(no subject)

So, I'm turning thirty on Sunday, and while I feel a little unprepared, like maybe I should have packed a bag or prepared some research notes or something, I think I'm mostly okay with it.

I've been through freakouts by friends over it, but I didn't really get them then and as I come up on it I'm not sure I get it now. I'm a weirdo, I've always been a weirdo, and I was never going to conform to societal expectations for a thirty-year-old, so it's hard to feel like I haven't lived up to them. Thirty is a Weights And Measures birthday, and if you're an apple you're supposed to be red and shiny and crispy. That's perfectly fine, there's nothing inherently wrong with being an apple.

But I am a banana (possibly a plantain), so the rules don't apply.

I did have a great thought and I totally hope it's true, that it would be awesome if there was a secret rite of passage you underwent when you turned thirty, and the reason you shouldn't trust anyone over thirty is that they haven't told you about it.

Over-thirties, don't worry: your secret is safe with me. Soon I will be one of you!

Unless it involves pain sticks. Then I'll pass.

(no subject)

Have some fanfic, for great what the fuck.

I wrote two fanfics in two fandoms I've not written for before, and I wish I could blame them on someone, but Protective Custody at least was just me messing around in Southland canon.

I can probably blame most of The Ten Commandments Don't Apply To Angels on Dove, who LOLed with me about Castiel and let me blither about how I hope he falls and has a Delenn Moment where he discovers he has to eat and wash his hair and stuff.

For both fics, spoilers through all new episodes but no unaired episodes apply.

Title: Protective Custody
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Summary: Fuck you, Cooper likes saving people.

"Get out," Sherman's dad says.

"No," Cooper says.

Title: The Ten Commandments Don't Apply To Angels
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Summary: Dean keeps insisting Castiel do things that humans do; sometimes Castiel is grateful for this, and sometimes...not so much. Mild Dean/Castiel.

"Man up. It'll be over soon," Dean tells him, but it isn't. Weeks later, his arm still twinges when he lifts it to rub shampoo out of his hair, or put a shirt on, or shoulder the rifle that Sam bought for him when they were passing through Texarkana.

AND NOW I'm going to go to lunch and let y'all enjoy the fanfictionz.

(no subject)

Tonight I got 600 words on Valet of Anize, which is frankly better than I've done in a week, and sampled the pickles I made.

I never did anything to cucumbers to deserve that.

Either I made them wrong, which I don't think is likely because they smelled like pickles and looked okay, or I really just don't like pickles. But I persevered! I made a cheese and pickles sandwich with dijon mustard and fresh bread. And I heartily apologise to the cheese and dijon mustard and fresh bread.

I'm going to give them to R and see what he thinks.

He'll probably dip them in mayonnaise.

Or Grape Nuts.