medie

Fic Amnesty: SGA, McShep, Coyote_SGA\

Wed, 25 Feb 2009 13:59:35 GMT

So, according to ithildyn today's Fic Amnesty day! The day when we can post the bits and pieces of fic lying about, unloved and unfinished, on our computers. Technically, this fic is very much loved, but it's very much unfinished as well. I was asked, ages ago, to write a pinch hit for the coyote_sga ficathon. As I was one of the few (and I think possibly there was one other) McShep-loving people affiliated with the comm at the time (I am no longer affiliated with it) the job of writing this pinch hit was brought to me.

I started it, but I never really got going on it. Now that I have parted ways with the comm, I might actually just dust it off and write it my way, no constrictions, no worrying about the AU canon, but given how much is on my plate right now, it may be a while.

For those who don't know, it's basically a 'mutant SGA' AU. Rodney was involved in an accident during some of his research, setting off a chain of events that exposed people to a dangerous chemical that gave them superpowers. Almost everyone had something different going on, but the only relevant ones hwere would be John and Rodney. John has an incredible hulk type thing going on (Remember how he looked in Conversion? When he gets mad, he turns into that) while Rodney ended up with a water based mutation. He can literally control it, but with the weakness of needing to be near it at all times as well. He goes too long without it and bad things happened.

So, with that introduction, here it is. This is basically the beginning of a AU-ing of Common Ground.

---

He's fidgeting; the glass beside him overflowing and spilling across the desktop. He stops the progress of the water with a thought that's just this side of blistering. Rodney sighs, sits back and directs the frustration into the water molecules, speeding them up and spreading them apart until they float into the air as steam.

"Can you stop that?" he demands, frustrated.

Across the room, John Sheppard grins laconically at him and relaxes back into his chair. "Nope. Weir said keep an eye on you," he tilts his head, "I'm keeping an eye on you."

"Yes, but I highly suspect she did not say to keep an eye on me every moment of the day!" Rodney protests in a huff. "I am trying to work here and you are – " Sheppard's smirk widens.

"I am what?" he asks.

"Annoying me," Rodney says and turns his back, hearing the soft chuckle. It's deliberate, he knows that, despite the sideways looks many give him he is not that self-absorbed. He knows Sheppard hates him; he knows the others probably do too. It's nothing new, he's been the most hated man on the planet for a decade, and it's become almost a comfort. He has no need to worry about the opinion of others, it's already set in stone before they see his face and Rodney likes the certainty of it. Let everyone else tap-dance around each other, jockeying for approval and affection like Labrador puppies. He has more important things to do.

If John Sheppard wishes to exact some sort of minor vengeance on him through minor irritations, well then, let him try.

Rodney McKay has more important concerns that are waiting to be dealt with. He leaves the print out on the screen and goes back to the microscope, looking at the images projected for his perusal. He frowns. The genes aren't stabilizing and he looks back at the calculations. They should be stabilizing. He straightens up and stares out at the ocean, muttering equations to himself. He knows the mistake has to be there somewhere, just as he knows Sheppard's irritating presence is likely to blame as well. The man's succeeding in his endeavors and Rodney's frustration is growing exponentially.

"You can keep an eye on me from another room," he suggests, keeping the hopeful note out of his voice. "Perhaps the galley." Preferably the galley of a ship on the other side of the planet though any galley that wasn't his would do. "I'm sure your better half would very much like to eat something raw."

"Oh I'm sure," Sheppard says. "Just not anything in the galley."

The implication makes Rodney flinch and, maybe, is responsible for the chill that races down his spine. He doesn't turn, he refuses to turn; knowing if he does, Sheppard will see the fear if he can't already smell it. And isn't that just a disgusting turn of thought? "Very funny," he snaps in irritation. "I am trying to work here and your presence is hampering me."

"Good," Sheppard says. "Too bad nobody thought of that ten years ago."

Rodney presses his lips together and closes his eyes. "Who's to say they didn't?" he asks.

Even he isn't sure if it's a lie.

"I need coffee," he decides and rushes from the room. As he goes, he tries to tell himself he isn't running away. He and Sheppard both know differently, but Sheppard he can leave behind.

The reason Rodney thinks universal hatred is almost a comfort is it means he isn't alone in his opinion.

~

Like most everything in his galley, the coffee is imported. Unlike most everything, it isn't because it's expensive. Rodney lifts the mug to his face and closes his eyes, letting the smell of Tim's waft upward into his nostrils. He'll never admit it, but the scent makes him nostalgic for winters back home, hunched over a notebook in the corner with a hot chocolate and crunching NHL statistics. A hobby intended to get him away from the rink and the taunts of the others; until, that is, he discovered the financial potential.

He smiles, looking into the dark liquid. That hobby had put him and Jeannie through university.

The sound of feet on the stairs reminds him of his keeper's presence and the smile fades. Sometimes, he thinks he would be better off if he'd taken that talent and become a bookie in Vegas.

It isn't as if he can ever go home; he might as well be enjoying it.

Sheppard watches him busy himself, putting together a small lunch. Rodney tells himself he makes extra because he needs to keep busy and avoid looking up. He can almost believe it as he pushes the plate toward Sheppard, turning his back to pick up his own.

"Coffee if you want some," he says, gesturing at the pot. "The good stuff, just don't tell Carson."

Sheppard shuffles by him to get some, even on a luxury yacht space in the galley is limited and they brush elbows. Rodney hustles out of the way, retreating to the table to eat. He sits on the farthest end and hunches over his meal. The laptop he keeps in the kitchen is fired up and ready, networked into the lab's system.

"That thing's like a soother for you, isn't it?" Sheppard asks, sitting opposite him.

Rodney risks a glance and sees amusement, maybe some curiosity, but a strange absence of the earlier hostility. He doesn't understand Sheppard and he's tried. Rodney McKay knows he's bad with people, bad with figuring out what they want, worse with trying to give it to them. This is the first time in a long time that's bothered him. "Please," he says, rolling his eyes. "Some of us just have a great deal of research on our hands, with only so many hours in the day, it means certain sacrifices."

Sheppard bites into his sandwich and chews. "Or," he suggests, "somewhere to hide."

"I'm not hiding," Rodney says, offended. He sits up and looks meaningfully at the coffee pot, it boils and nearly overflows. "I have a reason for being here."

Methodically demolishing his sandwich, Sheppard watches the pot thoughtfully and then says, "Yeah, you've got a reason. You're scared to death and this is the best place you can think of to hide." He finishes the sandwich and smiles, there's a bitter edge on the gesture. "What's the matter, McKay, afraid to face your adoring public?"

Rodney sniffs. "Hardly. Considering there is a rather substantial number of people out there who would very much like me dead, people on both sides, I consider it prudent to keep a low profile."

"Prudent?" Sheppard says, echoing him with a sarcastic spin on the word. "Somehow, I don't think so."

"Somehow, I don't think you think much," Rodney snaps back, abandoning his plate. He isn't hungry anymore.

~

Blinding pain wakes Rodney with a start, and he rolls over with a yelp to see John looking down at him. "Wakey-wakey, McKay," John says with a rasp. His skin is still tinged slightly blue, a hint of roughened skin around his jaw line, and his eyes --

"God, will you stop that?" Rodney protests, rubbing at his forehead. "My head hurts enough without you going on."

"What?" John frowns.

"The eyes, the scaly bits," Rodney flutters fingers at him, gesturing widely. "It's freaking me out." Actually, it's the white spots dancing at the edges of his vision that are freaking him out, but he's not telling John that.

John's frown shifts into a near-feral grin. "Didn't bother you when I was trying to save your ass." His voice is cocky, but Rodney hears the worry and knows he needs to cover better. He's not going to get into that discussion with John, not here. He doesn't intend on getting into that conversation with John ever if he can manage it, but that's a tap dance routine for another day.

"Yes, well, I'm extremely self-centered if you hadn't noticed," Rodney says, easing into a sitting position. "I'd love a grizzly bear if it was saving my ass and, speaking of, I'm fine, Sheppard." He's lying, of course, but he's doing a better job of it now. At least, he hopes he is. It's been too long, the cold and clammy concrete beneath him is a mockery of what he really needs. "It's the guys with the guns and crazy powers we're worrying about, remember?"

John smirks and moves closer. "Bullshit." He reaches out, steadying Rodney. "To hear the doc tell it, if you're away from water too long, you turn into a pumpkin or something."

"Or something," says Rodney. "Any sign of our good friend Kolya?"

"Nope," John shakes his head, grimacing. "Couple of his guys dumped us in here and that was that. I guess they've got more important things on their plate." He smiles wryly. "To be honest, I think I'm insulted. I tried to kill him and he ignores me?"

"Perhaps you should have tried harder with the ripping his head off," Rodney suggests.

"You think?" John asks. "He's pissed I didn't kill him?" He pushes up, walking to the bars. "Like that makes sense."

"It's Koyla," Rodney mutters. "Nothing makes sense with megalomaniac terrorists; that's why they're megalomaniac terrorists." He shifts, trying to find a comfortable spot, and sees movement in the shadows of the next cell. Movement that is definitely not an over sized rat.

At least, he hopes not.

With John shouting insults, Rodney watches the shadows intently. His vision swims and he blinks hard to clear it, succeeding in making out the shape of a leg. "Uh, Sheppard?"

John doesn't turn, keeping up his shouting. From where he lies, Rodney can see the skin on John's hands beginning to change. Oh perfect. All he needs right now is John Sheppard's alter-ego coming out to smash heads.

His being the likely target. "Sheppard!" Rodney snaps. The name comes out in a hissed rasp of frustration. "Goddamn it, quit the bitchfit and look at me!"

John looks at him, eyes flicking back to normal. "What?"

"We've got company." Rodney nods at the next cell and John turns, starting to take a step.

Before he can get far, he turns back, body rigid. A moment later, Rodney sees what's got his attention.

Koyla's men walking toward the cell.

"Looks like Koyla remembers you after all," Rodney says.

The guards bypass the cell with their neighbor to stop before theirs. One guard enters the empty cell on the other side, leveling a weapon at Rodney's head through the bars.

"You'll come quietly," the first one tells John, "or he doesn't come at all."

"Gee," John says as Rodney slowly stands, "that sounds almost dirty. I think we just got propositioned."

"Why is everything with you about sex?" Rodney complains.

~

The room that they're lead into is perfectly innocuous. More concrete walls, less bars, and a set up suspiciously devoid of any torture implements. Maybe that harmless appearance is what causes Rodney's stomach to clench in protest, even before he sees Koyla's smiling face.

Adding the presence of one Augustus Koyla to the two chairs and a camera already there? It's not an equation he likes the look of.

"Ah, Doctor McKay, Mr. Sheppard," Koyla's smile widens, reminding Rodney of a shark. "So wonderful to see you again."

"Forgive us if we don't say the same," Rodney says, as the guards shove them onto the chairs, back to back and cuff them together. John's hands are warm and dry; Rodney tries not to think about the thrill when their fingers touch. Now is not the time for irrational silliness.

We can has Obama!!

Thu, 19 Feb 2009 21:00:41 GMT

Came home from work to find Obama's visit to Canada has started (didn't think it was this soon) and YAY! press conference.

It's random, but my reactions!

Dear President Obama. Iowa is a state. Ottawa is a city in Canada. *giggles* I promise you, it wouldn't be a good idea to mix them up right now. Not with several million Canadians watching you with crossed fingers and gritted teeth. (Though, awww, if I was facing a diplomatic clusterfuck that the US/Canadian relationship has become, I'd be nervous enough to flub a lot more than a city name *sympathizes with him* Still. *grits teeth and crosses fingers*)

And NICE save. Acknowledging the Canadian mission in Afghanistan and the losses? GOOD MOVE. Cause lord have mercy it got so bad there for a while, the Canadian government took out advertisements in D.C. to remind the politicians there that, y'know, we had our hands full and then some and, *cough* certain former presidents had forgotten it.

Yes, I really don't envy the man and I can't overstate just how badly relations have gotten between the two countries (and I don't just mean politically. I mean personally. The Canadian people are feeling pretty tired.)

* Some guy asked if the PM would reconsider the 2011 Canadian pull out from Afghanistan? HA. No. Now is not a good time to ask him that. I can promise you the Canadian reaction would be HELLLLLLLLLLLL NO. We've been begging our NATO allies for help for years now without any concrete support. No way in hell is anyone going to be crazy enough to try and extend that deadline. Not with Canadians feeling so fatalistic about the whole mission and the 'help' we never really got.

It might change when those promised US troops show up to help, but right now? SO NOT HAPPENING.

* The look on President Obama's face every time the PM has to answer something in French is hysterical. It's like "Oh my *GOD* I'm so glad I don't have to do this every press conference. It's difficult enough to do it in *ONE* official language."

*giggles*

* Re-opening NAFTA? HAHAHAHAHAHA. (OH SHIT HE BROUGHT UP BUY AMERICAN *dies* Dumb reporter. DUMB DUMB DUMB reporter. *G* Seriously. Are you *trying* to torpedo Obama's visit? *laughs*) HA! We spent like two decades fighting tooth and nail over softwood lumber and, won almost every trade ruling on the matter, and the US still screwed us over on the money they owed us. Re-opening NAFTA? About the only way that happens is, well, actually I'm not sure it will. There's not a lot of trust going on right now and the idea of opening up NAFTA here goes over as "Ah, the US has run out of ways to legally shaft us and now wants to find MORE."

Which might not necessarily be the case, but YE GODS, you don't know how bad the trust has gotten right now. Even Obama could tell us the sky was blue and we'd have to open the window and check first. It's just...*wince* Yeah, I've said before and I'll say it again I realllllly don't think most Americans realize just how bitter Canada has gotten thanks to, er, the last 8 years.

*SNICKER* Bless the PM. He's providing a history lesson re: NAFTA. He's a dork, and at times a ginormous tool, but there are times he amuses me hardcore.

This is the first US/Canadian press conference I've ENJOYED in I don't know how long.

But WOW I still feel like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. My shoulders keep tensing up and I keep feeling that apprehensive "Oh god, what is he *NOT* saying that we're going to get hammered with later?"

Bless Harper (never thought I'd say that) he addressed the 'Buy American' provision and he sounds classy. *blink* Maybe nearly losing his government a few weeks ago had an impact. *thinks*

Nahhhh. He's just making nice for the neighbors. *is cynic*

Jennifer *WHO*? No CBC reporters? No CTV? Huh. Ignoring CBC is like ignoring CNN.

And dear God in heaven Jennifer, I hope the relationship in four years is better than it is right now. About the only way it could get worse is open warfare.

He's a Canuckophile! *GLEE* I knew I loved that guy. *pets him* (And dude, married into the family? MUWAHAHAHAHAHA. )

Security concerns? Oh yeah. Dealing with the illegal guns getting smuggled over the border would be *SWEET*. But, er, you're going to need to lop the balls off the NRA first. *brandishes a hatchet*

And the auto industry. *cringe* Plz to be not killing ours by fixing yours. S'allllll we ask.

Well, he's making all the right *noises*, but I'm SO scared to hope for anything. I just...It's been a while since I could trust anything the US has said re: our relations and our industries. It's always been tell us one thing in visits, do something else the second the cameras are off and no one in the US is going to hear the Canadian uproar. (Hence those aforementioned ads in Washington a few years ago, trying to remind the US that, yes, we actually were *doing something* in Afghanistan)

Ooh I love how he included Canadians in the have good jobs part. *tries to hope*

Harper is telling the truth re: his stimulus package (*tries not to snicker*), he's caught a LOT of hell from his supporters about how much money he's spending. It's counter intuitive to being a fiscal conservative.

AHhhh, he is *SO* taking the chance of having American cameras on him to address a few *cough* 'misconceptions' spread in the US (Fox News, Ann Coulter, I'm looking at you) over the past few years. I love it.

And yeah, cooperative re: security. Trusting, however, NOT SO MUCH. We're up to what, seven or eight Canadians deported to the countries of their birth after being arrested in the US? Countries where they were tortured. Citizens who were never really proven to have done anything wrong. I reallllllly don't see the RCMP or CSIS or ICS trusting their American counterparts easily.

*sigh* I never, ever, EVER thought I'd be in a situation where I could say that about the US and not even be the slightest bit sarcastic. I'm, on this point, soberly serious. No elaborating, no embellishing the truth, it's happened, it's had an impact here, and the kind of impact that, I think, means our law enforcement agencies are going to think twice before cooperating with the US on security issues again.

But BWEE! We can HAS Obama.

Question.

Do we have to give him back? *g*

Dear Rick Sanchez, that wasn't an understated press conference. That was SOP for Canadian ones.

We save the grilling of our leaders for the media scrums. A LOT LESS chance of him giving us a manufactured, prepared, answer. *G*

Oooh CNN has *gotten* it. Just how distrustful we are. BLESS. *happies*

Oh my God, an American reporter (the guy from Time) being so AWESOME. It really is a new Administration! (And YAY! Hillary sidebar. She's apparently revamping how the State Department works and oh my God, she is gonna kick some ass. *happy*)

This isn't making me paranoid or anything...

Thu, 08 Jan 2009 00:14:26 GMT

LJ goes down (I love their little "this has nothing to do with the layoffs, HONEST!" message) but I come over here to make an update (which I need to get into doing more. I like it here.) and I have the devil's own time getting up to the posting interface.

Oy.

Anyway, the main reason I wanted to make the post was to squeal and complain. See, greensilver wrote me a gorgeous little girl!Merlin ficlet over on fandom stocking. Hence the squeal. It is GORGEOUS I tell you. Absolutely gorgeous. Reimagining their first meeting from a female Merlin's perspective (though not letting on that it *IS* a female Merlin til halfway through) and all the fun THAT entails.

Except, then I started contemplating how a female!Merlin would work and somehow found myself contemplating a ficlet. One that's more genderfuck than genderbend. I'm blaming the dragon. But it'll come in handy anyway. I've been trying to find a way to get myself writing in that fandom. I promised azarsuerte that we'd write a Merlinized National Treasure for Reel_Merlin on LJ and...well, I need to actually start writing in the fandom, right?

I'm toying with it now. Anyone want to take a peek at what I'm working on? There's not much of it yet.

mark your calendars, this has to be a first.

Mon, 29 Dec 2008 23:54:26 GMT

The first time livejournal actually updated it's status page before I thought to look at it. Think they've heard me complaining?

foiled!

Tue, 18 Nov 2008 16:12:43 GMT

damn, so close. I was 200 entries shy of backing up my journal on LJ. And, er, LJ went down. Hopefully they don't lose any info!

ah, the monkeys found the booze.

Sun, 26 Oct 2008 15:08:03 GMT

As LJ is down again but the status page insists all is well. *eyeroll* Just as well, I suppose, I was engaged in a 'someone is being wrong in the internet' style debate and was a hairsbreadth from smacking the stupid out of them.

Why do people insist on 'asking for opinion' when really, all they're looking for is a validation that, yes, they can be an asshole to whichever group has their undies in a knot? (Or better yet, why do they insist on doing it in places that I can see them? You KNOW I'm gonna call them out on it. It's a hardcore part of my genetic make up.)

And dammit, LJ, why do you go down right when I need to get into my writing post to finish my sg_rarepairings fic. (Speaking of, anyone wanna read a Michael/Teyla AU and tell me if it sucks or not?)

eta: ARGH. LJ. AGAIN? All I need is a chance to post one damn request to the sg_rarepairings comm to hook someone up with a beta. Just one chance! C'mon man.

that's some bad hat Harry

Sun, 24 Aug 2008 03:09:36 GMT

For what seems like the bajillioneth time this week, I am closing out my day with Jaws. (Okay, right now I took a break to watch Jeremy Brett in a Sherlock Holmes ep. *loves his Holmes madly* Bless PBS for showing these.) I laugh because it seems to be becoming my comfort movie. As I said earlier in the week, Wendy has her zombies, I has my maneating sharks.

I'm still considering something Jaws-related for NaNoWriMo. Since the movies went and, er, forgot the middle child, Martin jr, I am vastly tempted to genderbend him into a her (it's me. You were expecting something else?) and write an AU where it's thirty years later and she's a disgruntled adult annoyed by the following

Benchley wrote about her family; but turned her into a boy.

The movies forgot her entirely.

Anyone who connects her to those Brodys, immediately remarks on one of the previous points.

I'm tempted to throw in there that she was the only Brody not to be attacked by Jaws, but I dunno. I'm also tempted to make this story from the POV of a biographer sent to write a book about the First Family of Sharks.

Not that I've done any thinking about this or anything. (And, well, not anymore than I have about any of my potential NaNos. I have a list.) It's a really crazy idea. I mean, who would read it for one? *G*

Either way, once Holmes is over, I will go back to my maneating sharks and be quite happy about it. (Seriously though, is it bad that during the whole movie, the only deaths which really bother me are the dog and Quint at the end? Hrm. *G*)

-

Got my schedule for next week today. I gonna die. It's a full forty hours, the first I've had since I started work, but in this case, it's because we lost two girls this week. One to college, the other to a higher paying job in another town (financial troubles, elsewise, she wouldn't have left) and dear old me gets to pick up the slack along with another girl. Except she's a high school student so, while she can work 38 hours this week, in a couple, it won't be that easy, so I'm imagining this will be the pattern until they can hire - and train - replacements.

This week, though, I only get one day off. Which, really, I'm not complaining about too much. It means the hours are spread out over an extra day so, rather than five eight hour shifts, it's six shifts with shorter ones which includes two splits. The splits are the ones I'm dreading. *G* They're also the only ones which involve me working until closing (and I wager, I have those since of me and the other girl, I'm the only one of age thus I can sell liquor/lottery. She can't. Joy. *hates the lottery machine with a passion*)

I can't complain too much though. I'm travelling to Halifax on the fourth of September (will be there until Sunday afternoon of the seventh) and payday is that fourth so I get monies. Nice monies. It will help with the traveling and, possibly, potential fun should I manage to get some shopping in.

Still. Six days of work this week. Including tomorrow (11 - 5) I gonna die. Write me porn plz? *G*

Oh hey!

Thu, 17 Jul 2008 20:15:12 GMT

Wow, the layout is all AWESOME here now! *approves*

oh lovely...

Tue, 01 Jul 2008 17:24:36 GMT

the day I have off, and open up a drabble-a-thon, LJ starts acting up. Well. Fine. The post I was working on over there now gets to go here first.

So, yes. Right. I have heard the news. I do not want to make just another post on the matter. It just feels...I don't know. Spurious somehow. I am, however, hearkening back to the announcement that DeForest Kelley had died. Again, I'm reminded that mortality is a pesky bastard nipping at the heels of legends.

There aren't a lot of people in the SG1 cast I can say that I would have loved to have met. (Seriously, I sat down and went through the list in my head when I first typed this) Don is at the top of that very short list. Obviously, I won't get that chance now, but yeah. Like Dr. McCoy and Scotty before him, General Hammond joins the ranks of heroes whose adventures will never end.

I think President Hammond has a nice ring to it, don't you? Save journey, Don. Thanks for all you were and did.

-

I finally found out why I got so many comments on my Firefox review for "Arctic" it got linked over at Kryptonsite in a Chloe v. Lois debate. People were defending me! T'was cool! Also, some were accusing me of being biased, which amused me. Apparently, by their logic I'm good at maintaining my neutrality. Until they disagree with me. *cough* Right.

As fun as it was to watch myself be used as 'evidence' in a fandom battle, I'm relieved they haven't connected my RL to my fannish one. While my opinions re: Lois have dick all to do with my fannish interests, I hold no illusions that my detractors would believe me.

That aside, it is absolutely hysterical to stumble across these things now and then. Makes me wonder how TPTB feel when they do the same.

-

ANYWAY, in good news, the First 'First and Fourth' Drabble-a-thon has opened up over at matt_mohinder and can be found here *shoos my M/M friends* there aren't a huge amount of prompts, but enough for there to be some pretty awesome drabbles!

-

Um. They're planning a sequel to 300. WTF?

-

Also on the sequel front, I've been thinking (in between writing SGA Big Bang and fussing with Heroes Big Boom - aka my Heroes Sweet Charity fic - and my SG1/DW Sweet Charity fic) about the next Bond movie. My inner Bond fan wishes it was SPECTRE in the new movie, but I reallllly doubt it. I'm guessing after all the copyright drama in the 70s/80s about them, the Bond gang really doesn't want to go there again.

WOE. It would be so awesome and dovetail nicely with my Bond personal canon. The part about Bond having a daughter with a SPECTRE agent. Sometimes, I think it would be fun to do it, but then I think it's pretty much already been done with ALIAS. Granted, in my head the Bond/SPECTRE agent wouldn't have had the same dynamic as Jack/Irina, but there'd be a lot of duplication (precisely why when I chose to give Bond JR a name, I named her Jennifer *G*) .

So, for now, it remains a happy (translation screwed up) AU that I happily fantasize about when the latest Bond trailer rolls around.

-

Got this from meret on LJ. How Canada Stole The American Dream. Ironic since a friend and I were having a discussion very much along these lines last night.

We got to talking about Canadian statutory holidays (government mandated) and discovered, compared to the US, we have a lot more of them. I work in a grocery store (averaging about 37 hours a week) and yet I'll have around five or six of them this year. Christmas, Canada Day, New Years Day (I think), Labour Day, a municipal holiday I think...there's a bunch.

So I'm finding the article fascinating, and quite accurate. Not in the "Nah, Nah, We're Better than You" sense, but in the cultural sense. The things which drive the US versus the things which drive Canada.

And oh god, Stuff White People Like is run by a Canadian? *FACEPALM* I am so sorry, people. SO sorry.

But \o/ CANADA DAY! Jaws is on! And, sooner or later, i am going to bang out a few thousand words on my Big Bang.

Okay, so I can dream on that last one.

oh hai, big yellow ball in the sky....

Sun, 22 Jun 2008 17:14:05 GMT

That I haven't seen in like a week since we've had rain, rain, and for a change? Sunshowers. (no really) It's just been a dreadful week to get anything done. The lawn is to the point that I should be charging exorbitant fees to take people on safari. I just can't seem to get a day that is both nice (thus the lawn not soaking wet) and I am off. I'm off today, but yeah, I worked three grueling 8-hour shifts in a row.

I am so not up to yard work today. My feet and my legs would probably find a way to beat me senseless if I even tried. So, I am taking solace in the fact that it is Sunday, I have fic to write (SGA Big Bang no less), movies to watch, and Evernight to re-read. (Possibly in preparation for fic) The yard can wait. I'll just invest in a good machete if necessary.

-

I so need to get a decent layout going over here. Also on LJ (which reminds me, need to pay for extension on extra userpics. I am somewhat addicted)

OOoh, that reminds me. GIP! I was pointed to a bunch of awesomely snarky Indiana Jones icons. I don't usually like animated ones, but the snark was beautiful and I couldn't pass it up. They're too big to use on LJ alas, but they're fine and dandy over here on InsaneJournal which, *cough* is probably going to be more of an incentive to post here. I haven't been all that up for posting on LJ lately. Not much of interest anyway. Between frantically trying to catch up on Big Bang's word count (how bad would it look for the S/W mod not to finish), work, and just a general malaise of "god, I suck at this stuff. Can't write worth a damn and have nothing epic and interesting to say" I just haven't really said anything at all.

It's a wonder people haven't sent out search parties or sommat.

I suspect it's my yearly birthday malaise settling in. I don't know. I've been trying these last couple years to change it, but it's still hard to prevent that general feeling of suck that steals over me around this time of year. It's not that I particularly care about my age. I'm not even that old. (Though please, people, I know I look five or six years younger than I am, but 27 is not that old, so give it a rest with the "Oh my god, I didn't think you were that old." crap? Seriously. I'm 27. Not 207.) It's just, growing up, I had such solitary birthdays and, for the most part, I have the same now.

See, my birthdays aren't really about me with my family. Every year (at least since my dad's death) a family dinner is held with the extended family of aunts and cousins and, really, I buy the meal usually and is largely the reason some of those cousins show up. So, I'm sitting there, playing the role and knowing that's all it is. I could drop off the food and go and the cousins wouldn't care. (this same cousin, btw, is excessively touchy about her feelings. You can insult her at the drop of a hat.)

Other than that, I usually end up spending my birthday alone. Which doesn't bother me much as it becomes just another day and is nothing to get emo over. I'd rather that than the dinner, but have to go to said dinner as it is expected.

Of course, this year, I'm working at a different job so God only knows what shift I'll have. If it's a night shift then \o/ depressing family obligations averted. I'll still have my yearly emo to get over, but without the dinner, it will be a lot easier to deal with. Especially if I can avert the emo before then.

Improving my Big Bang wordcount may go toward doing that (not to mention the fact the first draft is due like the day before my birthday). Plus finishing a couple of my challenges. IE my two remaining Sweet Charities. One is going to become my Heroes Big Boom, the other is a SG1/DW crossover. There's a certain feeling of accomplishment and that can make just about anything better.

-

Oh god. There is a rumored potential trailer for T4 out there. Descriptions are here. If this is legit, then there are vague spoilers. I'm not sure though. I am desperately hoping the woman on the back of the motorcycle is Kate. And if it is, I'm hoping like hell she makes it through T4 alive. Given the fact there are supposed to be nods to The Sarah Connor Chronicles in T4, I'm crossing my fingers that the reverse might be true as well and that, *crosses fingers* Kate might rate a mention in SCC.

-

oh fandom...

Sun, 11 May 2008 03:15:41 GMT

Without getting into specific details - as, really, it's a hodgepodge of a couple fandoms right now - oh fandom. Some days, your antics aggravate me, other times, they are so pitiful, they are hysterical. Just. Really. *is amused*

Unrelated, but yet related, *points at icon* either my comments from my SV reviews are having an effect, or I am tapping into someone else's brain. I went looking for new Oliver icons and found this. (didn't see many beyond Ollie/Lois and, er, no*) and found this one.

Total \o/ moment. I will maintain forevah, that when looked at from the perspective of her being written as Lois Lane, SV's version is a disaster, when you look at her as Cat Grant? She PWNS you all. (And Apocalypse proved it to me. SV's problems with Lois confirmed that yes, it's not Erica, but the writer's approach to the character that is the problem.) The idea of Erica as Cat is just...*glee* she would be so fantastic and, if her name were Cat in the series, she'd be the best version ever. (not that there's much competition *eyerolls at LnC's*)

Just. \o/ It's awesome! I'm just tickled pink at stumbling across it. Like I said, I don't know whether my reviews had anything to do with it or not, but I'm happily going on the assumption that it did. It's fun to think they could have had that kind of impact. I've been doing my best to remain as impartial as possible and that takes some work, so this? A tremendous amount of fun (I know, the chances that it was? A million to one, but I need the escapism)

New icon! And a bajillion more icon slots to fill. Oh IJ, I love you!

*. After his last appearance, my Oliver/Lois has relegated itself to non-existent status. Smallville giveth, and Smallville taketh away. I pretty much can't see SV!Lois/any superhero character after that ep. Thanks SV! I thought you'd save my Lois fannishness, instead you keeeeled it dead. Dear SV and WB (I include movievers here) *Show* don't tell. Lois is supposed to be an awesome reporter because she acts like one, she and Clark are supposed to be a functional relationship because they behave like one. I'm not going to believe it just because you say so.

You know...

Wed, 23 Apr 2008 17:46:55 GMT

Ordinarily, I do not get involved in the wank much, but Boobgate '08 has really hit a sore spot with me as I deal with this shit daily. I'm just gonna copy and paste a comment I made to a clueless moron (and boy was he ever) in liz_marcs's journal here. Witness how he does not get it. (and bless havocthecat for smacking him one)

***

Well, let me describe my daily experience. I'm a woman with fairly substantial breasts (high DDs) and I'm 5'2". I DO NOT stand in elevators with men behind me. I do NOT like men to stand behind me where I can't see them. When I plan to go out somewhere, when I dress up, I have a moment looking in my closet where I decide what to wear and that decision depends on how much I want to be ogled when I go out. I don't ever think "will I or won't I?" be ogled, it'll be HOW MUCH. Despite my height, I've still watched men having conversations with my breasts. Men who've never once fucking looked me in the eye.

There are days, I'm convinced I could go out dressed like a NUN and still be stared at/objectified all because of the size of my breasts. I'm not a person to them. I'm a pair of double d's and that's ALL I am.

It's threatening as all hell. I hope you never have to feel that sickening twist in your stomach when you KNOW it's happening and there's not a damn thing you can do about it.

My 'freedom' as a woman doesn't depend on my breasts being open sourced. It comes from being able to leave my house and not worry about whether or not I'm going to be objectified that day. The thing about this Open Source shit is that it STILL makes my chest an issue. It isn't. Whether or not I mind complete and total strangers touching my breasts? Hell, I wasn't at the con and I'm still feeling pressured by it. The implication in the comments being if I'm not okay with it then CLEARLY I have a problem with myself, my body, and the world around me. No, I don't. The problem isn't with me and the fact they're trying to make the problem about women who don't agree? Speaks volumes as to the badness. That's pressure in and of itself. If you don't agree, then there's something wrong with you?

How the fuck is that free?

***

You know, I always adored my Dad. He was awesome. As a person and as a man, but I think, it wasn't until I grew up and had to deal with every asshole out there who thinks my boobs (and my body) are there for public consumption (btw, I ever go to a con and theferrett is there? I'm bringing mace. JUST IN CASE.)?

Now I REALLY appreciate him. He died when I was seventeen, but not once did my dad ever make me feel like, as a woman, I was less than. My dad made me feel beautiful, special, important, and most importantly? Smart. Something everyone knew. He was as proud as hell of my intelligence and made sure I knew it, even without ever really saying it verbally to me. I never once doubted it. Ten years after his death, I still don't doubt it. I doubt a lot of things in my life, but not that. And I grew up believing my brain and my opinions mattered, not my body parts and their respective sizes.

Thank *GOD* for that. Otherwise, with guys like theferrett...

yeah. My Dad ruled.

I am experiencing wardrobe envy...

Sun, 13 Apr 2008 18:56:38 GMT

Well, if you ignore the red bustier I am. Watched Elektra last night after I got home from work. I don't know how I got the impression that movie was bad. I found it to be anything but. A few points were quibble worthy, but for the most part, I really loved it. More than I loved Daredevil even. Of course, with Daredevil, I wasn't all that impressed by the plot while I loved the casting choices. In the case of Elektra, I pretty much loved both. I have to say, I vastly prefer Jennifer Garner as Elektra than I do as Sydney, but then, that's not hard to do.

Now, that said, must go figure out how to write my Remix pinch hit. I want to have it done by tonight. *crosses fingers*

oh just great...

Thu, 13 Mar 2008 01:40:39 GMT

LJ is apparently screwing with people again. There's talk of messing with the paid accounts, they've done away with the basic accounts. Good, god, I need to get a job so I can afford to pay for an account over here. Also back up my fic.

well, that's a first...

Tue, 04 Dec 2007 02:43:14 GMT

they're trying to give dangerous offender status to a drunk driver.

here

I mean. Dude. He killed four people. Not mitigating his crime, but we do usually save Dangerous Offender status for the really bad ones. Like the habitual offenders who have next to no chance to be rehabilitated. Guys like Paul Bernardo. This guy is a repeat offender with three drunk driving convictions on his record and I agree he needs a stiff sentence.

But Dangerous Offender? That's "lock you up and throw away the key" territory and a designation I don't think we should throw around lightly. It's difficult to get that status and it's difficult for a reason.

Four deaths, he deserves a very long sentence. Upwards of 25 years at least. It's not so much the length of sentence here that bothers me. It's the designation. His crime is serious, but Dangerous Offender is the top of the line. There are lesser labels (Ala Long Term Offender) that would suffice. There's just something about this that's not sitting right with me. I think it's the level of maliciousness involved. To me, Dangerous Offender is someone who is actively engaged in the hunting of other people, in terms of pedophilia or serial killers. There's a conscious and active decision to torture/harm/murder someone.

While this man is a danger to society and deserves a hefty prison term, he's lacking that kind of malice and I think there's a line there that should not be crossed. If this is more of Harper's "tough on crime" trickling down to the provinces, I'd really rather he do something constructive about this. Locking drunk drivers up and throwing away the key isn't going to stop the problem. It's cleaning up after the fact.

*

Am I the only one who hears that Sean Kingston song "Beautiful Girls" and immediately wants to smack his face off something? The lyrics just irk me like nobody's business. Seriously. I thought it was a nice tune until I started to pay attention to the lyrics.

Now? Seething rage.

*

Somebody tell me to stop adding Fly Fusion accessories to my Amazon wishlist (am I the only person who uses that thing as a personal shopping list? *G*)

*

bantha_fodder, aj, voleuse, my Pretender fen? OMG WTF? They may resurrect The Pretender? *SQUEAKS*

*

OMG. WANNNNNNNNNNNNNNT!!!!!!!! Curse the fact I avoid my family on the internet like the PLAGUE. I'd touch them toward this link. (Seriously, online is MY TERRITORY and the idea of my family anywhere near my online hang outs is a big ol' pile of DO NOT WANT)

Advent Drabble 3: The Most Confusing Time of the Year (Heroes, Matt/Mohinder) PG

Mon, 03 Dec 2007 05:08:26 GMT

title: The Most Confusing Time of the Year
author: medie
rating: PG
word count: 792 words
pairing: Mohinder/Matt
note: Written from a prompt by quarterturn for the Advent Drabble meme. Matt/Mohinder w. Molly for their first Christmas. Molly didn't actually *MAKE* it into this, but she's very much there in spirit. *G*
summary: Matt looks up. He's got that 'Honey, I love you, but you're a moron' look on his face again and Mohinder sighs.

The Most Confusing Time of the Year

Mohinder's making a face at his tea cup when Matt sits down across from him. "It's cold," he says.

"Then stop forgetting it," Matt says. "If you don't forget it, it can't get cold." He spreads several store fliers across the table, covering half Mohinder's files. Before Mohinder can protest, he adds a notepad, a calculator, and a piece of Molly's Kim Possible stationary.

This, Mohinder thinks, does not bode well, but he forges ahead anyway. "Must you be so maddeningly reasonable about it?"

"Yep," Matt takes Mohinder's laptop and starts typing.

Knowing he's beaten, Mohinder surrenders. "Matthew, just what the hell are you doing?"

Matt looks up, there's a touch of something Mohinder might term mania in his eyes. "This," he brandishes the Kim Possible stationary, "is Molly's letter to Santa."

"Ah, yes," Mohinder nods. "She wrote it yesterday." He helped her with her spelling. Though, he suspects she was only asking so as to include him in the process. Molly's spelling has always been quite accurate.

"Right." Matt goes back to typing.

"I fail to see the problem here," says Mohinder. Matt looks up. He's got that 'Honey, I love you, but you're a moron' look on his face again and Mohinder sighs. "All right, what am I not seeing?"

Matt smirks. "Mohinder, think for a minute. Exactly how many Christmases have you celebrated?"

Mohinder blinks. "Well, none."

"Yeah, me either." Matt gestures at the table. "Which means we are seriously behind the curve on this one. Unfortunately unless we can get Nathan Petrelli to suit up, nobody's going to be flying to our rescue on Christmas Eve."

"Well, Peter might," Mohinder says.

"Nah, he's too emo to be Santa," Matt says. "Also too skinny." He pauses. "Okay, so is Nathan. Forget I said anything."

"I'm inclined to forget the entire conversation," Mohinder says, grinning.

"Sorry, can't," Matt jabs a finger at the list. "Too much shopping to do. We'll need food, tree, decorations, music, and mistletoe." He shrugs, looking sheepish. "Molly made me promise."

Mohinder sits back, cold tea in hand, and stares at the papers. "We're quite in over our heads, aren't we? Calling Nathan might not be a bad idea. He may be able to think of a few things we're bound to miss."

He watches Matt scratch his jawline and nod. "Probably." A faint grin tugs at his lips. "Doubt this is what he'll expect me to be calling about."

"Likely," Mohinder says. "I think it's a good idea to forge relationships with the others. Relationships not directly related to saving the world."

"Birds of a feather, huh?" Matt gets up, taking Mohinder's cup out of his hands.

Mohinder leans back, watching him empty the cup and start refilling it. He relaxes, watching Matt work. After a minute, he slides out of the chair and walks over. Wrapping his arms around him, Mohinder tucks his chin against Matt's shoulder. "Similar complaints and all. Nathan has children, yes? It might be good for Molly."

"I don't think they know yet," Matt says. "I doubt Nathan would've mentioned it if they had powers, but y'know -- "

"You didn't hear anything about it."

"I wasn't trying to listen," Matt says. It's always a touch defensive. Mohinder knows he worries sometimes.

"I know, but you do sometimes overhear what we project," Mohinder says, soothing. "So, about the holidays -- "

"What about them?" Matt asks.

"Other than a Menorah, what else will we be requiring for Hanukkah?" Matt turns, surprised, and Mohinder smiles. "What?" he asks. "Did you think we weren't going to celebrate both?"

Matt hesitates. "Well, I didn't think -- " he looks at him. "What about you?"

"When the appropriate holidays roll around," Mohinder says, "I'll tell you." He hasn't truly celebrated them in quite some time, but, he thinks it's time to start. "It -- "

"If you say it'll be good for Molly, Mohinder, I'm going to hurt you." Matt grins.

"Well, I wasn't going to say that," Mohinder kisses him. "I was going to say it would be good for us all."

Matt leans in, deepening the kiss. For a moment, they forget about the lists and the holidays. Mohinder even manages to forget about the mountain of work buried under the fliers. Then they surface, oxygen being an unfortunate requirement, and he's looking at Matt again.

He doesn't think he'll ever get used to the view and he loves that fact.

"You do realize what this means, of course?"

Matt looks at him, confused for a moment, his brow furrowing. When he catches on, he groans and thumps his forehead against Mohinder's shoulder.

"The shopping is going to be obscene."

"Quite," Mohinder nods. "We're going to need more mistletoe. Much more mistletoe."

Advent Drabble 2: ain't no way (this auld acquaintance'll be forgot) (SPN, Dean/Jo) 1/1

Mon, 03 Dec 2007 03:39:54 GMT

title: ain't no way (this auld acquaintance'll be forgot)
author: medie
rating: R
word count: 1471 words
pairing: Dean/Jo
note: general S3 spoilers. Written for the Advent Drabble meme for quiet_rebel who wanted Dean/Jo and New Years.
summary: "So," she says. "How's Sam? Still not Antichrist?"

ain't no way (this auld acquaintance'll be forgot)

Jo can appreciate irony. It's not like she has a choice. She's looked in a mirror and she knows what people expect of her. A thing for knives and better than a working knowledge of Latin aren't among them.

She's used that, she's had to, and it's worked. A pretty girl with a bright smile can go places most people can't. People trust her. They also patronize her. Hunters patronize her. Jo's learned to avoid most hunters.

Especially Winchesters.

But tonight she's willing to make an exception.

As the flames die down, Jo grins and hitches a hip up on the nightstand. Kicking her foot casually, she leans against the wall and tries not to laugh.

Okay, so she doesn't try very hard, but she tries. She even mostly succeeds. Mostly.

Dean glares up at her. "Not one fucking word, Jo. Not one, you hear me?"

"Mmmhmm, loud and clear," she says, biting the inside of her cheek. "Not one." Reaching out, she flicks a finger along cold steel and her shoulders shake with suppressed laughter.

She knows Dean's pissed and, worse still, embarrassed. Really embarrassed.

The problem is, Jo just doesn't really care all that much. She stopped caring what Dean, or anybody else, thought about her a long time ago. Right around the time a demon in Sam Winchester's body threw her around like a rag doll and his brother kicked her while she was down. Figuratively, of course.

Oh yeah, Jo can appreciate irony.

"Well, not one word," she grins. "Maybe two. Or three." Or a hell of a lot more than that.

"Oh god," Dean says, groaning. "Can I at least have my pants first?"

Amused, Jo folds her arms and gives his naked body a dismissive glance. She fakes thinking about it, then shrugs. "Yeah, that'd be a good idea. Nobody needs to see that."

"Huh, what now?" Dean huffs. "What'd you just say?"

Jo just smiles and says, "I said I agreed with you. Probably should mark your calendar, it's probably never gonna happen again." She looks at the twin piles of ash and bone fragments. Firecrackers against succubi. It's cheap and easy, but then so were they. "Two, Dean? That's gotta be a record." In stupidity, but she's not cruel enough to say it.

Yet anyway.

He flushes. "Well, y'know how it is. Ring in the New Year with a bang."

"Literally," Jo says, sliding off the nightstand. She picks up his pants and dumps them on his legs. "Now, scooch over."

Dean looks incredulous. "Are you serious?" he says. "I'm handcuffed to a bed here."

"Also naked," Jo says. "With no key, two dead Succubae, and Dick Clark about to drop the ball on Time's Square." She pushes at him, making room. Plunking herself down, she hunts around for the remote. "Don't suppose you've got snacks here?"

Finding the remote, she turns on the television and drops the remote atop his pants. "Your New Years Eve dates kind of ruined my dinner plans." Take out and a motel room wasn't much of a New Years Eve, but she's breathing and for Jo that's a good night. "Chips maybe?"

Her lips curve into a wicked smirk as Dean's frustration simmers. He's fuming and she's never been more comfortable. She relaxes, leaning her head against him. She's totally twisting the knife, but from Jo's perspective, he's got it coming.

Besides, this is the most fun she's had in weeks. Not since the werewolf with a drug habit.

She watches Dick Clark idly contemplating the man's restorative powers. There's no way a deal with something demonic isn't involved. Maybe that demon chick Sam's been hanging with would know. Jo considers asking Dean, but decides against it. Then she'd have to explain how she knows about Ruby and that's a can of worms she's not in the mood to mess with.

"So," she says. "How's Sam? Still not Antichrist?"

"Nah, but he's hoping," Dean says.

"Well, there's always the next Apocalypse," she says, her stomach rumbling. "God, I wish I'd brought something." She sits up, scratches an itchy spot on her ankle. Okay, so maybe it's a little distracting sitting next to a naked Dean. Just a little. "You could've at least gotten a hotel with a mini bar." She smirks. "It's not like you're paying for it."

"Not the kind of midnight snack that I had in mind," Dean says. He rattles the cuffs and bumps hips with her. "Seriously, Jo, get me the fuck out of these. I'm chafing."

"Your bright idea to use them," she says.

Dean jerks on the handcuffs. "Goddamnit, Jo! Have a heart."

"You're going to keep whining until I get you out of those aren't you?" she asks.

"Yeah," he nods.

"Ruining my New Years Eve?"

He nods again.

Jo rolls her eyes. "Fine." Sitting up, she swings a leg over his stomach, sitting. The remote control tumbles to the floor with his pants and she glares at Dean. "Where's the key?"

"Beats the shit out of me," Dean says. "One of them threw it."

"Mm, probably didn't think they'd be needing it." Jo grins. "I hear this species doesn't leave a whole lot left when they're finished."

He grimaces. "Please."

"And you guys thought I couldn't handle hunting," Jo says, laughing. "You try to have a threesome and end up dinner."

"Guess I'm just that talented." Dean grins. He's blushing. "So, you got an idea how to get me out of these? Preferably one that doesn't involve hacksaws."

"What about axes?" Jo asks.

He glares. "Just figure it out."

She sits back and thinks. "Okay," she says. "No hairpins, so we're out." She stops. "Close your eyes." She pulls her arm into her shirt and then stops. Dean's still staring at her. "Seriously, Dean, close your damn eyes."

He smirks again, but closes his eyes. Jo whips her shirt over her head, dumping it on his and then takes off her bra. She never thought she'd be happy for underwire.

"What're you doing?" Dean asks, voice muffled by the shirt.

"Getting you out of the handcuffs," Jo says, putting her bra back on. "Hang on a second." She rises up onto her knees, working the wire into the lock.

"You ever do this before?"

"Yep." Jo grins. "More than you'd think." Dean laughs, his breath warm on her bare belly and she shivers. "What?"

"You don't know what I think," he says.

"Oh, like it's hard to figure that one out." Jo says, rolling her eyes. "Please."

"Excuse me?" Dean rears back, the shirt slipping down. "Ooooooooohmigod," he says.

She stops working. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Are your eyes open?"

He hesitates, his breath stuttering on her skin. She's going to kill him. He's looking. "Nope," he says.

"Dean!" Jo sits back, underwire in hand.

Dean grins. "What?" His eyes drop and she resists the urge to cover herself. She refuses to give him the satisfaction. "You're the one who took your shirt off."

"You're the one who decided to fuck his way into the New Year with a couple of sex demons." Jo holds up the underwire. "You want out of the cuffs or not." She sees the glint in his eye and scowls. "You even think -- "

"Oh, I'm thinking," he says. "I am so thinking."

"I should've let them kill you," Jo says. She gets up on her knees. "Keep your mouth to yourself and I don't break you, got it?"

"Break me?" Dean says.

She hears the disbelief and jabs him in the chest "Bare assed naked, handcuffed to a bed, at this point? Barney could take you."

"Oh, man, purple dinosaur jokes?" Dean frowns. "That's low."

"Keep it up and I break out Tinkywinky," Jo says. She goes back to work on the handcuffs.

Dean licks her stomach.

"Okay, that's it," she throws the underwire down on the bed. "Give me one reason I shouldn't kill you?" He twists and throws her off balance. She lands in his lap and realizes he's hard. It's not unimpressive. "That's not a reason," she says.

"Believe me, honey, it is if you let it."

She covers her face with one hand. "How the fuck do you ever get laid?"

He doesn't answer. Not right away. He starts to speak and stops. Then starts again. "Get me out of these cuffs and I'll show you."

Jo looks at him and weighs her options. There was a day she wouldn't have thought twice. She would have thrown herself at him with a lot less of a suggestion. Funny. It's not really that long ago, but it sure as hell feels like an eternity.

She reaches for the clasp of her bra. "I've got a better idea," she says. "You stay in the cuffs and we never speak of this again."

Oh yes, Keptin, Livejournal vas inwented in Kiev.

Mon, 03 Dec 2007 03:33:10 GMT

OMG. We have been sold to the RUSSIANS people. See?Jokes aside, I'm a smidge apprehensive about this. Wasn't there all sorts of wank over the Russian side of LJ filtering out some group's name last year? Just when you think it's safe to venture out onto your f-list...*Jaws music**Also, in funnier news, best typo ever. "Her lips curve into a wicked smirk as Dean's frustration summers."Yes, that's right folks. Dean Winchester's frustration pwns your frustration. Dean Winchester's frustration summers because he is Dean Winchester and he is just that badass. *The first of my advent drabbles was posted last night. A Better OfferSmallville; Chloe/Ollie; S7 spoilers ; 567 words "To be honest," Oliver says, leaning on the rickety table, "I think you're wasting your time at the Planet."

Sun, 02 Dec 2007 23:25:35 GMT

gah, blizzardy day. LJ is down. *wail*

fic: a pirate's life for me (Firefly/Pirates of the Caribbean) 1/1

Thu, 20 Sep 2007 01:38:40 GMT

title: a pirate's life for meauthor: medierating: gword count: 379summary: It'd been a while since Serenity had seen a proper mutiny and they were always fun.note: written for IBARW for debc reposted for international talk like a pirate day. Because, yeah, my arrrrrr is pathetic. "Husband?" Resisting the urge to fold her arms, Zoe looked at Wash with an expression that was, she hoped, neutral. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mal look skyward and heard the snicker he was trying to suppress.

She silently contemplated spacing him. It'd been awhile since Serenity had seen a proper mutiny and they were always fun. She needed to remember that when they were actually in space again.

"Yes, oh bastion of gorgeousness that I am blessed above all men to call wife?" Wash pushed the dreads back from his face and smiled lopsidedly at her.

Zoe let out a little chuckle, "What are you doing?"

He straightened up, trying for dignified, and waved a bejeweled hand. "Isn't it obvious?"

Zoe swallowed her first response and sent a warning look Mal's way to discourage his. He looked back, as innocent as a newborn babe. If that babe was, of course, a hardened criminal type. "No," she said.

Wash looked insulted as he gestured at his open shirt, tight pants, and the dreadlocks topped by a hat. "You can't tell by the clothes?"

Through masterful effort, she kept a straight face. "They seem less colourful than usual. Are you all right, husband?"

"Fine," Wash said. "Fine, fine, a thousand times so." He waved them off. "Excuse me, everyone, I do believe I need to go keep us from smashing into something, dying in a rather spectacular explosion, and, thus, dinging the paint job."

"We're not on the 'ship," Mal said, apparently happy to point out the obvious.

"Exactly!" Wash called back. "Imagine how much more horror inducing it'll be to watch."

"Zoe?"

She looked over at Mal. "Yes, sir?"

"You have any idea what the rutting hell has gotten into that husband of yours?" Mal paused then added, "Well, other than him being Wash, of course."

Zoe smiled serenely. "He discovered a pirate in the family," she said, recalling Wash's glee on the subject. "Back on Earth-That-Was in some place called the Caribbean." She turned away, leaving the dumbfounded Mal in her wake, "Personally, Captain, I think it's cute."

"Oh, well, just see that you do," Mal said.

With a smirk, Zoe followed her husband back to the ship. She had a pirate to molest.

oh procrastination, thou art my friend

Mon, 27 Aug 2007 18:04:35 GMT

I am in dire need of something good to happen to me today (if that something good were of a monetary nature, dear universe, I would not be averse to this), but in lieu of that happening, I am writing and trundling around YouTube.

This fanmade Justice League Movie Trailer is of the AWESOME. It is seriously one of the best, fanmade things I've seen done in a while. It's just a hair-short of professional. Watching it makes me long for a fanmade Supergirl movie trailer. In my happy mind, it would be perfect. Use, say, Katherine Heigl as Supergirl - she would make an awesome movie-verse Kara (Kristen Bell would make an awesome tv-verse as tv requires snarkier) and you can totally poach her Grey's Anatomy and Roswell footage for adult!Kara (I like the idea of a Kara working in medicine though, generally, I think of her as a nurse) and then there's Stargate: Atlantis for shots of a futuristic city to stand in as Argo City (Argo City as a flying city, rather than "omg, it spun off into space on a fragment of Krypton" reasoning, works much better)...

It could so easily be done.

Alas, I am unable to do it as I have no access to all the necessary bits and bobs. But someone *SO* could. I live in hope. *G*

my emo could beat your emo into a bloody, emo-shaped pulp.

Mon, 27 Aug 2007 17:00:59 GMT

See, my friends (WHO ARE AWESOME) designed me a new layout for my website for my birthday. The fic is not up yet, not even close (for lo, I am prolific) but I have managed to transfer the layout over. The rest I can figure out later.

It's so GORGEOUS.

A Curious Mix. see? Some day, I will manage to get all my fic back up. Which, given the amount I have written, will probably instantly crash Ink And Quill and my fellow I&Qers will vote me off the island.

In other news, I really hate being emo about things. I am not an emo-person by nature, truthfully, I find it unproductive and frustrating. (I should clarify, I am a terrible procrastinator so, do not allow my words to convince you that I am, y'know, organized and get-up-and-go-y.) So much so, that I am awesome with the "deny, deny, deny" emo? What emo? I do not know of emo! I try to avoid even suggesting emo most of the time. That may just be paranoia about not wanting to seem negative in my journal space, or it just may be my natural grouchy-self. Whichever.

It's probably been a lot with the upheaval and such going on in the RL (plz to be paying me now, employers!) but I've been fighting with writing my spn_harlequin fic like nobody's business. I didn't completely transform the SPN-verse into that of the prompt, instead I've got canon!Sam and Dean making a swing through Louisiana. That had me uncertain enough, but I'm just a hair over 13,000 words right now and I'm possibly a little over halfway done. And with Sam/OFC, that's an awful lot of story to ask people to read. I'm enjoying myself, which is all that really matters, but you know how it is. You want to please the audience too.

Well, worst comes to worst, I've got the bare bones of a pretty cool gothic romance novel. Change some names, flesh things out, and bob's your ghost-in-a-skull, we're in business. *G*

Now, to change things up, I have a few hundred words of a Supernatural snippet. If I had time, I could go trolling through the spn_xx prompts to find one to match this and flesh it out into a real story. It has the potential for that.

For now, though, it remains a few hundred words of random that popped into my head. It was completely tossed off in the space of a few minutes, but I like it.

"I will put enmity between thee and the woman"

The question's one she's always wanted an answer for, but never dared ask. Questions like it aren't asked easily, not when their answers change the shape of worlds.

"Why did my mother have to die?"

Drying herbs, her grandmother looks up with a settled expression - a calm that comes with the arrival of something long-awaited. "Come here, baby," she says, holding out a gnarled hand.

She goes, sitting at her grandmother's knee like she's done so many times before. And, her grandmother stroking her hair, she listens.

"You remember your scriptures?"

"Yes, ma'am." She learned them as she's learned everything else. Quotes and passages mixed in with potions and poltuces, each as invaluable as the other.

"Do you remember Genesis three and fifteen?"

She thinks for a moment before repeating the words, "And I will put enmity between thee and the woman, and between thy seed and her seed; it shall bruise thy head, and thou shalt bruise his heel."

Her grandmother hums approvingly, "Do you understand what that means?" When she doesn't answer the question, her grandmother continues, "That's the moment, baby, the moment we were marked to change the world. God entered the world through the body of a woman and that ol' Scratch can never forgive. He's been trying to get even with us for that ever since."

Her grandmother reaches out and tilts her chin up, looking her in the eye. "Women like your Mama started hunting to pay him back a little, and turns out they've paid him back a lot. Hunting takes a lot of folks too soon, folks just as good as your Mama - better sometimes."

Nodding, she looks at the picture on the wall. Everyone says, more and more, she takes after her Mama. None of them know how right they are. "Then so will I," she says, and her grandmother smiles.

That's the start of it, the day she followed her family along the path, and she hasn't looked back since.

fin

I'd ask if you were serious, but, really, I already know

Tue, 14 Aug 2007 17:44:31 GMT

Link of the day. An Australian men's magazine is offering, as a prize for a contest, a set of new breast implants for the winner's girlfriend. It gets better as the competition? Consists of men taking pictures of their girlfriend's cleavage which, then, be posted on the internet for voters to choose the woman 'most deserving' of the implants.

What makes it more special, someone points out in the article, these women may not necessarily even know their significant others are entering them into the contest. The whole thing is quite stomach turning but, I'm not under the delusion that it hasn't happened before. I'm sure that somewhere, some other magazine in whatever country, has either considered, done, or is planning on doing something very similiar. I may have even heard about it but it escapes my rather pitiful memory.

The worst of it? I wasn't even surprised. I do think, still, that having larger breasts? IS NOT all that it's cracked up to be. Seriously, when you're 5'2" and people still manage to have entire conversations with your breasts? NOT as fun as you'd think. And let us not even speak of trying to find dresses that fit your upper body that aren't large enough to house half the United States Marine Corps on the bottom. And the penchant toward skinny shirts? Thanks, but, no, I like breathing. I've tried some lately and, I swear, corsets are less restrictive. Not to mention living with your breasts shoved up under your chin? How is THAT attractive?

Ahem.

/end rant.

How fitting is it that a Dolly Parton song just came on my Yahoo LaunchCast Radio. Oh psychic LaunchCast, your music fu is genius today.

Random quote from my spn_xx fic, just to cheer things up!

"You two keep this up," Carolina said, amused. "And folks'll talk."

"Which you like," Kate pointed out. "Ms. I-Carry-A-Bullwhip-And-I-Know-How-To-Use-It-Just-Ask-Me-How."

"You know, with a name like that, I can see why you'd go by Carolina," Jane said with a smirk.

"Well, it is tradition," Carolina said, her mind still mulling over the conversation she'd interrupted. "After all, Grandpa named himself after the dog."

"Oh god, seriously?" Kate blinked. "I thought those movies were bullshit."

"They are," said Carolina. She didn't try to keep the aggravation from her voice. Everyone on campus knew of her extreme dislike for all things Spielberg. "Complete and utter bullshit."

"So, pretty much bang on?" Kate said, looking over at Jane.

"Where the Jones family is concerned?" Jane nodded. "Yes."

"Dude," Kate grinned at Carolina. "Your family seriously trumps mine in the fucked up department. No wonder you like hanging out with hunters."

plz, to be having good news yes?

Thu, 09 Aug 2007 17:42:51 GMT

so I have updated my user info with my alternate journal links. Just in case. No, I'm not in any hurry to leave Livejournal, moronic administration aside I like it here. I like the environment on my f-list and in the comms. Yes, fandom occasionally makes me want to strangle it (at the moment I'd happily shove parts of SG1 and SGA in front of an opening wormhole) but I LIKE it here. (though LJ isn't making it easy for me to plan around their stupidity by saying "no, linking to the hinky material is the same as posting it here" so, heh)

In the meantime, gah, can I has paycheque now? I haven't worked in a month as the people I babysit for are in a work tangle. Husband is waiting to go away to the mainland to work and while he's home, there's no need for a babysitter and while that was fine for a while, my bank account's getting pretty thin. (As in bills for this month are cool, next month I am screwed.) *pokes them* I'm HOPING they will figure it out soon but if they keep this up, I'm going to have to break my word and go elsewhere for a job.

I've been wryly joking to myself that I need to pull a Stephen King (or whoever it was) and write and sell a short story. Yeah, like that is going to happen.

By everything bosses have told me, I'm reasonably certain that I will be working soon (they thought he'd be gone this weekend but, apparently not) so I doubt I'll run into any real trouble but it's not fun walking around with that knot in my stomach, y'know?

BTW This is not a pity-me post, got me? I just need to say something SOMEWHERE or I swear I'm going to explode. It's not like there's anyone hanging out around here in RL that I can tell. The cat's a lousy listener.

In the meantime, I suppose I'll finish my spn_xx fics (I'm partways through one) and my spn_harlequin. Must do something constructive with free time other than flip out.

WIP meme

Sun, 05 Aug 2007 03:34:06 GMT

I don't actually have that many.

When you see this, post a little weensy excerpt from as many random works-in-progress as you can find lying around. Who knows? Maybe inspiration will burst forth and do something, um, inspiration-y.

Firefly - Mal/Kaylee - which was actually a drabble challenge from storydivagirl I think?
-

He's fidgeting, the Shepherd's grinning, and little River's singing a song about a tree. Seems everything is as it should be out in the black but damned if he doesn't feel like it's all coming crashing in.

"Because it is and it isn't and everything's in the in-between." River pauses in her singing to say it as though she is imparting a great truth and damned, but the women on his boat have a knack like that. Even the not-quite-right have a better handle on the goings on than he'll ever manage. It is, at heart, a great injustice but right at the way things have always worked for Malcolm Reynolds. His story's told by women, its just his hand turning the pages and ain't that just a thought to be having now.

He nods, whether it's to River or to himself he can't rightly say but nod he does. "Just how things tend to land for me," he tells her and River nods back.

"You like it that way."

Mal thinks he'd be frustrated by that but, damned if she's not right on all counts.

-

my spn_harlequin - Sam/OFC -
"More like she just couldn't see him," Dean said. "And like hell it was a dream." He stopped working for a minute to turn toward Sam. "So we've got a house with a history of haunting -"

"Or so it seems," Sam corrected.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Okay, so we've got a house with an alleged history of haunting, an ancestor who may or may not have Jedi Mind-Tricked a Union General, and our very own Southern belle who thinks she's dreaming about Rhett Butler while the ghosts try to get Daddy out of the way." His grin widened. "Did I mention I loved this place? There’s never a dull moment."

-

spn_ xx - 3 female geniuses. This one's also a Indiana Jones crossover of sorts
-

Deciding to risk it, Carolina edged along the mausoleum and away from the guard. When she was around the far corner, she flipped open the phone and brought it to her ear. "I thought I told you never call me at work."

Her TA laughed. "I don't listen to you."

"Point," Carolina said. "Okay, so while I'm risking my life chatting you up, what is it?"

"You forgot the final."

"I did not!"

"Yep, did. It's not on the computer, not in your office, however, there's a legal pad full of chicken scratches that could be, with the aid of a Ouija board and mind-altering substances, the notes for an exam –" Jane trailed off, smug.

"Fuck," Carolina sighed. "I forgot again."

"Yes, you forgot again," Jane agreed. "How much do you love me?"

"Enough that you'll have mercy on my forgetful self and pull together an exam for me?" Carolina said hopefully. "I'll bring you something shiny."

"Shiny, expensive, and something that hasn't been liberated from a corpse?" Jane added.

"Something shiny, expensive, and has not been liberated from a corpse, I promise," Carolina said.

"Uncross your fingers and say that," Jane countered.

-

musesfool's lyrics challenge - Angel. Cordy and Fred
-
When she realized that they were friends, really friends, was the day Fred wore a red dress and everyone - just for a moment - looked at her like she was Cordy. That was a real special moment and she felt like kicking off her shoes (which kinda pinched some) and dancing, it was worth the whole shopping thing which Fred really didn't like so much. Cordy said she would some day but that wasn't yet.

They looked all day for that dress and Fred got to trail her friend (wow) through the store like a chick chasing after her Momma hen. Cordy would squint and sigh, holding up so many dresses to her that she almost got dizzy with the movement. None of them, according to her, were *right* and the way she said it made Fred smile so wide her ears hurt. Nobody had said that anything like that in a real long time, almost ever, the dresses weren't good enough for *her*. She was too good for all the pretty dresses with the pretty sparkles and the flare that made her want to twirl. Now that, Fred decided, was something.

-

SPN - Sam adopts a cat, Dean argues with the cat, the cat may indeed be evil. or not.
-

It had to be a cat. Sammy just had to bring home a cat.

"I swear to God," he threatened, "you hack up a hairball and you'll be spending the afterlife as a fucking pair of fuzzy dice, I'm serious." A fact the cat did not care about, this was a cat he was dealing with and this one definitely wasn't Horace. Unless, he squinted suspiciously, "Don't suppose you've been to Mississipi? Got family there? Say a cat who's tail might've been unfairly yanked?"

The cat said nothing, for a second he half-expected it would, but plopped down on his chest, curling its tail against its body and started to purr.

Oh yeah, this was absolutely Horace's revenge.

-

BSG/Alias - Lauren as a Colonial Spy

-
Lauren doesn't want to be on New Caprica, the very name of the place sends an unpleasant chill over her skin. She stayed because she didn't have a choice. She would betray Adama a thousand times over before risking Jack Bristow's ire and it's Jack's she'd have risked by leaving. Jack's little girl wanted a life with her family that involved a sunrise every morning, he wanted what was left of the Agency with him. None of the ragtag group that he's amassed had a choice. They all stayed.

She wakes on New Caprica that first morning and thinks its more Roslin's wishes than Sydney's that really drive Bristow's determination. She's just not stupid enough to say so.

With the Cylon occupation, Baltar's betrayal, she's a spy again as Jack summons them to work. Their skills are more valuable than trillium to a fledgling insurgency just finding its way.

-

DS9/Harry Potter - 6 degrees of seperation. Harry to Julian.
-

Julian didn't know then, of course. When his father took him off planet to the hospital on Adigeon Prime for his treatments, young Jules had no idea about the family legends and heritage or any of that. Harry Potter was just a boy in a painting that kept him entertained with funny stories on the nights he couldn't sleep. He'd laid awake in the dark, night after night, hearing about Ron, Hermione, Neville and a rather awful little man named Draco.

Wasn't until he got older, after he found out what his parents had done to him that he thought to know more. Still too young for Hogwarts then, he'd looked it up on his own and read all about the war, great-great-great-great-great grandfather Harry's role in it all and finally understood.

With the legacy of Harry Potter hanging over your head, you'll do just about anything to measure up...or see that your son does.

-

sg1 - apocafic - Jack/Kerry for tab_a_slot_b
-
She wonders with each and every breath she takes in, lets out, how many people have died in that time? How many mothers have felt the last breath exhale from their child's body? How many spouses, siblings, friends have done the same?

This was never supposed to happen here and the thought causes a sob to catch in her throat.

"We can't use the Gate to get out of here," Jack's words are soft against the skin of her shoulder and Kerry closes her eyes, trying to separate the content of his words from the tone. She's never been a dreamer but now she wants to dream, to pretend, to think anything but the fact that beyond the confines of Jack's truck...the world is ending. The Ori plague is sweeping over the planet, killing almost everyone in its wake.

Almost.

-

sg1 - sam/adria
-
She should be afraid. There's no protection here, no handy Ancient devices to quell the powers the Ori have given Adria. They still haven't exactly figured out where in the tunnels the controls were located much less how to remove them. Sam is completely exposed, vulnerable, but she's not the only one.

Adria's eyes are free of their usual gold...and her amulet is gone.

Along with her clothes.

-

sga - elizabeth/kate - woke up fairy
-
Her girlfriend was a faerie. "Wow." Elizabeth observed sleepily, smiling.

"Wow?" Kate exclaimed, wings beating against the air in testament to her agitation. "Just...wow? I have wings, I'm...faerie dust, Elizabeth! I'm shedding and at this rate, Sheppard and Doctor McKay are likely to want samples of it to try and fly!"

"Wonder what they'd use as their happy thought..." Elizabeth mused, grinning.

-

spn- sam/jess - spn_halloween fic
-
They rinse her hair out in the sink, at least that still works, Sam's fingers combing through her hair. Jess closes her eyes and tries not to grin. This isn't supposed to be hot but, well, it actually is.

"I'll call the plumber in the morning," she mumbles, made lazy by the way he's rubbing her skull.

He doesn't say anything to that except to mumble something noncommittal. Jess knows what that means, this is clearly an affront to Sam Winchester's testosterone and shortly she will find him in the bathroom, staring at the pipes as if they'll fess up to the problem by sheer intimidation alone.

-