So, I Have Been a Lazy Bitch Lately
Jun. 16th, 2007 11:52 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tanarillOr at least not been online as much.
Because of finals.
Which are Finished.
. . . I am a Sophomore-I. Holy shit. I am a college sophomore. When did this happen?
In other news, the monstrous corporation for which I work is having its annual shut-down, during which they replace large sections of assembly line with newer sections of assembly line tooled for different things. Union rules state that while they're rebuilding the lines, union workers get vacation.
All union workers.
Which mean the janitorial staff is off for two weeks solid when July starts, which means no one can work at all. I'm sure there's a better (less costly) way to set up union contracts, but I'm not complaining so much because it means that as of right now, I have a solid MONTH of vacation. The current plan:
This week - buy clothing. Because I have two summer-appropriate business-casual outfits and need fourteen. On Tuesday, go to the doctors. Also, get blood drawn because I may be a bone marrow donor for a ten-year-old girl with leukemia.
Next week - Get up godawful early in the morning on Monday to drive my 32.7 mile commute to Milford, where I don't work yet. Yes, Lacha, I know your commute is worse. But for Detroit, that's as absurdly long commute. Then I get the grand tour, meet my boss and some of my coworkers, and learn more about my job this term. For those of you who have forgotten, the general job is "watch breaks rust." Riveting. Then on Wednesday, Mother and I leave.
Second Week Wednesday to Fourth Week Wednesday - Road Trip. I prolly will not be online. Emmy, we must make eeeeeeeeevil plots! And things!
Last three days of vacation - sleep. Maybe, if our families to do not conspire to keep us apart, meet Rags in RL. Then on July 16, I wake up in the morning and drive to Milford like a good little wage-slave, to watch breaks rust. (Riveting.)
Also, in a recent issue of Newsweek, I read an article all about gengineering, or as the Catholic Church calls it, "an abomination against god." I thinks it's a good idea, especially if can make acid-fixers that require a certain acidity to live. IE, we sow the seas with them and fix our acid problem, they photosynthesize so we get some oxygen out of it, and once they fix the acid problem they die because there isn't enough acid. Or something like that. Yes, I know it won't be that simple, but it would be nice . . . Other fun things to do with gengineering include clean biofuels and host-adaptive antigensand then! werewolf viruses.
I wonder what the Catholic Church would do if we made a super-adapted, gengineered human. Because, you know, no god involved but s/he thinks and has emotions and an actual soul . . . oh, and incidentally? Can survive where your pitifully crying Catholic canon fears to tread. The Arctic? Chilly. Hell? A little bit warm. Your pathetic, outdated dogma? A crunchy snack.
In case you can't tell, I soooooo want to be a gengineer.
Hmm. That got long . . . Oh well. Time for something that fails to be MPreg, because for once, the pregnant party is female.
Title: At the Moment
Rating: PG
Warnings: This might squick you. It's not MPreg, and at the moment it's not even slash, but it is still profoundly weird. Even to me, and I wrote it.
The doorbell rang.
Baldr, who was cooking, called out “I’ll get it,” before Loki could even begin to move. She was not, in truth, very unhappy about it. Baldr had, predictably, turned out to be the kind of husband that every woman wants during pregnancy and few ever get; the kind of husband who gives daily foot massages and would go to India to acquire real curries if he had the craving. (She had, and Baldr had somehow gotten Sleipnr away from Odin to go get some.) Earlier in her pregnancy, she’d been annoyed by all the attention. That had been then.
But when Baldr opened the door, neither of them was expecting the person who was standing on the porch. She was short, red-eyed and white-haired, but carried herself with such presence that people very rarely remembered what she looked like later.
“Hello, Baldr,” she said. “Hello, Loki.”
“Thokk,” said Loki noncommittally.
“Don’t ‘Thokk’ me, young woman. I am your mother. Thank you, Baldr,” she said, accepting Baldr’s automatically polite welcome as an empress accepting tithe. “And to answer your question, I am here to help with my grandchildren.”
“You didn’t come to help with Sleipnr,” said Loki.
“Sleipnr is Sleipnr. He didn’t need help getting out. And you were a horse at the time. They’re better adapted to giving birth. This is going to be your first time giving birth to in a human-shaped body, and you’re going to need an experienced midwife.”
“I’ll call one when the time comes,” said Loki acidly.
“Er,” said Baldr, drawing two sets of currently-red eyes to look at him. “Thokk, why do you have four suitcases out here?”
“Because they didn’t fit in the Bag,” replied Thokk, as if this were perfectly usual.
“Didn’t fit in the–” began Loki. “Thokk. That is a dwarf-crafted Bag! It holds whatever you put in it. It doesn’t get full. That’s part of the definition of a Bag. How did you manage to fill in it up?”
“Without great difficulty.”
“Do you have any idea what I had to do to get that for you?”
“You slept with some people, stole a few gems, and climbed a couple of mountains,” replied Thokk. “Oh, and tangled with a kobold, which is something I thought even you were smart enough not to do until you did it. Baldr, help me with the bags, there’s a dear.”
Loki glowered as Baldr helped his mother to get four heavy suitcases into their house–she had insisted on a house, because even if he wasn’t nearly as good at future-seeing as Thokk, she knew that there would be more children than would conveniently fit in a cottage–and then run off to keep dinner from burning. Thokk carried them the rest of the way to the guest room, complimenting Baldr the entire time on his house-keeping skills. There was silence for a while as Thokk unpacked. Then she came out, asking for a cup of tea, and Loki exploded.
“Look, Thokk, please explain to me why you are troubling yourself to come here now when you never much cared about me or my children before?”
“Because now,” said Thokk, “you aren’t foisting the child off on whatever woman was unlucky enough to have attracted your attention. You’re my daughter, having her first child–Sleipnr doesn’t count–and you need your mother.”
“I suppose it’s escaped your notice that I am your son?”
Thokk looked Loki over in answer. As a woman, she was built very much along the lines of her mother, which was to say that she had wide hips, large breasts, and barely topped five feet standing. She was well into her seventh month of pregnancy now, and she practically glowed with it, her red hair falling in a shining cascade own her back. She was rubbing the stretched skin, unconsciously, in the way that pregnant women did.
“I am your son, no matter what sex I happen to be at the moment!” Loki screeched.
There was an age of ringing silence after that, during which Baldr appeared with Thokk’s tea.
“At the moment,” said Thokk firmly, “you are very much my daughter.”
There was another silence, and then Loki began crying. Aesr, she hated all these mood swings, all this sensitive crap that she had to put up with. Baldr was better at it, had always been better at it, and he was still a male.
Then, suddenly, she was surrounded by warm arms, a loving embrace like she hadn’t felt, allowed herself to accept, since long before she’s left Muspelheim. “Shh,” said Thokk, rocking her daughter, who was at the moment as unsure as any first-time mother ever was and trying desperately not to show it. “I’m here. Everything’s going to be all right.”
Man, I love the dynamic those three have going. I love this entire universe. The issue is, of course, that I have no time to write it and I really really want to work on DaHTA.
. . . damn.
Because of finals.
Which are Finished.
. . . I am a Sophomore-I. Holy shit. I am a college sophomore. When did this happen?
In other news, the monstrous corporation for which I work is having its annual shut-down, during which they replace large sections of assembly line with newer sections of assembly line tooled for different things. Union rules state that while they're rebuilding the lines, union workers get vacation.
All union workers.
Which mean the janitorial staff is off for two weeks solid when July starts, which means no one can work at all. I'm sure there's a better (less costly) way to set up union contracts, but I'm not complaining so much because it means that as of right now, I have a solid MONTH of vacation. The current plan:
This week - buy clothing. Because I have two summer-appropriate business-casual outfits and need fourteen. On Tuesday, go to the doctors. Also, get blood drawn because I may be a bone marrow donor for a ten-year-old girl with leukemia.
Next week - Get up godawful early in the morning on Monday to drive my 32.7 mile commute to Milford, where I don't work yet. Yes, Lacha, I know your commute is worse. But for Detroit, that's as absurdly long commute. Then I get the grand tour, meet my boss and some of my coworkers, and learn more about my job this term. For those of you who have forgotten, the general job is "watch breaks rust." Riveting. Then on Wednesday, Mother and I leave.
Second Week Wednesday to Fourth Week Wednesday - Road Trip. I prolly will not be online. Emmy, we must make eeeeeeeeevil plots! And things!
Last three days of vacation - sleep. Maybe, if our families to do not conspire to keep us apart, meet Rags in RL. Then on July 16, I wake up in the morning and drive to Milford like a good little wage-slave, to watch breaks rust. (Riveting.)
Also, in a recent issue of Newsweek, I read an article all about gengineering, or as the Catholic Church calls it, "an abomination against god." I thinks it's a good idea, especially if can make acid-fixers that require a certain acidity to live. IE, we sow the seas with them and fix our acid problem, they photosynthesize so we get some oxygen out of it, and once they fix the acid problem they die because there isn't enough acid. Or something like that. Yes, I know it won't be that simple, but it would be nice . . . Other fun things to do with gengineering include clean biofuels and host-adaptive antigens
I wonder what the Catholic Church would do if we made a super-adapted, gengineered human. Because, you know, no god involved but s/he thinks and has emotions and an actual soul . . . oh, and incidentally? Can survive where your pitifully crying Catholic canon fears to tread. The Arctic? Chilly. Hell? A little bit warm. Your pathetic, outdated dogma? A crunchy snack.
In case you can't tell, I soooooo want to be a gengineer.
Hmm. That got long . . . Oh well. Time for something that fails to be MPreg, because for once, the pregnant party is female.
Title: At the Moment
Rating: PG
Warnings: This might squick you. It's not MPreg, and at the moment it's not even slash, but it is still profoundly weird. Even to me, and I wrote it.
The doorbell rang.
Baldr, who was cooking, called out “I’ll get it,” before Loki could even begin to move. She was not, in truth, very unhappy about it. Baldr had, predictably, turned out to be the kind of husband that every woman wants during pregnancy and few ever get; the kind of husband who gives daily foot massages and would go to India to acquire real curries if he had the craving. (She had, and Baldr had somehow gotten Sleipnr away from Odin to go get some.) Earlier in her pregnancy, she’d been annoyed by all the attention. That had been then.
But when Baldr opened the door, neither of them was expecting the person who was standing on the porch. She was short, red-eyed and white-haired, but carried herself with such presence that people very rarely remembered what she looked like later.
“Hello, Baldr,” she said. “Hello, Loki.”
“Thokk,” said Loki noncommittally.
“Don’t ‘Thokk’ me, young woman. I am your mother. Thank you, Baldr,” she said, accepting Baldr’s automatically polite welcome as an empress accepting tithe. “And to answer your question, I am here to help with my grandchildren.”
“You didn’t come to help with Sleipnr,” said Loki.
“Sleipnr is Sleipnr. He didn’t need help getting out. And you were a horse at the time. They’re better adapted to giving birth. This is going to be your first time giving birth to in a human-shaped body, and you’re going to need an experienced midwife.”
“I’ll call one when the time comes,” said Loki acidly.
“Er,” said Baldr, drawing two sets of currently-red eyes to look at him. “Thokk, why do you have four suitcases out here?”
“Because they didn’t fit in the Bag,” replied Thokk, as if this were perfectly usual.
“Didn’t fit in the–” began Loki. “Thokk. That is a dwarf-crafted Bag! It holds whatever you put in it. It doesn’t get full. That’s part of the definition of a Bag. How did you manage to fill in it up?”
“Without great difficulty.”
“Do you have any idea what I had to do to get that for you?”
“You slept with some people, stole a few gems, and climbed a couple of mountains,” replied Thokk. “Oh, and tangled with a kobold, which is something I thought even you were smart enough not to do until you did it. Baldr, help me with the bags, there’s a dear.”
Loki glowered as Baldr helped his mother to get four heavy suitcases into their house–she had insisted on a house, because even if he wasn’t nearly as good at future-seeing as Thokk, she knew that there would be more children than would conveniently fit in a cottage–and then run off to keep dinner from burning. Thokk carried them the rest of the way to the guest room, complimenting Baldr the entire time on his house-keeping skills. There was silence for a while as Thokk unpacked. Then she came out, asking for a cup of tea, and Loki exploded.
“Look, Thokk, please explain to me why you are troubling yourself to come here now when you never much cared about me or my children before?”
“Because now,” said Thokk, “you aren’t foisting the child off on whatever woman was unlucky enough to have attracted your attention. You’re my daughter, having her first child–Sleipnr doesn’t count–and you need your mother.”
“I suppose it’s escaped your notice that I am your son?”
Thokk looked Loki over in answer. As a woman, she was built very much along the lines of her mother, which was to say that she had wide hips, large breasts, and barely topped five feet standing. She was well into her seventh month of pregnancy now, and she practically glowed with it, her red hair falling in a shining cascade own her back. She was rubbing the stretched skin, unconsciously, in the way that pregnant women did.
“I am your son, no matter what sex I happen to be at the moment!” Loki screeched.
There was an age of ringing silence after that, during which Baldr appeared with Thokk’s tea.
“At the moment,” said Thokk firmly, “you are very much my daughter.”
There was another silence, and then Loki began crying. Aesr, she hated all these mood swings, all this sensitive crap that she had to put up with. Baldr was better at it, had always been better at it, and he was still a male.
Then, suddenly, she was surrounded by warm arms, a loving embrace like she hadn’t felt, allowed herself to accept, since long before she’s left Muspelheim. “Shh,” said Thokk, rocking her daughter, who was at the moment as unsure as any first-time mother ever was and trying desperately not to show it. “I’m here. Everything’s going to be all right.”
Man, I love the dynamic those three have going. I love this entire universe. The issue is, of course, that I have no time to write it and I really really want to work on DaHTA.
. . . damn.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-06-16 08:05 pm (UTC)Heh. Thokk kicks ass.
no subject
Date: 2007-06-17 12:35 pm (UTC)That line deserves a special prize for uniqueness.
And aren't the Aesir and Vanir just fun to play with? Even the Olympians don't match them
no subject
Date: 2007-06-19 12:53 am (UTC)And of course the best bit is that by Norse canon, Loki got pregnant. Granted, he was female and a horse at the time, but he was pregnant. WTF were the Norse smoking, and where do I get it?
no subject
Date: 2007-06-19 11:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-20 01:37 am (UTC)