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27 October 2014 @ 07:17 pm
You can also find me/my fic on: Dreamwidth, AO3, and Tumblr

Star Wars
You do it better (AO3) Rey, the things you learn growing up on Jakku
Rey on Jakku (random short bit)
Living is harder(AO3) Rey, post-The Force Awakens, culture shock.
Plant Assembly Procedures (AO3) Rey learns how plants work

The Breakout Job (AO3) Parker helps a friend of Josie's (remember Josie the baby car thief?) to break out of a "camp for troubled youths"

Hunger Games
Surely these are the last days
The Rebellion from Below: A series of n+1 stories about the rebellion as told by its less-glamorous instigators (D9 and D6 focused). Stay tuned, if you're interested. (AO3 series)
Tractors turning the multiple furrows in the vacant land (AO3) The beginnings
The line between hunger and anger (AO3) No turning back now.

Smiles and Promises
Rokia, an OC victor from District Six
I wrote an initial version where Rokia wins the 68th and has terrible mentors, found here. Then we decided Rokia should be part of lorata et al.'s canon divergence 'verse, so she wins the 71st and has Phillips (originally from Lorata's Avenger Games crossover AUs, remixed through my headcanon) as a mentor. Lyme semi-mentor-adopts her, she builds stuff with Wiress and Beetee, helps in the rebellion, and then moves in with Lyme in District Two. (AO3 series)

Before the Games/Backstory:
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A Tribute and a Victor:
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Please feel free to take this personally
Johanna (who I headcanon as winning the 66th Games), her friendship with Finnick (bffs, not sexy), and them getting involved in the Rebellion. Johanna is a tough character--these all come with warnings for drug and alcohol abuse, PTSD, forced prostitution, and bad coping mechanisms generally. (AO3 series)
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Ain't nothing but a family thing
Stories from District Four (Finnick/Annie) (AO3 series)
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I also ramble periodically about my Panem headcanons. I try to tag these posts absurd logistics of Panem (because the more you think about it, the crazier this fictional dystopia really is)

On trigger warnings: Stuff on AO3 is (hopefully!) well-tagged. For stuff posted here, I haven't tagged specific trigger warnings in most cases, although for stories that are particularly in need of such, there are usually warnings in the intros. This is the Hunger Games universe so very often there are references to violence and forced prostitution and dealing with the aftermath of both, including PTSD. Rokia's childhood comes with drug use and child abuse/neglect warnings. If you're wondering if something is going to bother you (trigger-wise or anything else-wise), please feel free to message me and ask. I promise I don't bite.
25 March 2018 @ 12:43 am
Posted in full at: https://ift.tt/2GlslxO at March 24, 2018 at 08:51PM

“Oh, I don’t have that much stuff,” I always think, right up until I have to fucking move. Where did all these clothes come from? why do I have two shelves worth of random drugs and toiletries? I apparently own a whole BUNCH of kitchen stuff?

I’m sure I will be grateful to have all of this when I have to set up housekeeping but I mean… I spent most of 2013-2016 in an apartment with no kitchen, kept all my dishes in a big metal box, cooked on one gas burner on the porch, and washed dishes in a bucket with water from the shower. My clothes were in another big metal box. I owned a plastic table and some foam mattresses and pillows and a handful of chairs (and yes, i had a mosquito net, yes it was treated, it’s not my fault I got malaria anyway). When I wasn’t there, I was in the Netherlands living out of a 45 kg airline baggage allowance + random shit I could borrow or find for cheap. Or otherwise traveling.

I have in fact moved enough shit to need a U-Haul exactly once: when I moved my stuff from Lansing to my parents’ house. I stayed in Pasadena after college, with the asshole ex-boyfriend, so that was “drive over a couple carloads.” When I left before Peace Corps everything fit in my 93 Honda Accord. When I moved to Lansing, we borrowed our neighbor’s van, and we only needed that because my mom randomly bought me dishes at Goodwill and I inherited my grandma’s pots and pans. And all the other times I’ve moved by airplane.

I have, now that I think about it, never actually moved away indefinitely. It’s always been go somewhere, come home, repeat, and everything since Peace Corps has had fixed(ish) durations and I’ve known they’re temporary from the get-go. Which means that I am 35 years old and this is the first time since right after college that my thought process for moving hasn’t involved “what is the minimum amount of stuff I can take, the rest can just stay here.”

And yes I know: I am very lucky that my parents live in the midwest and can thus afford a house with a big basement where I can store shit. And that they are good people and will let me do that and let me live here this year and all the rest. It’s just that means that I am, in some ways, hilariously inexperienced when it comes to Standard Adulting Procedures. (In this country, anyway. My ego demands I point out that I’ve rented housing on three continents, so it’s more that I have a different Adulting skillset than that I am just that sheltered.)

…..there may have been a point when I started this, but it seems to have wandered off, or else I have, or maybe both. tl;dr (i guess?) moving is weird and sucks and i experiencing my traditional “ponder setting everything on fire and moving to the wilderness to become a hermit” stage of packing-induced insanity.

Tags:mo liveblogs random shit, i fucking hate moving, this is why i want to find a good place to live, because if i could not move for 3 entire years i would be, so, happy, sigh, glamorous expat life, does not prepare you for USA adulting, unsurprisingly, crosspost, why not

Tumblr post (if anything looks weird try over there)
16 March 2018 @ 04:50 am
Posted in full at: http://ift.tt/2FLeltR at March 16, 2018 at 03:09AM

the cool thing about building a fictional culture is that I can just… decide that kids don’t pick their pronouns or grownup names until they’re adolescents. So there’s a gender neutral “kid” pronoun, and then at some point the kid’s like “hi I am a boy/girl and my name is [Name]” and it’s like a Rite Of Passage thing (details TBD). (also there’s magic, so magic-hormone-things happen as needed. also magic surgeries. my world my rules.)

Some kids are REALLY SURE they’re girls when they’re like 6 and their parents are like “that’s great sweetie” and then sometimes a week later the same kid is REALLY SURE they’re a boy, because small children, and sometimes it’s hard to keep up with the name of the week but that’s just how kids are, y’know? By the time they’re teenagers it becomes more serious (and stressful I am sure).  Some kids decide they don’t want to have a binary gender, and assholes say those people are just immature (because alas, there are assholes everywhere), but most people just figure someone else’s gender isn’t their business and go on with their lives. Same goes for adults who are like “you know, actually I’m switching genders.” (my hypothesis is that this would happen less frequently in a world with minimal transphobia, because more people would figure gender stuff out as teenagers, but I’m sure there’s always going to be late bloomers or people whose conception just shifts as they get older, or something)

There’s also polyamory and lots of queer people, although in farming clans (where land ownership is patrilineal) it’s generally frowned upon to have more than 2 men in a marriage because …..guys is this a land acquisition scheme? (It’s not forbidden, it’s just… Not Done)

Which is all to say that one of the important-but-not-POV characters is a witch woman in her 70s who is a little bit like Granny Weatherwax and a little bit like Dot, my mom’s 93-year-old BFF who is tiny and fierce, and a lot her entirely own cantankerous but loving self. And also she’s trans.

(this is what i thought about to distract myself at the dentist this afternoon…)

Tags:writing, moss and rain, crosspost

Tumblr post (if anything looks weird try over there)
07 March 2018 @ 04:19 pm
(This has a point, bear with me…)

When I was a kid, I did gymnastics for a while. When I was maybe 12 or 13, I learned how to do a roundoff back handspring back tuck so I could move up to level 6. 

One time at practice, my coach was telling me my back tucks were getting really low to the ground, because I was throwing my head back instead of setting properly and going up first. So I tried again, and in the middle of doing the skill, I went “wait wtf am I doing?” In midair, upside down is not a good time to experience sudden self-doubt. I fell on my head. Nothing serious was hurt, but I was done with practice for the afternoon just in case.

And after that, I couldn’t do back tucks without someone spotting me. I fixed the actual physical problem, I could do the skill better than I ever had before, but I could not make myself do it unless someone was standing out on the floor to spot me. They weren’t helping me, they didn’t even have to touch me, they just had to be there.

This went on for ages. I could do the thing with a spot. I could even do a back tuck from standing, which is objectively harder because you don’t have any momentum to help you. I could not do it in e.g. the level 6 compulsory floor routine.

And the most helpful thing a coach said to me wasn’t “you can do it!” It was “look. realistically? the worst thing that could happen is you land on your knees. you’ve done that before, it’s not that bad.”

And so finally, at a meet, mostly out of sheer frustration, I went “fuck it, I probably won’t die,” and did it. And I landed on my feet.

And I feel like there’s a metaphor there. For the times where by any objective measure I can Do The Thing–but that doesn’t matter if my brain won’t let me because it is convinced that flinging myself up into the air, backwards, is a fucking terrible idea and what the hell am I thinking?

There’s a lot of things about life, especially right now, that feel a little like I’m flinging myself up into the air, backwards. All the evidence suggests that I will land on my feet. But nobody’s standing there to catch me, and what if? What if I get up in the air and forget how to do it and fall?

But what if I fall?! is my brain trying to protect me. It doesn’t help to yell at it about how wrong it is. What can help is saying “OK, then you fall. But you know how to fall. You’ve done it before. You fall, you get up, you figure out what went wrong and you try again.”
28 February 2018 @ 09:58 am
It's entirely original characters, only tangentially related to the main plot, and is mostly an excuse for insane levels of worldbuilding. Anyone surprised? Nobody? Excellent.
I am predictable, okay.Collapse )
26 February 2018 @ 10:07 am
(Edited slightly from a comment I put on [personal profile] staranise's Black Panther post)

So, the the zoom-in-map bit at the beginning of the movie suggested that Wakanda is somewhere around Uganda-ish, and assuming that's right, that makes the recent past REALLY INTERESTING.

not to be a total killjoy but...Collapse )
Posted in full at: http://ift.tt/2C3HH4b at February 08, 2018 at 01:40AM

OK so…it depends. At first, Rokia doesn’t really have any kind of relationship with people who aren’t Lyme. And Misha is very…Herself, she takes up space and is a little wild and pretty much unapologetic. And that’s not a problem, per se (I mean, most of that is also true of Sara), but it’s kind of overwhelming, especially at the beginning.

Rokia and Devon actually get to know each other first, because Lyme sets them up on Art Playdates. Rokia learned to draw on mechanical stuff but she’ll sketch people or landscapes or whatever sometimes (idk much about art so…no details, sorry). And Devon has his paint wall, and Rokia is less nervous when she has something to do with her hands, so it works out.

Going back into the random writing archives, here’s 2 things that have Rokia and Misha in them (cut for long)

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03 February 2018 @ 08:06 pm

ladies who among us isn’t full of rage, just apocalyptically angry at all times

It’s there, smoldering under a layer of soil.

Smoldering, because it’s been starved of oxygen for so long.

Still hot, you’ll burn your fingers if you dig down deep.

You uncover the embers and they scream into life, bright and blinding


Get a bucket of sand, push the flames back down where they belong, hidden so they can’t hurt anyone

But down underground they are still reaching out

tendrils of heat and smoke

turning wood into charcoal

And charcoal burns hotter than wood

It takes a breath of air and burns bright

keeps burning and

burns to

ash. Can’t burn, can’t breathe

not like a fire, or a tree

Just blows, drifts on the wind

You breathe it in and it scrapes your lungs

Because even burned to ash

Even when there’s nothing living left

I will reach out

with short-bitten fingernails

And tear at whatever piece of you I can reach

the title was a tumblr post that crossed my dash several times, and then it decided it needed to be a poem.
i dunno man don't ask me I just work here

Posted in full at: http://ift.tt/2DRXRlP at January 27, 2018 at 07:03PM

Oh gosh okay here goes. (cut for long)

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16 January 2018 @ 04:36 pm
In which I ramble at some length about worldbuilding for a story I am apparently writing now because it ate my brain:

The story that literally started with a fantasy title generator memeCollapse )