that interests me like writing, and since there really is no safe place in this world, there isn't much point in trying to use something else to create that. I don't know why I bothered doing it with writing.

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