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The Big Fandom Indexes:
(The newer ones are at the bottom.)
McDragon's Lair. (Marvel fic index)
(Except for: Surprise, a Ric/Shatterstar fic and The Real McCoy, Gen, movieverse, Jamie Maddrox.)
DC fic index
Naruto fic index
Star Trek: Reboot fic index
Leverage fic index
Avengers fic index
Fandoms I only wrote a couple of stories for:
The Curse of the Apple Pie
Gen, 500 words. Written on a prompt.
All archives have both my own and others' stories. Sadly, they've all been closed.
Naruto: Hidden Village.
Jamie Maddrox: Seeing Double
Other stuff I think you should see:
My An Archive Of Our Own page (AO3)
List o' Leverage fic recs
List o' Star Trek: Reboot fic recs
All recs ever
I would like to say I keep all my awesome recs I've found in one place... but I don't. At all. They're scattered throughout those links, rarely duplicated. Organization's not my strong suit.
*edit: It would help if I forward-set the date. >.> *grins*
Rating: R for violence, torture, and making out
Genre: M/M, F/M, Gen
Characters: Clint Barton, Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Thor, Jane Foster, Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes, Bruce Banner
Pairings: All canon pairings, Clint/Sam, Nat/Bucky
Word Count: 74,100
Notes: Canon compliant through Captain America: The Winter Solider, will be non-compliant after Age of Ultron.
Warnings: Torture ahoy! PTSD, too. Crazy withdrawal symptoms. So between all three, I should warn for thoughts of death, self-harm, and other ugly things that people think about in awful situations.
All Steve wants to do is to find Bucky, but SHIELD's downfall has unexpected consequences. Clint coming off his meds, for one. Meds that were finally keeping him balanced after Loki scrambled his brain. With his secrets spread across the Internet, Clint needs a safe house -- and he can only hope that as his mind unravels once more, the house stays safe from him.
Bruce is learning to control the other guy with SHIELD's help, but when SHIELD falls he finds himself isolated in the desert with HYDRA spies. How does one trap the hulk? Surely, that's impossible. Surely.
And perhaps Steve wants to find Bucky, but the Winter Solider, ravaged by memory and confusion, doesn't want to be found. He's too dangerous; he needs to be put down.
It's going to take the skills of all the Avengers to solve these problems, but they've been scattered to the wind. There is no official team. Not yet, anyway.
Enough with the details, already! Read the fic! :D
40mg of Paroxetine Hydrochloride, Once Daily at An Archive of Our Own.
So, I've written books. (If you don't know that by now... SHAME ON YOU.) You can win "A Little Weird" right now (until Sunday Oct 12) just by commeting on Shai's blog, and it's in print and signed! By me! Also, it's awesome. It's one of the happiest things I've ever written. (And when I say "happiest", I mean it made me happy. Please keep in mind I'm rather evil.) If you liked "Queers, Freaks, and Weirdos," then I promise you'll like this. ;)
Fandom: Avengers, Steve/Clint
Word count: 6000
Summary: When Steve finds himself in a sex club (thanks, Tony) he sees a familiar face. Being a good guy, he tries to ignore it. He fails. Much smut ensues.
Note: This is a PWP smutty kinky Dom/sub fic. Because. Mwahahaha.
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am I making money off of, the Avengers, Tony Stark, Hawkeye, or Captain America. Please don't sue me.
( ForeplayCollapse )
The last time I listened to it, what really struck me was when she talked about hopefulness. It turns out that what creates hopeful people is a learned pattern of thinking. As Brene puts it, "How to Plan B something." Hopeful people have learned that if they struggle with something long enough, they will eventually succeed -- OR, they learn how to make a plan B if they can't succeed.
This brings me to me. One of the first phrases I learned to say was "I can do it myself!" This has basically been my mantra my whole life. This is hilariously funny, because I'm attracted to people who want to do it for me. At first, this is awesome. But the reality is, I want people to do it for me (aka, help) when I ask, when I'm low, when I'm blue, when I just don't wanna. The rest of the time, I can do it myself!
I've been telling Quin, "Stop helping me. It makes me feel like I'm a failure; like you think I can't do it."
A few weeks back, this came to a head. We were trying to open a bottle with a key (because we didn't have a bottle opener). I was watching Quin struggle with it, and believe me I WANTED TO HELP. Don't we all, when we watch someone struggle with something? The desire to take it and fix it for him was so strong I actually had to walk into the little hotel bathroom and make myself busy. I knew that if Quin helped me when I was trying, I would be upset. So I didn't help him.
Then came my turn. I took it, and I was struggling with it to open my own bottle. I was really enjoying the struggle. Struggling, after all, is how we find out what we're capable of. 'Can I do this? Am I this strong? If I can't do it, can I find a Plan B? There must be a way!' It's a flexing of the muscles, both physical and mental. Which is when Quin said, "Here, I'll get it for you." I was disproportionately upset to the offer of help. See, in my mind, I was enjoying flexing my muscles and seeing how strong I was. When Quin offered to help, it was like he was saying, "You're not strong enough. I will do it." I knew, of course, that's not what he meant, but according to the shame research, that is what everyone hears. (Let that sink in a minute: it's not just me. It's the majority of people.)
Several things happened: it yanked the fun right out of it, because I'd just been told (in my mind, however inadvertently) I couldn't do it. I had to stop and figure out how to refuse help. There was doubt in my own mind now, and instead of having something to enjoy, I had something to prove. I couldn't Plan B it, because if I didn't succeed at Plan A, then obviously I couldn't do it, as suggested, and instead of getting the chance to figure out another way, the "logical" course of action would be to let the person who could do it, do it.
I didn't know all this at the time. I just knew my extreme upset. I said the only thing I had figured out: "Quin, I know you're trying to help, but it makes me feel like you think I can't."
Quin got upset -- he'd just been trying to offer help -- and walked away, responding with, "You know, J, sometimes an offer of help is just that. An offer of help."
The thing is, we were both right. I started thinking about it, and thought about it for the next several weeks. In the interim, I listened to Brene Brown again and realized all of the above, plus this other thing: in not being given the chance to succeed or fail, in not being given the chance to struggle through and maybe have to come up with a Plan B, it is ALSO taking away the hopefulness that makes me think I CAN succeed.
More and more, I've been trying to not-help people. To give them the chance to succeed or to Plan B it. It's really, REALLY hard. It's easier to fix something for someone than to watch them struggle. But... "I can do it myself!" rings in my head.
I watch Jake, Quin's son, do the same thing. He gets crankier and crankier the more people help. You can almost see him throw his hands up and say, "Why should I even try?" Yesterday Quin went to fix something, and he snapped at Quin. Quin's eyebrows shot up and he looked at me mouthing, "testy." I had to smother a laugh, because Jake had been struggling with several things all in a row, and Quin kept helping. (It is especially hard not to help when your kids are struggling or, as was going on that day, you're in a hurry and need it done now so you can move onto the next thing.) He gets snappish when that happens and, since I see so much of myself in him (poor kid), I can see it coming. (Quin, having listened to the same Brene Brown stuff I did, is getting much better about letting the kids figure it out. Poor Quin is a helpful person, and struggles to see people struggle. My mom was the same, so I think I'm ultra-sensitive to it.)
On the other hand, just now Quin did the perfect kind of helping. I'm outside writing this, and he came out to check on me and see if I'd like some coffee. "No," I said, "But I'd love some hot chocolate." I have no intention of making it myself (at least not right now), I'm not struggling with it, it's just a desire. Quin made me hot chocolate and brought it out. I feel loved and pampered. Perfect. (Other perfect help is, of course, when I'm struggling and my Plan B is to ask for help. ;))
I've been pondering all this for weeks now. Mulling it over, turning it around, looking at it from a new angle. Now that I've got it all down, maybe I can go back to writing. ;)
My happy pills have kept me sane during all this. I'm tired, but I don't think I'm about to crash. (Check in again Friday, though, after I've worked Weds/Thurs/Fri and I'm still trying to unpack, and you may hear a different story.)
Anyway. Life is progressing, and it's pretty awesome -- despite these minor glitches. ;)
There is a lot going on. So much so that any urge to write is being wiped away, because when I'm not running I kind of just want to sleep.
I had a fabulous visit with my Uncle Mark and Aunt Cathy in GA a couple weeks back. We went shooting at a range (yes, with guns, yes, I'm still anti-gun), riding horses, wandering the GA Aquarium. Had lots and LOTS of talks about everything under the sun. They adore Quin, and he adores them. They said, "You always seemed so masculine. Being a man suits you!" (More on that in a minute.) It was awesome. My uncle isn't doing well cancer-wise, which was rather a surprise mid-week for them and us, since the new treatment was expected to be fabulous. So. Yeah. I love them lots.
Other big thing: Quin is transitioning to more-masculine, complete with testosterone and top surgery. We're switching pronouns to male because, while he says he doesn't quite want to be a MAN, he's more male than female. The gender-neutral pronouns don't work for him, either. So! There's that. It's a big deal. It's a really big deal. Mostly I'm good with it; if I refer to Quin as "him" for too long, I start to feel like I'm talking about someone else, so then I switch back to "her." (Quin's cool with this.) I also out him a lot. (He's cool with that, too.) Of course, right now we kind of have to: everyone I know knows Quin as female, so there's a lot of explaining going on. It's a good thing I only ever identified as lesbian for convenience, instead of explaining my "attracted to queer people" sexuality to everyone. In that way, I haven't changed. It's weird to be perceived as a straight couple, though. I miss the community feeling that being an obviously -- or, sorta noticeably -- lesbian couple brought us. Sometimes I get worried that Quin will get pressured by society into acting more male, and that scares me. I like my butch the way he is. (He seems pretty resilient against this, which makes me happy.) The biggest bonus: no longer feeling worried that we might catch flak for being a gay couple. That's nice. More for Quin than me, which affects me anyway because if he's more relaxed, I get more cuddles and love. ;)
The transition portion has happened VERY suddenly. They say it takes six months or more to grow facial hair; it took Quin one month. We were going to wait six months or a year for surgery, but Quin's medical plan is changing suddenly, and he has to have surgery now to get the top surgeon (who won't be covered with the new plan), which is important. So. Surgery happens in two weeks. o.O I'm playing emotional support, because of course Quin is going through his own grieving process at the loss of his identity, and I'm playing physical support come surgery, in the form of being the driver and nurse, etc.
Also, I'm moving. On the 18th, three days after Quin's surgery. I'm packing up my tiny house and moving into a fabulous house in Martinez. But the timing could be better for all this. >.<
So basically, in the span of 4 weeks, I am:
1. Traveled to GA and back
2. Boarded dogs and did full working hours
3. Did emotional support and doc visits with Quin
4. Played nurse
5. Moved house
And, oh yeah, we're trying to plan some wedding stuff. Not big stuff, but that's on the back of my mind, too. I guess it's no surprise my drive to write is gone, and my energy is low. It's a LOT. I have an awesome support network here, and people are being very helpful, for which I'm really grateful. I'd love to write and go to the gym, but those things keep getting put off. (I was going to do both tomorrow, but then I got word that that wonderful client I love, the one who has cancer that I wrote about a few weeks back, has only a few days left to live, most likely. I told her I'd take her dog to visit the gent who's inheriting her, so that the house isn't new when she moves. Sadly, it's a day trip, and tomorrow is the only day I can do it in the next few days. We're rushing this, because easing Glenna's mind about her dog -- her only family -- is the right thing to do.)
I feel worn out. I was able to take Saturday off and have a "sick day", where I laid on the couch in my PJs all day, watching TV and napping. It was fabulous.
So, life is going well, but it's crazy busy. I keep telling myself, just a few more weeks and then things can get back to a routine... I miss writing. Hopefully in a few more weeks I can start again!
Hey, all! I'm selling comics, and for you guys I'll actually ship. ;) Let me know if you want anything!
Image and imprints: http://sfbay.craigslist.org/sby/bks/440
Robin, Nightwing, Batgirl, Teen Titans: http://sfbay.craigslist.org/sby/c
Avengers, New Avengers, and Young Avengers: http://sfbay.craigslist.org/s
I had an encounter earlier today.
I was in my gym class, and their marketing leans heavily toward sexy/sultry/sexual/HIGHLY sexualized (and, imo, objectified). Okay. Fine. I like the classes and I like the people, so I ignore it. Not my cuppa, but whatever.
Today on the front mirror, right in the center, was this photo of a man (the owner) and a woman (a new addition, I believe -- a business partner sort?). He was in profile, leaning in and looking down toward her. She was looking away, with parted lips, etc. Not my cuppa, but whatever. To catch it in my peripheral vision, what I saw was: looming man, retreating woman.
I was really, really uncomfortable with it. And because I couldn't look away from it -- it was in front -- I spent the last twenty minutes of class talking myself out of just leaving. Afterward I looked for H, who has been awesome. (It's an all female staff; the boss runs a different one, and only comes in once a week to teach a self defense class.) I couldn't find her, so I left and sent this text:
"Hi, H! I just let class extremely disturbed. I wanted to talk to you in person but didn't see you there. Text works, though. The poster pinned to the mirror - I assume announcing his new business partner? - is really creepy. He looks like he's about to strike or rape that woman, and she looks like she's cringing away (unless yous tare at it, which, since we're busy exercising, I assume most aren't.) I spent the last twenty minutes of class telling myself not to just leave and staring at the floor. I'm not a victim of sexual violence, but one out of three are, so I imagine I'm not the only one with this reaction. I know you're not the head bossman, but can it at least be moved? Thank you. - Jenna"
I didn't think this was going to be a huge deal, so I didn't worry about careful phrasing. I should have.
She called me an hour later fuming. Turns out the guy in the photo -- the head bossman -- is her mentor, she feels like a brother toward him, she thought I was saying he WAS a rapist/abuser, she was pissed because she is an assault survivor several times over and she doesn't feel that way, she said I clearly pick up on the negative things, that I'm obviously not a good fit for their gym, that she's not comfortable with me being there, that I was disrespectful of Head Bossman and the gym -- on and on. Now, mind you, she didn't just lay into me. We had an almost good communication conversation. It went something like this:
H: "Jenna, I got your text, and I was -- well, I feel like it's a little rude. Head Bossman isn't like that, and that's a little disrespectful."
Me: "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. I don't think Head Bossman is like that, but that picture is disturbing. I assume the intent was to be sexy and beautiful, but it isn't coming off that way to everyone."
H: "Maybe this gym isn't a good fit for you. We pride ourselves on being sexy and we like that look."
Me: "I know that, and I have no problem with your other posters. Many of them are quite beautiful. But that one really bothered me."
H: "Well, I don't see that. No one else has said anything -- maybe they're just trying to be nice -- but maybe you're just looking at it negatively."
And so on. What I gleaned between the lines of our twenty minute conversation was this:
H is 24, and hasn't learned how to separate "this picture looks bad," with "this person in this picture IS bad and all of you are bad for liking this picture."
I believe the gym has gotten flak in the past for objectifying women, and I think they (or at least H) is on the defensive.
...yeah, that's about it. I actually felt really bad for H. She vacillated between professional and obviously quite upset at what I was saying, and she had a REALLY hard time hearing what I was saying (which is why, in part, we were on the phone for twenty minutes) as opposed to what she THOUGHT I was saying.
So, in the future I'll either talk to someone or carefully police my words in text and not assume it's not a big deal. Good lesson for me. In the meantime, I'm VERY proud of myself for keeping my cool during that entire conversation. I didn't get frustrated or defensive (a couple of times I started to, but was able to stop), I didn't exaggerate things to make my point, I listened to her side -- I was the person I want to be. So I'm really proud of myself for that. I think we got ourselves sorted in the end. I doubt I'm welcome back at that gym anyway, because H is 24 and, at 24, I harbored bad feelings so I'm assuming (there I go again!) that she would rather I not be there. Since she's the manager...
That said, I'm totally blown. I mean, totally, TOTALLY blown. I always kind of thought that when I did the right thing and kept my cool and was proud of my actions and didn't say or do something hurtful or stupid in the heat of the moment that I'd walk away and be okay. But no, I'm blown. I've thought about it all day long, spinning different moments and lines in my head. I've considered texting H again, and when I stop and think, "Why? Why am I doing this? What do I want to achieve?" I realize it's the co-dependent bit that wants everyone to like me.
H and I did talk about Head Bossman. She said (and she sounded very frustrated to me), "Why don't you talk to Head Bossman about it?" to which I responded, "it's not likely. I know you really respect him, and I'm glad for that, but he's got quite a few bad things said about him on Yelp." She got upset (no surprise, given he's her mentor), and among other things said, "You'll believe what a bunch of strangers say without talking to the person?" (She also championed his character.) I told her she was right, I shouldn't do that, and thanked her. (I also, a bit later, told her that I still didn't like that poster. My line I kept repeating was variations on this: "I believe the intent is to look sexy, but it isn't working. I have had good intentions before that people told me were hurtful in the end, and so I changed what I was doing. It doesn't make him a bad person. I believe his intent was good, but it didn't work.") Between that, and the fact that around then I think she finally started to sorta kinda understand what I was saying -- even if she didn't agree with it -- we ended the conversation on a decent, if strained, note.
So, I thought about talking to Head Bossman. A lot. On the one hand, I'm no longer welcome at that gym, so my initial purpose - to get the poster moved so I don't have to look at it - no longer matters. On the other hand, in NOT talking to Head Bossman, I'm doing exactly what everyone does: I have a problem, I'm made to feel like I'm alone, I don't address the problem with the people who matter, they may or may not realize there even IS a problem.
Also, if H is right and he's a good guy, he might want to know that his poster isn't necessarily conveying what he'd hoped. (I doubt this will happen, even if he's a nice guy. I kind of expect that if he's a nice guy he'll say, "Thank you but I disagree," and if he's an ass I'll have an asshole response.) It also means that however he responds, I'll go update my Yelp review to reflect that.
Finally, I think I will text H just to say, "I thought about what you said re: yelp and assumptions, and you're right so I contacted Head Bossman. Thanks." Because it's always good to know when you did get through to someone, and she was right about that. I shouldn't assume about him (even though, based on what others have said on Yelp and his marketing, I kind of still am).
This is the email I hopefully sent to Head Bossman (through the "contact us" link on their website):
So. Now I've processed this all out. I'm hoping I can stop thinking about it. I'm hoping a glass of wine, television, and eventually a sleeping pill will help. I'm kind of bummed that being proud of myself doesn't automatically mean I'm not emotionally drained. Even though things with H were well, considering, and we ended on a decent note, I'm still reeling. I keep thinking about it, not in a, "I should have said," or "shouldn't have said," way, but just... thinking. Re-playing it. Imagining what I could do, and then stopping to remind myself that I don't need them to like me, that I did the right thing, that it's okay. That this was actually good. A learning experience for me, and I'm proud of my actions. And if they are upset, that is not my fault: I did my part, stayed calm and compassionate, encouraged and congratulated when appropriate, listened, and explained my point. I can't do any better than that.
I'm still blown. >.< Yeesh.
And then someone else said, "But this other side is wrong because..."
And I said, "Not really, because..."
And next thing I know I'm defending that side and arguing myself into it when the fact is, I really kind of a agree with BOTH sides in different circumstances. And then people are like, "I don't mean to criticize your opinion, but..." and I want to say -- "Wait! This wasn't my opinion. What the hell just happened, here?"
It's extraordinarily frustrating.
I saw Carrie Fisher! And there are PICTURES. They're fabulous. And my client is going to take the best one and get Ms. Fisher to sign it. HOW AWESOME IS THAT. And then I got free appetizers and dessert at a Thai restaurant tonight because it's owned by my other clients! Damn. I love my clients.
All in all, life after medication is going pretty well. :D (Life before medication was going well, too, but it was easier to slip into depression anyway.)
Tomorrow I work. Tomorrow night I go see Quin's family. Sunday I work. Then I drop off animals. Then I pack until midnight, because around 6am we leave for the airport and Georgia. Between now and then, I need to:
Go to the bank
Get animal stuff together
Cancel housecleaning stuff
...There's like another ten things on that list, but I can't remember them all. Anyway. There's a lot.
When I get back, I immediately start inspections and signing for house stuff. Which also means packing. While I'm boarding dogs. I should move by mid-April. Yipe! It's going to be a crazy few weeks, but then I get to rest. :)
Tango is going to move into Katie's old cage, which I'm very excited about (in no small part because, even if a boarded dog gets out of its crate and tries to eat him -- which most of them don't want to do anyway -- they won't be able to get through wrought iron). I've only had one dog here I was really worried about, and I took Tango with me to work so I didn't have to fret about, "What if she gets loose and goes after his cage?" I mean, she'd really have had to work at it, but I was afraid she'd be willing to.
Okay, break! I just chatted with Quin on the phone, and in doing realized how much there is to get done before we go. HOLY SHIT. I need to stop blogging so I can go to sleep, get up, and work like a mad fiend. Wish me luck!