L'opera, mi amore!

Look at me, all not being dead and stuff!

I have just completed working TEN DAYS IN A ROW, which seems like it should be a violation of some kind of law, but is not because of the way corporations get to define the start and end of a week. So, yeah, eighty hours, no overtime. FAIL.

Because of that, and because my job is a soul-sucking thing that leaves me not wanting to talk to ANYONE EVER at the end of the day, I have spent very little time actually interacting with the internets, and indeed have considered taking a break from reading my dreamwidth at all, because mostly it makes me stressed out.

So consider this an apology for my lack of communication with the world at large.

If there's anything you think I really need to know, please leave me a comment which I will then not respond to or send me a PM which I probably won't respond to either. Or send me a text which I will probably ignore. Except that now I get TWO WHOLE DAYS off that I will probably not spend online.

Really, if you want a response from me... you're better off messaging finch.

Sorry, guys.

Happy Thanksgiving, anyway.

So I'm wandering around my network, right, and ONE OF YOU is part of a community called fic_promptly. I'm looking at you. Yes, you. This is your fault.

I DON'T KNOW WHO YOU ARE BUT I BLAME YOU ANYWAY.

Anyway, so the challenge is Dialogue/No Dialogue, where the prompt is a line of dialogue but the fill shouldn't have any dialogue. Does that make sense? It's midnight, idk. You can look at it here.

So somebody prompted, Marvel Comics, Tony Stark/Any, "Come fly with me."

AND THEN THIS HAPPENED.

Pepper. Tony. 159 words.

He'd invited her to fly with him dozens of times by this point, until it almost had become a running joke that she wouldn't. It wasn't that she was frightened, so much, as she thought that being completely at Tony's mercy more than five feet off the ground sounded like a terrible idea. Too many variables. What if he dropped her, or crushed her, or... no. She didn't trust him enough, and she trusted Iron Man even less. Plus there was that guy she'd dated in college who'd dissected how many different ways the Superman-flying-with-Lois-Lane scene in the original movie wouldn't work.

No, there would be no flying anywhere with Tony Stark, or Iron Man, drunk or sober.

Which, of course, explained why she was wrapped in his arms half a mile up and seriously wishing she'd worn a heavier coat.

It was Tony, after all, and she'd never been any good at telling him no for very long.

--

And then THIS HAPPENED TOO.

Steve. Tony. Technically it's cheating because all I know is the movie. IDEK REALLY PEOPLE. 228 VERY SNEAKY WORDS.

He tilted his head and smirked, and Steve thought about fondue, and was every Stark this complicated? Tony must've inherited it from his father, along with the company - this merry, mercurial streak that Steve couldn't quite put his finger on. Maybe flying was a metaphor for something else. It seemed to Steve that everything was a metaphor for something else, an eternal game of that's what she said, whatever that even meant. Half the time he felt two steps behind, but when Tony Stark walked into the room, it was closer to a dozen. Tony wanted Steve to fly with him, and Steve couldn't fly, which meant... what, exactly? Not the way he'd flown with the senior Stark, a rattletrap plane on a one-way mission to hell. No, not that at all. He meant - with him, pressed against Iron Man's side, breathing air like icicles in his lungs, but so damned good anyway, and he could barely think, this high up, this close to Tony. He didn't know what to think about that, either; he didn't even quite understand it. Another complication in a complicated world. Maybe it was his eyes. Tony had his mother's eyes, dark and alluring, wide and wicked and full of an invitation that Steve wanted to answer even if he didn't know how. Even if he didn't know what it meant.

--

WHAT IS THIS I DON'T EVEN.

finch found this while cleaning last night. I'm not entirely sure what inspired this essay, beyond the likelihood I was trying to understand the Marxist philosophy of language. I fail to grasp the "universal theory of everything" school of thought, because, really, humans are more subtle than that? But, you know, whatever gets your paper written. Also, lingustics are not really my bag, and the only reason I survived the class was because the teacher was super-passionate about his topic. I prefer language all stitched together into paragraphs and essays and novels, not dissected into phonemes and so on.

So, here you are: the Marxist philosophy of language, as explained by Keanu Reeves and written by me in red felt pen.

Dude, every idea means something, right? It's, like, totally a sign. And signs are all, like, "Whoa, stop!" or "Do not enter, dude!"

Then there's stuff. And stuff, it doesn't have a meaning, right? Except some dudes could totally turn a picture of some stuff into a new sign. So, like, a picture of Redondo Beach could totally mean, "Surf's up!" But Redondo wouldn't mean that; it'd still be just a beach.

But, dude, when you make stuff up, it totally means something! But, like, stuff doesn't really come out of your head all shiny and new. It totally comes from everything around you, like new episodes of CSI and going to the mall, and chilling with the dudes. But there's not really a place in your head at all. You only think stuff once you've been hanging out with people long enough.

Some dudes think that thoughts come from this fuzzy spot in your brain, but those dudes are totally whacked. You can't think of stuff without your dudes around. If you hang around with the same dudes long enough, it's like you kinda got your own language. You can be all, "Dude!" and your bud'll be like, "Dude!" and you can be, like, "Whoa." And you totally know what he means.

But you know what's totally the shit when it comes to meaning shit? Words. Yeah, dude, words totally can mean anything you want them to. Words aren't like pictures, but you totally can't talk about things without words.

And that's way cool.

My ex was a huge BPAL fiend. Huge. Now, I really like BPAL too, but not nearly to the degree that she did. But I had a good-sized collection of imps, as you do, all living cozily in a drawer in my armoire. My armoire which I had to clean out, because we sold it. You see where this is going, right?

I can't look at this pile of imps without thinking about her, which means I am never going to use any of them. I can't even put on my favorite BPAL scent, which I have a bottle of, without getting upset. I considered throwing them out, but it seems like a tremendous waste, so I have determined to find them new homes, and you folks get first crack, because I love you all.

Imps, for those of you who are not BPAL-savvy, are 1/32 ounce - tester size, but you use a small enough amount that, if you wore it every day, an imp would last between 4-6 weeks. It's certainly enough to determine whether you want the full-sized bottle, and they're fantastic if you aren't the type who wants to wear the same perfume every day.

(I am also the type of girl who has a signature scent, which means that most of these imps are completely unused, and many of them have never even been opened to be sniffed.)

( List of available scents, prices, etc. )

Dear Knit Picks,

Your products are universally lovely, I must admit, and the prices are generally unbeatable. I own quite a bit of your yarn, and none of it is in the mental list of stuff I'm getting rid of. I've given you lots of my money, though admittedly not nearly as much as some of the people in the "Flash Your Purchase" thread on Ravelry. Those people are nuts, even you have to admit this.

But I'm moving in approximately seven weeks, and I'm on a mandatory yarn diet. In fact, I'm not really allowed to buy anything right now.

So why must you be so mean to me?

I managed to stay strong and not buy yarn, even when you and Webs sent me catalogs ON THE SAME DAY.
I resisted the allure of the Interweave Press Hurt Book Sale, because I don't need to bring any more books into the house, since I'm just going to have to move them.

See how strong I'm being? You should be proud of me! You should acknowledge that I'm a good person and a wonderful knitter and I deserve rewards.

What I don't deserve are emails that say, "You know that book on your wish list? It's 40% off. And discontinued. So if you want it, you should buy it now!"

THAT'S JUST PLAIN CRUEL, OKAY?

JUST PLAIN CRUEL.

I will be over here, sobbing hopelessly into my stash.

No love (at the moment),
Me

Hello!

You know what I love about DW? The fact that "subscribe" and "access" are two different decisions. There are people I want to read that I don't necessarily want to let into my private life, and there are people who I want to let into my private life that I don't always have the energy to keep up with. So much drama was inherent in "friending" in LJ, and it pleases me to no end that I don't have to make those decisions any more.

Here's my philosophy on subscribing, unsubscribing, and access granting.

copperbadge refers to his subscribers as "Sam's Cafe," and I think that's a great way to think of it. An unlocked post is a conversation I'm starting in my cafe, and you're welcome to listen in or join in as it interests you. I reserve the right to boot you if you're being a poor guest, but otherwise, you can come and go as it pleases you. If you have interesting conversations in your cafe, too, I'm probably going to hang out there (i.e., subscribe). But if I get busy or I'm feeling shy, I may hang out there less, or stop joining in the conversation, or stop coming by for a while. It's generally not personal, and you're welcome to do the same as often as it pleases you.

Now, if I really like the conversations you have in my cafe, or the conversations I've had in yours, I might invite you back to my home for a conversation in my living room. The stuff I discuss here is more fraught, more personal, more introspective, than the kinds of things I'll discuss in public. I have occasional soirees where the topic of discussion is more sensitive (multiplicity, spirituality, ranting), and if you've been invited into my home, you're welcome to ask about joining one or more of those soirees, and I will generally extend an invitation to you.

If I invite you into my home (i.e., give you access), I'm hoping that you'll return the favor. There's a certain level of expectation in a friendship, that if you're in similar situations, you visit back and forth. The delightful thing about DW is that our virtual homes are essentially the same, so you don't have to worry about having enough seating for a crowd, or making sure everyone has something to eat, or if your living room is clean enough for company. But if I invite you over, and you don't ever invite me back, I might stop inviting you over, because that kind of friendship suggests a certain amount of reciprocity.

The thing is, if I extend an invitation for you to come over, you don't have to come. If you're busy, or tired, or trying to get laundry done, I don't expect you to drop everything just because I've invited you in. You can stop coming by at any time, for any reason, without prejudice. I hope that you'll treat me with the same courtesy.

Now, leaving the metaphor behind, what this means is that I don't have any expectation that you "should" read and actively keep up with my life or my journal just because I grant you access. I don't expect anyone besides finch to read the posts here or at my public blog, and I only expect that because he's my fiance and he stalks me. I'm pleased when people read my journal, and I'm pleased when people leave me comments, and you're welcome to read or not, and comment or not, as you have time/energy/inclination. I give people access (including access to the filters) because they've expressed an interest in reading. If you're going through a period where you don't have time to keep up with everyone on your list, by all means, feel free to unsubscribe from me. I won't take it personally, and it won't reduce my interest in you - especially if you're unsubscribing because you're feeling overwhelmed or you're out of spoons. I've been there. If I make a post I particularly want you to read, I'll drop you a comment or send you a PM. The posts I make can be upsetting, or triggering, and maybe you're in a space where you don't have the energy to deal with my angst. I also make occasional super-happy posts, and maybe you're in a space where you don't have the emotional fortitude to deal with how happy I am in my current relationship and how much I love my job - I've been in low places where I didn't want to handle someone else's happiness and success, because it depressed me. If I get busy or overwhelmed, I might temporarily unsubscribe from you, but I won't revoke your access, because I'm not going to stop inviting you over, to go back to that metaphor, because I don't feel up to leaving the house.

So that's where I stand.

So seventhe asked me five questions. Leave me the most awesome picture or video you can find and I will do the same.

1. What do you think of Dreamwidth? Have you used any other journaling sites? When did you move here, and why, etc?

I love Dreamwidth. I started out on LJ (back when you had to be invited in!) and I wandered over to IJ briefly, but this is my favorite journaling site so far. I love how customizable it is, I love the responsiveness and integrity of the owners, I feel good having a paid account, but most of all I love the community, which has built up from nothing into someplace I spend most of my time. I moved over after some dumbass thing LJ did, and while I maintained an LJ-mirror for a while, I moved here permanently after some other dumbass thing LJ did. Now I only use LJ to keep track of a handful of people who haven't jumped ship yet.

2. HEY, KNITTING. What was your last project!

Last project I finished was a hanging dishcloth (I sewed the button on yesterday). I have the second sock of a pair, two shawls, a scarf, a pair of mittens, and a pair of fingerless gloves on the needles at the moment.

3. Do you have a degree? If so, what in? Where'd you go to school? How was the experience?

I have a B.A. with a double major in English Literature and Women & Gender Studies from Arizona State. I also spent two years at the community college getting my basics out of the way.

For the most part, I really enjoyed ASU, particularly my upper-division classes, which were overwhelmingly small and well-taught. As a liberal arts major at a university that is very fond of its business degrees, I generally felt like the proverbial redheaded stepchild in so far as the classrooms were usually small and crumbling. The Women's Studies Department didn't have its own space until the last year or so I was in school, so classes were offered all over campus, which gave me a fairly unique perspective of the way the college looked. The people I worked with, though, were uniformly fantastic.

4. Favorite FF pairing(s), and a bit about them?

Squall/Rinoa. Tseng/Rufus. Tidus/Yuna. What I like in relationships is genuine depth of feeling, connection, and mutual support. I like relationships that outsiders can't quite see into, but that are obvious that there's something true going on. I like playing with power dynamics, I like people who need one another, and I love "I can't quite explain it, but you just make my life better." What struck me about Tidus is how he just wanted to help Yuna, to make her life easier and her burden lighter, because he cares about her. I love how Rinoa is able to draw Squall out, when Quistis never quite managed it. I love the Turks' dedication to Rufus.

5. You can only eat one thing for the next week. what is it?

Pasta. It's incredibly versatile, comes in all different shapes, can be prepared a million ways. I should've been Italian.

I just went through my subscription list and removed access for people who don't give me access, because it feels kind of weird. So, if you suddenly can't see my locked posts, that's why. If this was an oversight on your part, go ahead and give me access and I'll restore yours. :)

Also, I'm thinking about filters, so please let me know if you want on filters for multiplicity, spirituality, and/or personal rants.

That is all. Please carry on.

This is my amnesty fic for kink_bingo

Title: Two Reactions
Pairings/Characters: Graverobber/Amber
Rating: NC-17
Summary: There are two reactions to street Zydrate, after all, and I have the second one every single time, even when I'm using the gun on someone else.
Word Count: 620
Warnings: Drug use, implied noncon.

ETA: No, I didn't post a fic that involved fucking outside on the first of May on purpose. THE UNIVERSE MAKES THINGS HAPPEN LIKE THAT.

( She walks like she owns the damned world. )