The Lady Laughs

Rescued 5 animals last weekend (105 total), 3 kittens and 2 flinch-y barking scared dogs. One of the dogs was a German Shepard, with that ear-shredding bark that made me nervous, but the cats were like, "pft, whatever," and they nursed on my fingers with their tiny sharp teeth. One time the dog started up, and the littlest kitten went *squeak?*, and the dog shut up for an hour.

RECS:
SPN, gen: Tin Soldier. Dean is cold, Castiel is fading, and Sam is surprisingly even keel. Also, someone is raising the dead. This fic is inverted trope after inverted trope, and it's got genuine horror. I love that. I love her Castiel and her Dean and her Sam, and I loved the OCs, and ohgod, if I list all the things I loved, I'm going to spoil it. Just go read it. Warnings first.

BBC Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft/Anthea het: The Art of Scheduling, or, How Mycroft Came to Realize He Was Well and Utterly Fucked: It suited him, and he assumed it suited her for she'd never given any indication otherwise. I know nothing about BBC Sherlock, nothing about Anthea, and very little about Mycroft except that he was in that Gaiman Lovecraft/Holmes crossover. I still love this fic, a sharp sweet cat's-cradle of power exchanges and clever dialogue and hot sex, framed around additions Anthea made to Mycroft's appointment book.

CWRPS, Jeff/Jensen, AU: A Kept Boy is complete at 88 chapters and 200k+. Because poisontaster is freaking amazing. I write stories that tie into hers, but that's not why you should try it out. It's a love story, and it's hard, and it's gorgeous; it's a thorny labyrinth with a bed in the center where you can rest.

Essay: Sticks and stones: anger, responsibility and control. It's an essay about bullying, to some extent, and about the way adults teach kids to deal with anger by denying that they have it. By undermining what one feels with "oh, you're not angry, you're not REALLY angry," until the kid in question can't recognize their internal emotional cues anymore.

I just watched the War Prayer, the one short film with Thomas Dekker and Jeremy Sisto based on Mark Twain's poem. It's... intense. ( Cut for embedded video and discussion of being against war vs. being against soldiers. )

- T and I play rock-paper-scissors as a deciding tool, to see who should get out the pills for the night and all. We can throw the same sign for about 10 rounds straight. I think this means we're predictable.
- The horror channel is playing Six Feet Under during September. I hate every one of these characters. But Jeremy Sisto is unclothed most of the time, and so I fast forward and then gawk at him open-mouthed. He seems to have no body-shame whatsoever and it's ridiculously hot.
- Speaking of Sisto, I'm writing AKB again. \o/ I forget how much I enjoy writing Jeremy until I'm in it.
- Elizabeth Moon has failed, and this post is acerbic-funny: "Bacon sandwiches will be provided for anyone who looks, you know, suspicious, and must be consumed in front of the panelists in order to ensure a safe space for libertarian atheist allies."
- Flying to Texas tomorrow to visit my father. I don't know which I'm looking forward to least: the 4 hour flight, the unfamiliar bed or being in the house where my mother died. I do want to be with Dad, but wow, I hurt and I'm nervous about having another 9-10 pain day around him. I try to be strong and invincible because he doesn't need to worry about me, but. Well. Stupid fibro tricks. I will remember to bring my knitting this time, though, for something to do while we watch TV.

Title: Howl
Author: nilchance and beanside
Rating: NC-17 overall
Pairing: Clay/Aisha; ultimately also Cougar/Jensen and Clay/Aisha/Cougar/Jensen
Warning: Violence. Also psychological and physical abuse, suicidal ideation, and a character being falsely identified as dead.
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Andy Diggle and to Jock. No profit made, no lawsuit preferred.
Summary: Werewolf fic. Three years have gone by since Jensen died; Cougar is not all right. When he goes in with Clay and Aisha to kill some vampires, they find someone unexpected.

( Cougar dreams of Chechnya, the mission with the black dogs. )

5 things I'm recommending:
- Bad cripple, mythbusting re: disability fraud, or "no, those OTHER disabled people who are leeching off the state."
- Fuck yeah, Jensen/Cougar, a tumblr blog about, well. Jensen/Cougar. I am pleased.
- JGL sings Bad Romance, and my uterus falls out.
- Ghosts in the Machine, a horror Losers fic that was written off my prompt and it's so pretty I can barely stand it. Also, you may never be able to watch Food Network ever again.
- Hyperbole and a Half: Dinosaur, or that one where the goose invades a house. ( You can tell me this conversation doesn't make you think of Jensen/Cougar, but I won't believe you. )

~ Anybody got good recommendations for accessory basics like a belt, or a nice interview purse?

~ I would really appreciate any energy/prayers/good thoughts re: getting a new job. I miss health insurance.

Broke 5k!

\o/

WTF, LJ. Okay, this probably goes without saying, but my facebook and twitter accounts =/= my LJ. So, y'know, don't crosspost my stuff. kthnx.

( Because I have 800 tabs open, I'm c&ping my boring-ass Old Navy wishlist onto this entry. )

With great cleavage comes great responsibility:"The lesson, ladies, is that great cleavage comes with great responsibility. People who shame women for wearing “too-revealing” clothes like to center their objections on women’s clothing “choices,” but make no mistake—this is not about what we choose. This is about the things we don’t choose—having chests or butts or legs or necks or hair or any other part of our human bodies that others decide to project their particular sexual interests—and their slut-shaming—upon."

Man, do I feel the hell out of this. I've got big boobs, there's no restraining them completely. They bounce, they nip, they spill. They draw attention. They create cleavage. This attitude of nothing I wear being "appropriate" enough, it created a lot of problems for me at my old job. I was stalked by a student, and scolded by my boss because my inappropriate dress was apparently too much temptation for him-- did I mention that he was a blind guy? So yeah. I almost had surgery because of this stupid attitude that cleavage is something I expose for attention instead of by accident of size.

Concert was awesome. Lunch with embroiderama was awesome. Driving 8 hrs and the attendant pain is less awesome.

I really love Tommy more every time. And I'm so sunk on that HEA AU with Tommy/Misha being bitchily smart.

We were crammed into this "handicap only" ghetto with folder chairs and 20-some women shoved together. There was this freaking yuppie couple who sat behind us and bragged about not being disabled, but the seats were sooo good y'all, and then they kept touching me or T or talking loudly or spilling beer or, at one point, kicking me in the small of the back. Good times.