Oh, I gotta mention this, because it's funny.
So I'm at my grandparents' wedding anniversary party last week and I'm talking to my Aunt Jane, who's wonderful and I love her. She's fortyish (although she looks and acts much younger,) has always been single, and over the years has admirably refused to lower her high standards. So, just about this time last year, she announced that she'd resigned herself to the fact that she was going to be single forever and therefore she was, from this point on, arranging her life to suit her own needs and wants. I didn't see much of a change from what she'd been doing before, but then, she's always been very independent.
Anyway. It seemed like just a couple of months later that she met Dave.
Jane and Dave: incredibly adorable. They're slightly different shades of geek-- he likes Kirk, she likes Picard, blah blah. And oh yeah, he's about twelve years younger than she is. But other than that they're like the same person. They're both major Trekkies. They both speak French. They met at a professional thing because they both work in the same industry. And so on. Anyway. He's everything on her list of Things a Guy Must Be-- except taller, of course, so you could say she did actually lower her standards on one point. Literally. *snickers* But I love Dave, really. They act like two teenagers. He gives her flowers and stuffed animals, and they snuggle on the couch and hold hands and go on long walks and when we're doing family stuff, they say things in French to make the other person giggle.
I guess you'd have to know my Aunt Jane for this to really be striking, but trust me. It's very incredibly cute.
So here's the funny bit. I'm Aunt Jane's maid of honor. And she's talking to me about the fabric she picked out for the bridesmaids dresses, because I didn't get a chance to go shopping with her.
Aunt Jane: "So I have the pattern picked out, it's an A-line skirt and a top with cap sleeves and it's this really nice shade of pink..." (At this point, I obviously have a funny look on my face.) "Something's wrong with pink?"
Honestly, I seriously don't think I've worn anything pink since I was ten, when I had some nifty courdoroy overalls with little purple buttons shaped like butterflies. And I know what I said to Aunt Jane. Just a week or two ago, she was talking about floral colors, nasturniums or something, and I said "Blue is fine, some shades of purple, green is fine, just NOT PINK." I know that's what I said. I'm an autumn. I'm a redhead (mostly. When I get the highlights done.) I don't do pink.
So she's looking at me kind of tentatively and says "I thought you said you wanted pink."
What can I say, I chickened out. I mean, the fabric was bought already. "Um, pink is fine. I like pink."
And today I talked to Mom, because she's seen the fabric, and apparently it's not a faded dusty rose pink or a light pearlescent pale pink, both of which I could've lived with. No, according to my mother it's a big, bright pink.
Now, Aunt Jane has been a bridesmaid many many times in her life and is only the tiniest smidge bitter about it. So her whole deal with actually buying fabric and getting these skirt-and-top separates (instead of actual dresses) made to fit us is so that we (the other adult bridesmaid, the ten-year-old junior bridesmaid, and me) will be able to get some use out of them. Wear them again, instead of sticking them in the back of a closet.
So there's my dilemma. Tell her or not tell her? She could return the fabric, I haven't even been measured or anything yet. But... do I want to make a big deal? Hmm. Started out as a funny story, now it's a dilemma. Do I say something? 'Cause I don't have a problem wearing a pink dress to the wedding. That's fine. I'd bite the bullet and wear a dress that made me look ugly as sin for Aunt Jane. It's her wedding, not mine. But if she's expecting me to wear a pink skirt and top ever ever again... not likely.
But really, there's "traditional wedding colors" and then there's "autumn colors that look good on me" and I doubt the twain are going to meet any time soon, so even if I did speak up, how likely is it that I'd get something flattering? Probably not that likely. And I don't wear long skirts that much anyway. I'm a delightful and delicious pear shape, which means anything that falls straight down from my hips makes me look like one of those columns in front of the Parthenon... sex-ay. So no matter what color it is, the pink outfit is probably going to be put in my closet and maybe get pulled out on Easter and Mothers' Day and other occasions when I'm not really trying to look good, I'm trying to look Nice. Which is, basically, the case with all the other dresses in my closet, except for the short flirty brown ones that come in at the waist.
So...
I remain St. Livia, martyred to pink.
This is untitled, and it's for Maygra, and it's going to be Horatio/Archie because I have now seen the third Hornblower movie "The Duchess and the Devil" which is the pure uncut crack cocaine of hurt/comfort and it must be slashed. I'll admit, after my first exposure to the series, I didn't think Archie and Horatio were all that slashy. Friendly, sure, good pals, whatever. Potential was there, but it didn't jump out at me. Then I saw "The Duchess and the Devil." I may rave later about how kickass awesome the character of the Duchess is-- very proto-strong-chick-- but. Archie. And Horatio.
Oh. my. god. "The Duchess and the Devil" is the Platonic ideal of h/c-- all other examples of hurt/comfort are but pale shadows. Do you get your illicit tingles from Anorexic!RayK, Consumptive!ObiWan, Abused!Anyone, Danny Whumping, prison stories, anything with nightmares, starvation or a sickbed...? Do any of your favorite stories involve your favorite characters being locked in a box for days on end? Um, you might like this, just a little, maybe.
And then Archie's ponytail gets undone and there's those pretty pretty curls...
*sigh* Yeah. 'Cause, you know, it's all this and it's a frigging good series. Don't get the wrong idea-- it's quality stuff here, not cheap angst by any means. Anyway. This WIP is set while Horatio, Archie, and the small crew of seamen under Horatio's command have some time to kill, because they've been captured and are sitting around in a Spanish prison on an island. For more specific, spoilery detail, select the middle of this paragraph to make it show up against the background. [begin spoiler space] It's after Horatio & co. go and rescue the ship that cracked up on the rocks during the storm. They stop in at the Indy and then go back to the prison island, and this is where my story starts-- before the Spanish government decides to release them. [end spoiler space] Anyway, this is kind of silly, and I don't know if Horatio would ever really agree to do this, but he's in the mood to do nice things for Archie at the moment, okay? Okay. *grins* On with the show.
"Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.
In peace nothing does... no. In peace, becomes..."
"It's 'In peace, there's nothing so becomes--'"
"Yes, right. In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the... the... Damn. Archie?"
"The blast of war--"
"Yes, *thank* you." Horatio took a deep breath. He was very aware of the hot sun on his face, and he was thankful for it. If his face were flushed, and if he was sweating visibly, as he feared he must be, the heat could, believably, take the blame for it.
He began again.
"But when the blast of *war* blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;
And lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let pry through the portage of the head like... like..."
"Like a brass cannon, sir." said Oldroyd before Archie could, and snickered quietly.
"*Thank* you, Oldroyd!" Daring to glance up at his captive audience from under a furrowed brow, Horatio aimed what he hoped was a killing glare at the seaman, seated on the ground in the shade thrown by the covered walkway.
"Welcome, sir." said Oldroyd, grinning. Standing just behind him was Styles, who kicked him in the shoulder, and Horatio had to take another deep breath so as not to smile and lose character.
"Keep going," Archie prodded from his chair beside one of the pillars. "You're doing much better."
"Um... yes." Horatio squinted. "Where was I?"
"Like the brass cannon," Archie quoted, and Horatio nodded quickly.
"Yes, yes, of course. Right."
Archie smiled approvingly. "Start again at 'Disguise fair nature.'"
Damn. Horatio pressed his lips together, then let out a short sigh. "Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage, and lend the eye a terrible aspect..."
Oldroyd was smirking again, Horatio knew without looking. Hunching his shoulders forward, he continued with the speech, and quashed an inner sinking feeling as best he could.
It had, like most of the momentous happenings in Horatio's short but eventful life, seemed very like a good idea at the time...
Post may contain spoilers for this week's Buffy & Angel.
[Pre-transplant Lindsey shakes hands with the doctor]
Pinky: Aw, man, that's sad. He can't play guitar and he's gotta shake hands like a damn bitch.
[Lindsey wakes up, post-transplant, apparently nude, with the evil hand under the covers...]
Pinky (does Mr. Garrison from "South Park" voice): Mr. Hat! What are you doing-- oh. Ooohhh, Mr. Hat...
Me: *Thank* you, Thing!
[Angel steals Lindsey's glass from Caritas so he can see who the fingerprints belong to]
Me: Could it be... Evil McPsycho!
Pinky: Stabby McBadhand!
Me: Itchy McTriggerfinger!
[Lindsey shoots the guard in the foot]
Me: He's gonna need like a toe transplant now...
Pinky: (Mike Meyers voice) An eeeeeevil toe transplant?
Me: Stop it, evil toe! Stop!
[Lindsey almost shoots his boss]
Me: Whoa! Looks like that balls transplant took pretty well too!
[Lindsey and Angel's last scene by L's truck]
Angel: You know, in the fifties we all thought we'd have air cars and robots by now.
Pinky: Robots, riiiiiight...
Me: Yeah, that's crazy talk! Robots in the Buffyverse...
[later]
Me: Oh, just kiss him already. Kiss!! Kiss!!
Pinky: Evil... hand... must grab Angel's ass... No, evil hand, no!
You know, you can quibble about the arc and pacing and tying plots together and characterization and cheap laughs and all of that, but when it comes down to it, last night's episodes of Buffy and Angel had *heart.* They made me go "Awww" and "Ooohhh!" and made me laugh like a frigging maniac. So: good show, everyone. Well done.
Added a "Who's Who" to the sidebar. Added link to Sheila's blog. Love her art, esp. the latest one with Spike, and the Wesley/Gunn tidbits in her blog. I think I'm developing OTP syndrome when it comes to Wesley and Gunn. Wes/Angel is a very slashy relationship, yeah, but now it just makes me all itchy, like, "something's not right here!!" I want more Wesley and Gunn, darnit.
Sheila says on her main page, "Unlike most other pairings, the relationship between them is born out of genuine like and respect. They don't want to change each other. Their strengths complement, and they know it. " Yeah. Yeah, exactly. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon have a great relationship, but they aren't as equal as Wesley and Gunn. Jim and Blair, though they both have their strengths that they contribute to their partnership, just aren't as nice together as these guys, canonically. Not schmoopy, really, or sappy, just... supportive. They support each other.
That's why even the smallest W/G moment-- like when they were fighting vamps together in last week's ep, Disharmony-- is slashy to me. Did they even make eye contact? I dunno. I just have to see them moving so smoothly together to rescue those people from the cage, two halves of a team, and I'm there.
Holy crap. Neil Gaiman has a blog. Okay, so it's kind of an extended commercial for his new novel, but you know what, I'd read Neil Gaiman's blog if he were trying to market his own fingernail clippings. Hell, I might actually buy some...
And in other news. My grandparents' anniversary party went off without a hitch, or at least not too many hitches. We rented this little hall and had flowers and catering and broke the bank, basically. But it went really well. That's the kind of thing my mother's really good at: organizing a project, making sure it all comes together. Like General Sherman cutting a swath of destruction through the South. I admire that about her... well, envy it, really, since in real life I'm the sort of complete flake who can't take a simple phone message without getting the name and the number wrong and then forgetting to tell anyone about it.
On the other hand, there's a bright side to being a flake, and the bright side is that it makes you very, very tolerant of other people's flakiness. If you're not very flaky yourself, everyone else just drives you up the wall. So Mom spends a lot of time being insanely irritated. But she throws one hell of a golden anniversary party.
I mentioned that Selphie and her husband (who I think I'm going to nickname Buster) were coming down for the party. Well, they came and they brought their babies. Their babies are an African Gray parrot, three cockatiels, and four Gouldian finches. They just got the four finches, which is the sort of thing that prompts me to say "Good god y'all, have a real baby already! How much more work could it be?!" *grins* Mom and Dad encourage me to express this opinion... I'm actually joking of course, as Selphie and Buster haven't even been married for a year yet. But Mom and Dad want some grandkids without feathers. *grins*
The new cockatiel is adorable. He can say "Pretty bird!" although it sounds like something you ran through the answering machine a couple of times. And when you put him next to the other male cockatiel he gets competitive and starts whistling "Tequila." It's so cute. Of course, since Selphie and Buster and the babies stayed in my room while they were here, my floor and most of the flat surfaces in my room are now covered with scattered birdseed. Less cute...
That being said, I was just at Soo's blog and she found this neat site where, by inputting your birthday, you can find the theme of your life according to the music charts. According to the US charts, the theme of my life is "Tragedy" by the BeeGees which I'm totally unfamiliar with.
But according to the UK charts the theme for my life is... yes... wait for it... Gloria Gaynor's "I Will Survive!" My theme rocks. This is worth getting the spam I will probably get because I had to input my e-mail address to get the info. *grins*
If I input my 18th birthday, I get UK: Spice Girls' "Who Do You Think You Are" and US: Puff Daddy's "Can't Nobody Hold Me Down." *shrug* Eh. The lameness of said songs cannot overpower the coolness of "I Will Survive..." oh, and interestingly, Soo, I used to have a CD with Tasmin Archer's "Sleeping Satellite" on it. The song is sort of slow and sad, something about killing the romance of the moon by actually going there. I think.
Lots of stuff going on this weekend. Have to help Mom throw an anniversary party for Dad's parents, have to go shopping for bridesmaids' dresses with my aunt because I'm her maid of honor, and Selphie and her husband are coming down for the weekend because it's his birthday, so I think they're gonna take my room and I'm gonna be sleeping on the couch for a while. Busy busy busy. I may not blog much for a few days.
dammit dammit dammit dammit dammit
There's another Livia.
I'm trying to look on the bright side. She's Livia Balaban who writes X-Files and I'm Livia Penn and I don't... so... how confusing could it be?
*grrrrrrrrrrrr* There's another Livia, and her page is cuter than mine.
How ridiculous that this sucks, but it does. It sucks.
Pinky's birthday was a few days ago, so I took her to see Bridget Jones' Diary. If you didn't read the book, you probably won't be too crazy about it. If you did read the book, you might still be "eh," although the final ten minutes (which have no resemblance to the climax of the book) are pretty darn good. As far as chick-flick climactic girl-gets-boy moments go, this one rated pretty well on the Livia Melodrama Meter. Except for the fake snow. I... let me slip into a Brit accent for a moment... I fucking bloody well despise fake snow in the movies! In TV, okay, it's small-screen, it doesn't look too awful. In the movies-- god. You have a multi-million dollar budget. Get real snow! Nothing kills your big romantic moment like having your hero and heroine embrace each other with fucking potato flakes stuck to their faces.
Colin Firth is hot. *rrowr* He plays right into that thing I was talking about the other day, that emotional reserve which I (oddly, maybe) find to be unbearably sexy. Once I'm done with my grandmother's Hornblower tapes, I may have to borrow her BBC Pride and Prejudice.
Bridget Jones was one of those movies where every five minutes you hit the person next to you and say "Remind me to buy the soundtrack." Beginning scene where Bridget is sad and lonely: "All By Myself." Fight scene: "It's Raining Men." So, afterward I bought Pinky the soundtrack for her birthday, and then we went to the craft store and I got her some fabric crayons so she could take another crack at her T-shirt project which I mentioned a while back, in the entry where I talk about making cookies.
Then we went shopping a bit more to kill some time. I checked some Sharpe books out of the library (research!) and went to Ross Dress for Less and bought a neat little black sleeveless top with a lightning bolt on the front, made out of little glittery silver appliques. It's much cooler than it sounds. With dark jeans and Docs it makes me look like some kind of minor league, suburbia-style idea of a punk hottie. Very nice. Even Pinky approved. It's one of the first things I've bought for myself with the paycheck I'm getting from my new job writing freelance things for this magazine, so I didn't want to buy something fuzzy and autumn-colored, which is what I usually do. No, now I have a new look, sort of... minimalist, club-hopping superhero. :D
Responding to some of LaT's comments about the 04/16/01 Roswell...
LaT said "For a year, Tess has pined for [Max], not because of anything inherently special in who Max is now, in this life, but because of what she was told she felt about him in a prior life." Well, I wouldn't characterize it as pining, really. She was thinking of getting it on with Kyle in "The End of the World," wasn't she? Although she's never turned down an opportunity to promote her relationship with Max, we've never really seen her mope. (Certainly not as much as we've seen Liz mope.)
And we've always been told that Tess remembered her past life, more clearly than any of the others. So if Max is at all similar to who he used to be, then I don't see why Tess' feelings wouldn't be valid, why they couldn't carry over in a valid fashion. And in the New York episodes, it seemed to me like Tess was appreciating Max for who he was in this life. Maybe it's just me, but that's when I see a connection sort of beginning to form between them.
And the Maria and Michael thing-- maybe I was just annoyed because everyone else really made some major progress in the junior-prom episode, and they... didn't. Max and Tess shared their first real kiss, Liz accepted the fact that her relationship with Max was over and reached out towards Sean, the Kyle/Tess sibling relationship was finally brought from subtext into text, and Alex resisted a full-scale Isabel Evans Romantic Assault. All pretty ground-breaking stuff. But Michael and Maria just did their nine thousandth repetition of the Break Up / Get Back Together game, and I don't like seeing them hurt each other for no real reason.
I mean, after doing this same jealous shtick with Isabel and Courtney, shouldn't Maria be willing to give Michael a little bit more benefit of the doubt? I mean, she found a name and telephone number on his desk, not a pair of lacy panties in the back seat of his car for crying out loud. Give the man a break. Or am I just a crank?
And was it Maria, not Liz, who suggested Kyle might be gay? If it was, that makes me so happy, because Maria Is Always Right. Can't you see her ten years from now at the class reunion, holding a martini, laughing that low back-of-her-throat laugh when Kyle walks in with his boyfriend? "Ah, see? I knew it."
This is a special broadcast from Maygra's blog, because she kidnapped me. So far, except for not giving me chocolate, she's being very nice to me... I'm in the same room as Russell Crowe. So, needless to say, I'm not getting any work done. *grins*
Also, I got to watch Roswell, which was... eh. I think they must have been going for the record: how many times can we possibly use the "person A comes around the corner and sees B and C making out and rushes away in tears" plot device in a single episode? Answer: Kill me now! Futher spoilers follow.
So many dreary episodes have been enlivened by one bright shining factor: Maria/Michael wackiness. In this episode, it killed me stone dead with boredom. I was not engaged in the least. I didn't think Maria/Michael wackiness would ever get tired and old and boring, but somehow they managed it. Thanks a lot, guys.
Kyle had some okay moments (Liz to Kyle: "Maybe you're just gay...?") although I hated his hair. Bad look. As long as we're playing Fashion Spot, Michael looked best of all the boys in a tux-- very stylish. Must've saved some of that Vegas money after all. Max looked like a beanpole. Hey, we've seen him shirtless, ok, we know he's built.
Maria's dress was exactly what I thought she would wear. Very nice. Gray is not Tess' color. And what the heck was up with Liz' necklace? Was that, like, a bronze skull? I'll have to check my tape. As for Isabel... whose blog had that joke about RenFair tops? "Hi, I'm Isabel, and I see you've met my breasts." Yeah.
Also, was Liz wearing white socks under her prom dress the whole night? Because she was wearing socks when she was sliding around at the bowling alley afterwards, so what's up with that? Does she always wear socks over pantyhose? Is it too hot for pantyhose in Roswell? Was she not wearing any underwear at all?
No, no, this is Liz we're talking about... The most logical explanation is that Liz always carries a pair of clean socks in her purse. She's like that.
Anyway. This episode did cement one thing for me: I'm really kind of rooting for Max and Tess, although I know it'll never work out. I'm pre-emptively feeling sorry for her, really, because I know she's going to get the rug pulled out from under her somewhere down the road... excuse my mixed metaphors. I'm thinking when that happens, there's going to be a curly blonde killing spree and I'm going to be cheering.
Does anyone but me ever get paranoid that some FBI web spider is going to pick up on their keywords and tag them on some list of dangerous people? I've just used the words "kidnapped," "killing spree" and "gunpowder" in short order. Ah well.
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(con't from first entry) ... and gunpowder. Oh, yes, Sharpe *must* smell of gunpowder, that sharp dry smell that gets right up your nose and stings. And all of sudden it all makes sense to Horatio, why he was always nervous around Sharpe and why he said "yes" when the man invited him out drinking and... just... everything.
This is really an attractive scenario for me because in the Hornblower books (I've mostly read the later ones) Horatio sees himself as this totally unattractive, almost tragicomic figure. He can never understand why anyone's attracted to him, he always beats himself up about his mistakes and brushes off the successes, and he's so amazingly bad at expressing his emotions... He spends several years married to a woman he doesn't love because he can't figure out how to say "no."
So I see it as perfectly plausible for Horatio to all of a sudden realize that this is why he's never been in love properly (and properly of course means "with a woman") and also why (whether he's with a woman or his best friend Archie or even Sharpe) he always feels like he's saying the wrong thing, unable to voice (or even admit to himself) what he really feels.
But Sharpe is like a force of nature, like a wild beast ranging. And Horatio's there with his back against the wall and he freezes up, like he always does, and lets Sharpe maul him. His heart is pounding. He's already making excuses: he's drunk. I'm drunk. But he can't deny that voice, that rough guttersnipe accent that's growling obscene things into his ear, echoing thoughts he didn't know he had, or was capable of having...
And on a totally unrelated note, Roswell is on tonight. It's back! Yayyyy! The TV guide says it's about the kids trying to find dates to their junior prom. Oh boy... (Although I do hear good Kyle/Tess things about this episode.) I kind of wanted to finish my Kyle/Alex Viva Las Vegas First Time story before Roswell came back... well, damn me for a lazy writer. :) I'm going to try and get it done this week.
Added two pics to the sidebar: Richard Sharpe as played by Sean Bean (that's really the most attractive picture I could find... for me, his sexiness comes from his voice and his attitude. *rrrowr.*) and Horatio Hornblower as played by that stunningly pretty Welsh kid whose name I can't spell. Ioan Gruffud? I think. Also added a link to Miriam's blog. Welcome!
Whoa, three days. Time flies. Um.
Soo, I love you too. *hugs* I really really do.
Maygra is writing about Horatio Hornblower. Um. Yes. He must be slashed. I've only seen... I think it's the second movie? The one with the fire-ships, where he has to spend three weeks in quarantine and there's a good scene where Horatio is getting ready to take an examination for promotion. He rushes into the mess hall (or whatever) only wearing those tight white breeches and exclaims, "Can anyone lend me a clean white shirt!" At which point Pinky and I exclaimed in unison, "NO!"
*snicker* But seriously, I love any type of thing-- period pieces, cop shows, military movies or whatever-- where emotion is just not shown. Like in the Hornblower second movie where Captain Pellew is sure H. is going to die of the plague, and they just sort of tip their hats to each other and say "See you in three weeks!" And then Pellew gets this *great* look on his face when H. finally turns up and isn't dead. *sniffle* But of course Stiff Upper Lips are maintained by all.
Here's my idea: Sharpe/Hornblower slash. Normally I would keep an idea like this to myself & hope no one else writes it before me, but I want it so bad I don't care if someone else gets there first. See, here's Richard Sharpe and his riflemen and they're on some mission, and Horatio is in charge of transporting them somewhere or other.
And they get on each other's nerves-- Sharpe's all irritated by this pretty-boy young officer, the same type who always looked down on him because he wasn't born a gentleman. And maybe Horatio does disapprove of raising officers from the ranks. And plus, Sharpe creeps him out a little-- the guy's a killer, it's there in the way he moves, in the squint of his eyes, so he's always a little *nervous* around him...
And then maybe someone dies and Horatio takes it really really hard because he's that kind of guy, and always thinks he could have done better. And Sharpe's realized by this point that Horatio's an okay kid, y'know, when he takes the stick out of his ass, so he and the Riflemen take H. out and get him really drunk, maybe take him someplace with prostitutes which H. would refuse, blushing. And then maybe Sharpe and Hornblower are out pissing in an alley and H. hasn't slept in a few days and he's only had a few drinks but he's there in that place full of clarity where it seems like you're not wobbling, the world is, or maybe you're *making* the world wobble, and all you have to do is stretch out your hand and you can touch the whole world. And he stretches out a hand...
And Richard looks at him kind of squinty and then that sharp killer grin stretches his mouth and he's pushed Horatio up against the grimy alley wall and grabbed his cock, biting at his throat, one hard hand pushed inside his jacket, and Horatio can't move, he's harder than he's ever been and he absolutely can't let this happen, if if does it'll be the end of him, completely, and Richard laughs harshly in his ear, smelling of rum and male sweat and earth...
And here is a link to my new story, Saturday Morning. Batman. Femslash. Harley/Ivy. Possibly the first in a series. There ya go. I have posted it to various yahoogroups: Rareslash, CkoS, DCcomicsslash, and Ladyslash... and am now waiting in that itchy "Where is my feedback?!" anteroom of hell. You know how it is. Don't tell me you don't. "It's been two whole hours! Where is my feedback!?" Oy.
(Viridian-- climb the lions. Cliiiiiiimb them. I dare you. P.S. Take pictures.)
Lots of little fiddly things today. Deleted AuKestrel's link from the collective, as she is no longer blogging. We'll miss you. Added new art to the sidebar. Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy, of Batman: The Animated Series. The colorized version of "Harley and Ivy" is probably going to go on the quick-and-dirty page I made for this pairing... the black and white version is a Livia's Weblog exclusive. :)
Anna writes that she could not construct a 600k epic around the image of Daniel from Stargate being spanked with a wooden spoon. I would totally disagree with that statement. People do it all the time. It has its own category. It's called Danny Whumping.
I want Anna to start Danny Whumping. 'Cause I loved her comments about Children of the Gods. Here's my idea for a Stargate angst-fest, splitting off from that episode, which I will never write 'cause I'm just not subtle enough to do it. Or possibly I'm too subtle. Anyway, it's an AU. When Daniel volunteers to be taken as a host, even though "nothing of the host survives," they actually take him. And since we know now that all that "nothing of the host survives" stuff is BS, Daniel and Sha're's relationship wouldn't actually be over.
Actually, now that I'm typing this out for the first time, I don't think it would work, because I was thinking he and Sha're could actually communicate with each other while being hosts-- just little eyeblinks now and then-- but Ra would completely not approve of Ammonet being that close to any other Gouald. If Daniel were Ra's host, it would work, because you'd be able to weave Daniel and Sha're very subtly into the undercurrents of Ra and Ammonet's relationship-- Ra would say something off-the-cuff and not know quite why, and Ammonet wouldn't understand it either, but underneath that, Sha're could understand and maybe, ten years later, muster up the energy to influence Ammonet into sending some kind of half-coded reply. Imagine a sex scene from Daniel's POV in this situation.
But how would Daniel ever become Ra's host? Maybe that could also be worked into the AU. Maybe Jack and Teal'c, in their escape plan, severely wound Ra and he needs another host body fast, and hey, there's that stupid Tau'ri scientist who volunteered, so why not take him? Maybe it's Ammonet who says "Yeah, take him!" because underneath, Sha're is influencing her to do it.
*shrug* Want the idea? Take it, I'm not doing anything with it.
I finished a story today! Was it (you might ask) one of the thirty or so WIPs on the list? No, it was not, it was entirely new, and now it's demanding a sequel. Yes (you might conclude) I am absolutely insane.
But I finished a (short) story!
I'm waiting for comments before I publish. It'll be up soon.
Feb. 25 - Mar. 25 -- First entry -- Earthquake -- In which I am obsessive and make lists. -- Some works in progress -- Mommmm, she's touching me!! -- I make cookies -- Hayes for President -- Who could ask for anything more? -- Feverishly productive
Mar. 26 - Apr. 09 -- Happy birthday to me -- Big fucking Roswell babble & recs -- I knew that -- Scenes from Planet Livia -- Shame is good for you -- Movie babble, techie fiddling -- Sex, death, purity I & II -- Channeling Karen -- Addendum -- Code & Design -- Due South recs -- Hacks & slashers I, II & III