generaljanuary: (birdies)
Title: Degrees of Freedom
Author: [ profile] fanny_moon
Artist: The talented and understanding [ profile] evinyakwende
Pairings/Characters (other than K/B): Kurt/OMCs
Rating: NC-17
Word count ~22 000
Warnings: Language, sex, mention of character death (Burt)
Summary: AU. In Lima, Kurt Hummel scrunches up his nose as he peels off his grease-stained coveralls after a long day at the garage. In Westerville, Blaine Anderson sits on the bed of his childhood bedroom and stares at the luggage he hasn’t fully unpacked since he’s been back home, about four months ago. Tonight, they’re going to meet for the first time in a dive gay bar. The year is 2018, this is Ohio and adult life is nothing like either of them had imagined it would be.
Author’s Note : Huge thanks to my artist [ profile] evinyakwende (please go to the Art Post and leave a comment on the gorgeous banner!). All remaining mistakes and typos are to be blamed on me, but much gratitude to BB, who proofread this story for me at the last minute because I couldn’t seem to stop tweaking it long enough to send a copy to [ profile] secret_chord25 who was supposed to beta for me. (I’m sorry I didn’t get to work with you on this one! I was so concerned with sending you an unfinished version that I ended up too late to collaborate with you. :( Maybe next time!) Finally a big thank you to [ profile] raving_pirates for all the work that went into organizing this challenge!


Part 1a / Part 1b / Part 2a / Part 2b

Art Post

NB: All of these facts are dropped at one point or another in the story, so you don’t have to read them, but if you do you might feel a little less lost. AU: For the sake of the plot, Burt and Carole have broken up after “Theatricality”. Burt dies shortly after “Duet”, causing Kurt to miss a lot of school. When he comes back to McKinley, he has to quit Glee club for what remains of his junior year in order to make up for the time lost. Consequently, the situation with Karofsky doesn’t escalate past slushies, taunts and shoves; Kurt never meets Blaine and Kurt doesn’t go to New York with ND for Nationals. When Kurt turns 18, he inherits the house and the garage and decides to stay in Lima and keep his father’s business alive.


Mar. 29th, 2011 03:52 pm
generaljanuary: (birdies)
Media: Fic(let)
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Kurt/Blaine
Title: Touch
Author: [ profile] fanny_moon
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Up to and including Original Song
Warnings: Boykissing
Word Count: around 300
Author's Note: I usually never write such little pieces but I guess I needed to get this out of my system in order to concentrate on writing my K/B BigBang.
Summary: To touch and be touched. Kurt finally understands the simplest of equations.

Oh. This is why I have skin. )
generaljanuary: (amours imaginaires: nico)
Media: Fic
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Kurt/Blaine
Title: Smell the Roses
Author: [ profile] fanny_moon
Rating: R to be safe
Spoilers: Up to and including Silly Love Song
Warnings: Healthy teenage boy fantasies and implied masturbation. Oh my.
Word Count:a little over 1100
Summary: Believe it or not, Kurt has, through some painful and embarassing missteps, learned patience- to some extent at least.

(...) if the scenery happened to be wearing skin-tight jeans, Kurt was more than happy to take his time and admire it. Smell the roses and all that. )
generaljanuary: (cartoon brian)
I won the Placebo fan review competition! My tiny tidbit is now on their official website and my prize is in the mail. I'm glad about the prize, but I'm more psyched about the fact that among thousands of sentences they chose five and that mine is one of those.  :D

Fannie Dubé. Aged 21 from Québec, Canada
"In the past Placebo sought to create and explore wounds. Battle For the Sun cauterizes them with the fire of a renewed energy"

(And now the whole wide world knows my full name. Haha, I thought that was the best-kept secret on the net.)

(Sebastien accused me of being over-enthusisastic about this and I had to bite my fingers to stop myself from telling him to stop pissing on my parade. My life is pretty sucky, can't I celebrate when something special happens?)
generaljanuary: (dont let go)
Title: An Old Hand-Me-Down Jumper (Or Something)
Author: [ profile] fanny_moon
Word count: 5500
Fandom: Harry Potter
Character/Pairing: Sirius/Remus, James/Lily, Peter
Rating and warnings: NC-17 for rampant homosexuality, cigarettes, language, implied sex, frottage and handjob.
Disclaimer Harry Potter Belongs to J.K. Rowling, I am merely playing. “Frankly Mr Shankly” belongs to The Smiths, I am merely inspired.
Summary: Theme 19: Itch. Upon their return from a nine months long trip they took right after graduation, Sirius and Remus are unsettled by the drudgery of real life.
Dedication: This is my tribute to all of you fandom celebrities, who keep our ship healthy and alive. Don’t make me list names, I’m sure you guys know who you are.
A/N: I was greatly inspired by “Frankly, Mr. Shankly” by The Smiths so I had fun inserting references to the song in the fic (apart from the italicized excerpts, of course). Do tell me if you track them down.
Welcome to Padfoot and Moony's decadent den of disastrous disorder! )

x-posted to my journal, [ profile] remusxsiriusand [ profile] 64damn_prompts
generaljanuary: (organic coast)
Les cicatrices que tu portes
Et celles que tu a causées
Les flammes que tu as éteintes
Et celles que tu as allumées
Tes yeux qui ont vu trop de splendeurs essoufflées
Et la longévité éreintante
D'une existence accidentelle
Drapée malgré elle de beauté,
Celle que tu n'as jamais su reconnaître,

Cachent un coeur que tout a blessé


Dec. 7th, 2008 10:21 pm
generaljanuary: (bored of being you)
There's this half unhinged door. It can't open properly, neither can it close. It can barely waver between the two. It's just there, doing nothing. Nobody expects anything out of it; it's been broken this way for a while. Nobody knows how to fix it so it's just there, unable to perform any of the simple tasks a door is expected to accomplish. Sometimes when people pass by, it sort of shakes and whines, but that's it.
generaljanuary: (bored of being you)


I've been feeling strangely overwhelmed. No. Not overwhelmed, precisely... Rather... Overpowered. I've been pretty much just sitting around for a few days. Reminds me of about a year or two ago when Seb kept walking in on me just watching my flexing fingers. He asked once: "What are you doing?" and I said: "Just making sure I'm still there."

I wrote this original first person descriptive piece back when I was in a similar mood in the middle of June. At First it was a blocky paragraph, I cut it down this way, but I'm not sure the poetry disguise fits the piece accordingly. I'm thinking of putting it back into a normal paragraph.


Tears of no use

He asks about the bucket of water.

I tell him it’s all the tears that I’ve cried

while he was gone.


He looks despondant as he says

there couldn’t possibly be that much.

Could there?


I answer that he wouldn’t know, really.


His teeth clicks as he closes his mouth,

a retort dying in his dry mouth.

My right hand plunging into the clear water,

coming up dripping.


I shake off the worst of it,

with a quick and harsh flick of my wrist,

before rubbing the cool water on my left tigh.


He remains still and silent,

I repeat the gesture on my right tigh

and just as I’m about to wipe my hand on my clothes,

he rapidly strides across the room towards me,

grabs my forearm forcefully.


Slowly, his dark gaze shifts

from my glistening fingers

to my eyes.


I  simply look up at him,

my face screaming bitterness.

He then raises my hand towards his face.

A few droplets of water slide down my now upright arm.

I tear my eyes from his gaze

to watch them drip down and pool at my elbow

and I shudder as I feel him lick languidly at my pinky finger.

He lets go of my arm with a disdainful shove

and there is a splatter of water on my right cheek.

Both of my arms fall limply to my sides,

my right hand splashing loudly in the bucket,

my whole body sags.


He says the water is not salty.

generaljanuary: (theirloveissocanon)
Title: Of Ends and Beginnings
Author/Artist: fanny_moon
Rating: PG
Character/Pairing: Sirius/Remus, Remus/Tonks
Fandom: Harry Potter
Words: around 1500
Theme: # 12: Children
Summary: Two eras, two lovers, two sons. Still, not much has changed in Remus Lupin’s heart.

Remus, have you ever thought you might like to have children? )

x-posted to my journal, [ profile] remusxsiriusand [ profile] 64damn_prompts
generaljanuary: (syaoran dreamer)
I decided to start this prompt thing, let's see how it's going to turn out...

Title: He Detonates
Author/Artist: fanny_moon
Character/Pairing: Domeki/Watanuki
Fandom: xXx-Holic
Theme: # 20 explode

“Hey” )
x-posted to my journal, [ profile] domekiwatanuki and [ profile] 64damn_prompts
generaljanuary: (Default)
Here I come bearing lame poetry again. Rejoice! It starts out slow and kinda cheesy, but don't give up on it.
It's a bit of a love poem (again, gah! how can I write so many love poems when I haven't been in love in ages?!)

but if you follow the form, it is also about breaking free. I like playing with form in poetry. Maybe it's from trying to compensate for my lack of knowledge/ interest in poetry theory.    :/ anyway, here goes:

Intricate, But Not All That Delicate
(or the strangest poem title you ever heard of)

Breath me into life
And sketch something lovely around my figure
Stretch my skin taut and guess what is inside

Make me.
Fabricate me.

It's not that I am broken but rather that I have never been assembled.

Here's a piece of me.
And another.
Take this one as well.
I'm entrusting them unto you.

Breath life into them
And sketch something lovely out of them
Stretch them taut over your skin, almost a part of you

Keep me.
Intricate me.

It's flying past you right now
Quick! Grab it, my volatile mind
It's mine but it keeps running back to you

If you catch it, please be kind
It's a bit shaky, a bit shy
Could you perhaps tame it
And keep it close at night
Fold it nicely in the inside pocket
Of your favourite jacket

Breath sunshine chuckles into it
And sketch youself in and around it
Stretch it gently around both our hearts

Give yourself to me 
So that I can give you back to yourself
As a piece of me

Fannie D. 24/08/08

generaljanuary: (romance)

If I find for the first time
That words would wither my thoughts
It is the baffling fear that they might fail me
That tears me from being transported

For I have found no need
And felt no fascination
Towards the fights of the mind
My breath painfully turns to dust
As your features unfurl
Couched and Burrowed and Adored
In the folds of my soft and round dreams

The distance though written in desolate days
Bears no turmoil or torment
In the vast plain of my loneliness
Flowers of your face bloom and die
And bloom again

Memories as gently waved flags
Swaying silk upon my skin
Committed to nothing, committed to fantasy
Uncertainty dabs bluntly though quietly
At the edges of my fretful feelings
How to describe the loss of sense of self?

If I find for the last time
That words would translate my emotion
It is the baffling fear that you might fail me
That keeps me from you

Fannie D. 17/08/08
generaljanuary: (Default)
Title: Gathering Dust
Author: [ profile] fanny_moon
Rating: PG
Genre: Angst, one shot
Words: 1003
Summary: Remus trying to deal in the first few weeks after Halloween 1981.
Warning: Pretty accurate depiction of depression, implied slash.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I make no money out of this.
A/N: It has been a very long while since I wrote fanfiction please bear with me. Comments are adored and constructive criticism is more than welcome.

Remus wonders if beauty will come back to put colours into life the way it used to...

Wow. it had been very long since I last wrote fanfiction. I think it turned out ok.
generaljanuary: (Default)
I wrote a poem. It's in french. I like it. Sebastien likes it too. Or so he said. I'm not putting it behind a cut. Because I am ev0l. And it's my own damn journal.  The title translates to "Seashell" and it's a sad little thing about not being yourself.


Le visage brisé à moitié à découvert

Habitat cimenté de l’absence

Fissuré, irréparable


Une prière de papier

Vole sous les cils scellés

Jamais vu une telle

À l’intérieur

Plus rien a protéger


Septembre soupire et le torrent tressaille

Les mains froides, les nerfs éteints

Sous la peau

Y a-t-il encore quelqu’un?


L’écho de soi-même

Sur un pan de bitume imperturbable

La traduction de la mémoire

En un craquement passif

La destruction lente et inévitable

Ne dérange personne

Fannie D.

generaljanuary: (cant make it)
I've been listening to a lot of music recently. There's nothing unusual about that, but these pas months, I've been doing it mostly in search of inspiration. (I'm concentrating mostly on poetry these days.) 
Simon and Garfunkel are really doing a number on my brain. They can make me cry on demand. Seriously. It comes from the weirdest lines.  Must be Pavlovian or something. 

I Know! The weirdest lines! So basically, pop in the S&G cd and I turn into a water fountain. It' a good feeling, though. It's as though their poetry wraps itself around my tender heart and squeezes. Depending on whether I felt sad or fine before I heard the song, I end up feeling empty or filled to the brim. Being moved as such, it's a really great feeling. 
generaljanuary: (cant make it)

Here are a few snippets I wrote while away on holiday. 

That last one was for my childhood friend Audree who does spend her days chasing geese. n_n=


generaljanuary: (Default)

September 2011

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