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Wastebasket (Master This)

Sorted by fandom. Old ass and not updated, because a) you've probably seen it before, b) I'm not really writing anymore unless you count the whump.

Though yes, I suppose a few of these will be reposted on ffnet. When I get around to it? When is that?

Cut 'cause it's sorta long.Collapse )

Trek XI Recs (On That Last Frontier)

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!Collapse )

Romulans!Collapse )

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.


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.

Sack of Bricks (And The Walls Went Down)

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.

Crashy Smashy (Amplifier)

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.
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?

Mortal Kombat (Smashing the Opponent)

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.Collapse )

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.

Update It (I Live!)

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.

Checking In (Waveform Compression)

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.


Lever (Pound for Pound)

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.


tower on the sea
printer's ink and blood

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