jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (Default)
Fanfiction. Mine. Master list. Sorted by fandom. Updated on a when-I-feel-like-it basis.

I've switched from reposting at ff.net to reposting everything I ever had at ff.net here, because dear god, the formatting.

Cut 'cause it's sorta long. )
jheti: (default)
So there's a whole lot going on. Graduating grad school! COMMUNICATIONS, BITCHES!

I remember getting started in 2009; I remember that was the summer that my writing came back to me. I remember that, suddenly, I was excited about writing again; I sat and wrote and wrote and wrote. It was all fanfiction.

I'm at another slim point; I've discovered I can rattle out copy within a few days, but only of a certain type and opacity.

Mother's Day is soon and god, I want my own desktop. I don't like the office; I don't like that I get short shrift in the corner. I miss my office being my office. My quality of sleep is much better, though, so that's something important to note for my health in the future.

I'm going to Scotland. It's real! I'm going to Scotland and I'm going to see Jaz. I've bought a new coat and it doesn't totally fit, but whatever. It fits better than the last Nanook coat I had; it was constantly cutting my circulation off at the armpits.

Man, I miss California. I really like it there; I love the weather, I love the look of things, I LOVE Disneyland with an intensity that surprises me, considering Epcot Center is pretty much in my blood--I love the fact that there are hills and that it's always sunny, but never humid, and that the sun is gold-white instead of the hot, wet, limelight-laser-white of our own sun. And California is friends and the zoo and ElecTRONica. And the Pacific Ocean, which I think is probably as close as I will ever get to it again--seeing it from this side, I mean, and not from Japan. I still haven't been to San Francisco.

They're planning the itinerary and that thought stalled; Jai Alai will do that; this is the best beer ever.

We shall see; that's all. We shall see.
jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (mandana)
Handily divided into the only categories that matter. Check under cuts for details. Added in order found--that is, most recent finds at the top.

Not Romulans! )

Romulans! )

Moar as I find moar.

If you have moar, especially if it is moar WITH ROMULANS, and extra-special bonus for DARK FIC IS DARK (WITH ROMULANS), comments are love.
jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (Default)
Daniel Bedingfield. Y'know, not knowing anything about the artist of this song, I always pictured a girl like Macy Gray, but with muscles like wire and indigo skin. So much of what we see on TV and in print is not that.

I can hear the social justice warriors sharpening their privilege at me as I type.

Here, let's play the I'm more socially aware than you game. Ready?

Have you ever worked the aid desk for political programs in the inner city? Do you regularly and consistently donate to help citizens of the Kingdom of Swaziland?

Can you find it on a map? No?

Then sit down, princess.

There, now that that's out of the way, let's talk about my inner life. I've gone through some kind of slow boil since last March and came out the other side over Megacon weekend. I don't even know what was wrong with me, exactly, only that I've had a personality change, definite and possibly permanent.

Honestly, though, I've been saying that my whole life.

It's just that this time, I'm not sure I like who I've become.

I think a lot of it is just my mother worrying, on top of my worrying, on top of what I wasn't willing to do For School anymore after five years of doing it for nothing other than a steadily diminishing sense of personal accomplishment, all of that curled together into a particularly nasty tarball.

Running off to do other things is all I ever do anymore.
jheti: (boogie woogie bugle)
Anybody know how to get rid of all the spam comments? LJ refuses to let me delete or block them in any practical way.

It's one of the reasons I've somewhat given up on longhand blogging.

That, and I keep forgetting to force myself to do it every day.
jheti: (big bad world)
Tumblr. It's a minimal, visuals-based, upload and reblog-operated journal.

I am there.

I am sparklebiscuit.

It still isn't to my taste, not really. For one thing, I can't figure out how to reply to other users in the threaded fashion I see going around and therefore know is possible. But the dashboard can be mesmerizing.

And it sometimes even gets updated.

I am face deep in this universe, six volumes and over two thousand pages in, and I have no desire to stop.

Fair warning: the third volume is nearly unreadable.

Then again, it's in a radically different style from the others, which might be good, for some. I can't stand it. I wonder if it was ghostwritten.

I would say you could skip it entirely and just go from Invader straight to Precursor, which is far and away my favorite.

Do you know what I want? I want CJ Cherryh and Julie E. Czerneda to team up. It would be kind of unstoppable.
jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (tower on the sea)
I feel kinda betrayed. I usually don't have disaster dreams about that particular theme park.

I don't know how to type this without it coming out wrong, so I'll just type it out and let it be wrong.

Today was supposed to be a day of one-on-one togetherness with my mom. Which would be cool, and all, if she hadn't been on this interrogation warpath about all my life decisions since, like, March. And on like Friday night? She actively admitted she was messing with me. She was teasing, but there you go.

Just. Too much shit behind the scenes, running after too much, doing too much, and I'm tired all the time, but that's not new; the difference is it's starting to show permanently on my face.

I found my first white hair a few weeks ago. It begins.

But yeah, so I'm having a dream about a carnival ride, give or take, and it's one of those combinations of speed and altitude with a harness, and Stepdad and I are standing underneath it waiting in line, talking about how shoddy other elements of the park are.

And there's a great, steel groaning from overhead. Slow and low, but getting louder and bending pitch as it picks up speed.

"We have to go," I say, quiet, clipped, with absolute certainty: total focus before the adrenaline kicks in and wipes the strategy clean. We've got seconds before the masses figure out what's on and there's a stampede. Life or death.

The girders are starting to scream.

"We need to go now, and we need to take the rear exit."

Because the way down will be the last place they run, last place they'll look, and if we hurry--

But it means going across the pavement, in the open, under the metal, and I keep looking up thinking, god, please, not yet.

"No," he says, gripping my hand. "It's--they--somebody fell."

Turn and look behind you, genius. Emergency workers gold and grey, all asbestos, rubber and reflective tape.

Spreading blood black on the concrete.

"They won't let us out, they'll stop everyone for questioning if we don't go now."

Miss, Miss, were you there?

Thank you, officer; I will show myself out.

I woke myself up, and it didn't shake my feeling of something wrong. Something really wrong, feet cut out from under, the whiplash of metal in the dark.

Slowly realized that one of the things waking me up was the quiet. I didn't have my earplugs in, and normally, when that happens, the slightest noise will have me out of bed and on my feet.

That's pretty much how an exaggerated startle reaction works. Four years of constant panic on and it's much better, but not when I'm waking, not with tiny noises that filter down to my subconscious.

So. To have a morning where that doesn't happen is very unusual. To say the least. I'm laying there, talking to myself, thinking of my collection of pet horror stories--everyone here gathers them, did you hear about the guy who lost his head at the Magic Kingdom--and not understanding why I couldn't sort it right. Why that didn't feel right.

Gradually, it breaks my awareness that my parents are talking in hushed voices. The kind that don't want to be overheard. Something about tell her and in the mood I'm already in, I'm just thinking, Wow, this can't be good.

One of mom's coworkers at a branch facility had a heart attack this morning, and mom's the emergency replacement.

So there's our drama for this morning.
jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (i don't fucking know)
I don't even know what to label this.

So I freaked out at the gym over a fire alarm and was just getting over that when Stepdad got some good news from a maybe-employer?

Like. My blood pressure doesn't even know what to do right now. My heart feels like it's beating sideways. If that makes sense.

I'm pretty sure drinking a Mountain Dew right now? Would calm me down.

tl;dr what am feelings?
jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (mortal kombat)
I have the Tournament Edition and this thing is fucking gorgeous. I got a call from the lady of the house, "What is this thing? It's like a...a two foot by one foot by eight inch box; it's huge."

Oh, yes, yes it is huge.

So is this post. My god IT'S FULL OF STARS, etc. etc. )

Oh, speaking of: the gore is really dialed up this time. Bruises and scrapes and super moves that show off exactly how and where bones are shattered. In one stage, there are literally fountains of blood that the characters can stand under.

The Fatalities are sick, but by comparison are not as bad as I expected. At least, not so far.

Two of the four (!!) sections of the Krypt/Nekropolis are so nasty I can't even look. It's helpful to have a friend or relative with no sense of squeamishness nearby so you can still get all the loot. The Misery Meadow or whatever the hell that is? Plays to my slightly mean sense of humor real well, but it's probably still gross.

Yeah, basically every part of the Kryptopolis that's not the standard headstone part in the very beginning? Hella gross.

I don't know if you can turn the blood level down, because I never bother to do it. Gore has been integrated into the user menus and into certain effects in the game and mini-events and, look, basically the visual design team realized their original core audience is pushing thirty and still frustrated about their lives, and it's like they gave us a big bloody pillow to scream into. Made of guts.

Big squishy still-warm hug, guys; c'mere.

I find this powerfully cathartic, personally, but yeah. Parts of it squick me some. The Internet generation? Won't even blink.

Tl;dr it deserves that Mature rating.



Oh there will be more entries, oh yes.
jheti: (uhura on debra's desk)
This is our obligatory don't bury me I'm not dead entry.

I am. Mostly on Plurk these days; toss me an email if you want my Plurk handle thing, but you'll be sitting through a lot of [tron] and [rp] and [irl] navelgazing.

I mostly use LJ entirely for roleplaying now; that's also where almost all of my writing urge and skill goes these days, except for papers. I'm writing a lot of papers. So many that I've discovered that I can bang out about three pages of academic drivel, with no errors and mostly-correct citations, in a little less than two hours, while in a blind panic about submitting it on time.

I'm. Officially embarrassed about nine-tenths of the things I have up on ff.net, but nothing on my even trashier alternate account is any better.

The Tron fandom has taken over my mild obsessional tendencies, because it's got the same draw as everything I love about Star Trek, plus Jeff Bridges.

Or, well, Jeff Bridges' voice and I kind of want to sit in his lap while he reads the phone book, I'm so not kidding.

Everything that man says. Everything. All the things. UNF.

Tron fandom may actually be the source of my first ever Nano project; if I get started NOW, I might even be able to finish it by 11/30/11.

I didn't get picked for a bunch of jobs, but I was selected for this amazing independent study that's going to look delicious on my resume`.

Cool. Now, to someday get paid for it all. Maybe this will be the next step.

I think I fucked up my technical writing program application. Again. Whatever, I'll worry about it on Monday.

I'm so sick of the spam comments that I just leave them where they are. It's not worth the effort of screening them.
jheti: (big bad world)
I know some of you have friends and relatives in Japan.

Is everyone alright?

Please, please, please take a second to check in here when you've got the chance.

Praying like mad for everyone brb.
jheti: (hi christopher)
I don't know why I try anymore; I don't have anything to say. Nolo contendere.

I always wake up a little different when I stay up past three, watching the numbers neon white climbing higher and higher.

I've. Gone through a lot of studying, and I'm rereading A Little Princess, and in fact have switched to reading children's books for convenience, because it's the only way I can get a story done in the amount of time I have to myself anymore.

The real reason I used to write so much is a simple one: I wake up in the morning hating everything.

The icon is apropos of nothing; I just wanted to use it.

We're all basically alone,
Despite what all the studies have shown
What was mistaken for closeness
Was just a case for mitosis

A friend of mine pointed me at Andrew Bird, and this is his only song that I like. It's the percussion. And the alienation, but what's amazing about it is the percussion.

It was anything but hear the voice
ANYTHING but hear the voice
That says that we're all basically alone

Swing their fists at anything that looks like easy prey

I hate spring and I hate that everything is cold and blue.

I'm so afraid of sunsets, did I tell you, I go indoors and wait for the night, wait for the night, I'm waiting for the night to fall, when everything is bearable.

I wrote a fistful of poems, and they weren't awful.

That's all she wrote.
jheti: (life after exams)
In lieu of pretending I will ever explain where I went, have the first story I've written entire since last September.

First of all, it's Tron: Legacy. Second: if you don't ship Flynn/Clu or some permutation, step light. Tiny spoiler between the lines, and some references to the dead wife from the comics, who isn't around at all in the movie. Nice job, Disney.

Third: I own nothing. I bow before the Mouse King and beg his forgiveness; now, Herr Drosselmeyer, give me back my dolls, o.

At last, your summary: After the end, Clu writes abstruse purple softcore AU about a system where things turned out differently, and he and Flynn RULE THE WORLD.

The end is coming, everybody run; we're gonna live forever, gonna live forever tonight. )
jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (Default)
Today, the internet taught me that I'm not a feminist. I'm a violent, ugly shitbag.
jheti: (big bad world)
I had the worst day yesterday. It was a crowning day of suck. I'd moan about it in great detail, except it sucked so hard I don't even want to go back there and recall it.

I really should tell you about Otronicon, it was so wonderful; I keep thinking about it off and on and it's been almost a month.

I don't really remember what a personal journal is for, but I can feel a fic around the edges of my neurons, and of course it's got something to do with Clu, but. Interestingly enough, it doesn't appear to be noncon.

This movie hit so many of my visual buttons.

Rain at night on the freeway.

Glowing rain at night on the freeway.

Wet slate and endless neon, velvet grey, magnesium white, said I don't mind but what do you mean, I am the one.

Death is nothing but deterioration into endless gleaming fragments of light.
jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (i don't fucking know)
Well, here we are. I don't really remember how to do this right, so I'll just leave my Clu playlist on and keep typing.

Something touched me deep inside
The day the music died

Why is this, I seriously used this for his theme song.

We all got up to dance, but we never got the chance
'Cause the players tried to take the field
The marching band refused to yield

Do you recall what was revealed
the day the music died?

I gutted out all my presentations last week so I think that means I don't have to do more. I think.

Bad Romance is fucking amazing on my shitty Phillips earbuds, because the bass goes directly into my skull.

You know, I like to use this song to explain my social problem to normals. I have a few problems reading cues because I get very excited and thus verbally mow over people sometimes, but my A-1 Real Life social problem is this:

When more than about three people are talking to me? Especially if they are all talking at the same time, like people in groups and especially girls in a group, usually do?

I don't hear talking anymore. My brain just kind of shorts, and suddenly all I hear are vowels and consonants and vocal trills without any meaning whatsoever.

Point being?

I've started just imagining that they're singing RA RA, RAH AHAHA, RUMAH RUMMUMA, GAGA OOH LALA and it helps keep a smile on my face while I wait for them to start making sense again.

For me, though, this song will always be attached to space uke being intensely discomfited over the subject of Ms. Gaga's. Tendency to do things with her hands in all her videos.

Ladies of the evening lacquer their nails green as heart's blood, come hither.

This content may not be appropriate for minors. Quick, everybody click like mad. )

Fold 'em let him hit me
Raise it baby, STAY WITH ME
Some of them want to abuse you
And baby, when it's love if it's not rough it isn't
Declare Independence
Don't let them do that to you
Everybody's lookin' for something
I wanna roll with him, a hard pair we will be
Who am I to disagree
Declare Independence
Don't let them do that to you

Something touched me deep inside
The day the music died

That's all there is.

Dulce et decorum est.
jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (Default)
I stayed up way too late last night pretending to be an evil computer, after a long, hard week, and I don't even have any assignments yet.

Between the low-grade sinus infection and the changes to my vitamin schedule, I'm not really sleeping well.

I might do a mediator certification course this summer. I'm also applying to this totally sweet speechwriter position, because my department advisor insisted that I be forwarded the opportunity. I definitely wouldn't have seen it otherwise.

I don't think I'll get it (I just--don't have the experience they're wanting/needing) but the fact that my guiding professor/THE HEAD OF THE FUCKING DEPARTMENT personally recommended a sweet, srsbns college job opp to me is both

a) thrilling



These people want me in their Rolodex, trollolololo.

I am sort of taken aback by his clear, obvs belief in my actual writing skills. Like to the point that I could use them for a job. A REAL JOB THAT PAYS REAL, GROWNUP MONEY.

AJEKFHSDJKLJksfdfjklhadsfjkhlasjkldfkhjakjsldfhlieuffhfs, indeed.

I have nine presentations, four papers, one research proposal and a TEAM EXPERIMENT to conduct in the next twelve weeks. I also have a constantly-on-the-threshold-of-maybe-being-a-conference-paper to, y'know, actually write.

The AIs are going to overtake the entire station and it is going to be glorious.

I've started actually using my gym membership, because like hell am I going to meet the king of the silver foxes looking like this.

I pulled that goddamn tendon in my leg. It's never been the same since I did that awesome sliding faceplant down the side of a volcano about six years back.

(Yes, really.)

It feels like someone took a shard of glass, and instead of cutting me with it, they sometimes poke the bottom of my foot really fucking hard and scrape and scrape until they almost get blood. Then they stop and repeat when I least expect it.

God, I can tell I'm not twenty anymore. Ow. :D

I've gone back to biting my nails. In other news: snow in New England; war in the Middle East.
jheti: (moonwalker)
Stop callin'
         Stop callin'
I don't want to talk anymore
I left my head and my heart on the dance floor
Shoulda left my phone at home
'Cause this is a DISASTER

You shoulda made some plans with me; you knew that I was free

Call all you want
But there's no one home
And you're not gonna reach
jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (eyes on the prize)
Real quick, before I forget:

If you like world-artsy stuff, check out Bajalia Trading Company. Not only are their goods legit, the money goes back to the people who actually, oh I don't know, made the stuff.

Just guess who's coming to MegaCon.

Um. I think that's all.

Good luck out there, Internet!

Monday is nearly upon us.
jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (Default)

BIG BIG THANKS [livejournal.com profile] weskerismybitch and [livejournal.com profile] nyohah for the thoughtful gifts: prettyful layout + extra userpics x Tron music or figures (I can't deciiide) = AW HELL YEAAAH.

It is 2011 and we don't have orbital shuttles to the moon colony yet.
Because we don't have a moon colony yet.
We don't even have a space program anymore. (Fuck you, Mr. President. Respectfully. With a strap-on as thick as a baby's arm.)

I am 28 and have been for two days now. I made this badass icon to celebrate. Feel the 80's bb.

I found the building's acoustic sweet spot; I can finally leave the radio on and hear it throughout the house!

I have a car! I'm making payments on it, and I'm learning to drive it. My personal goal is to have my real grownup license by Spring Break 11. She's an '01 and she smells like vomit where the party girl who used to own her urked in the back and let it soak in instead of cleaning it like a decent human being, and NO AMOUNT OF PINE SOL has been able to kill the smell. Seriously, I've tried it twice now. But the CD changer and the air conditioner both work. AT THE SAME TIME, so the majority of my serious needs are met.

I got a 100% on my major paper of the past term. From my scary Japanese sensei. According to her rubrik, not only is that a literal perfect score, but "meets standards for publication after suitable revisions."

I can't be space uke anymore, because I'm being computer controller instead.

I want to update this more frequently and stay in touch better, but really the most I can promise is that I'll try very hard. Basically, as soon as I graduate from this program in December--meaning work on my thesis starts in nine days and remember how invisible I was last time? Yeaah.--but anyway as soon as I'm done with this one, I start my Technical Writing Masters.

So, basically, if I don't freak out and leap off a building from the stress, I'll have two Masters degrees just in time for the end of the world.

Hopefully I'll also be a real live Worker Bee with an Actual Job by then.

I'm not really sure about the whole meeting guys thing; I have a feeling like I'm going to be moving within the next two years, probably toward the West. That'll put me closer to all my United States friends, so I'm not worried at all. I just wish I knew when and how it was happening, but I'll just trust that it will.

Meantime: Spring Break at Universal Citywalk erry night in MAAARRCH; 80's Night DECENT MUSIC ERRY THURSDAY Y'ALL. That's my backup plan if my stepcousin who doesn't actually like me doesn't want to go on a road trip: get hammered and dance with all the other nearly-thirtysomethings.

I have fantasies of making myself a Clu-style jacket out of Goodwill finds and reflective tape, but I can't actually sew.

Also: I really love Starbucks. Sometimes that prefab, commercialized bullshit cafe` is the prettiest, nicest, best-smelling part of my day.

I think we're done here.

How's life treating ya, babycakes? ♥


jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (Default)

August 2012

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