Mar. 3rd, 2017

netgirl_y2k: (panic)
1. You know how I was talking about my best friends going through the adoption process, well, their wee boy (my atheist godson!) came home at the start of February and I got to meet him this week, hurrah!

Honestly, I haven't had that much fun since I was three; none of my grown-up friends want to stage elaborate fake swordfights with me using stuffed dinosaurs as weapons. Plus, I was reminded of all sorts of important things that you forget when you're a grown-up, such as when out and about it is important to keep one's eyes peeled for dragons and gruffalos.

I'd got his dad a Deadpool graphic novel for his Christmas, and the wee man had found it and become completely enamoured with it. Luckily, he's only three so can't really read yet, and there was nothing too inappropriate in the panels. Still, the kid was asking and asking for the story to be read to him. And my friend, in a remarkable display of procrastination, had said 'Your Auntie Gillian will read it to you when she comes to visit,' and hadn't told me about it until I'm having this Deadpool book shoved into my hand to a chorus of 'Read it! Read it! Read it!' So there I was trying to make up a story that sort of fit with the pictures but was suitable for little ears. And that's how I spent my afternoon making up fanfiction on the fly about Deadpool and Abraham Lincoln rescuing a bunch of chimpanzees from a hungry dinosaur, in space.

He's a cracker, this kid. I'm going to pick up some slightly more kid friendly comics for him. Miles Morales was my first thought, but his approach to life is currently very smashy, so maybe She-Hulk, too. I'm getting the indoctrination started young.

I'm taking him for a day this weekend, too. A little bit to help out my friends who are understandably shellshocked, sudden acquisition of a three year old and all, but mostly because I just found out that if you are in charge of a small human you're allowed in the fun bits of soft play areas.

2. I've been staying with my dad this week, because my mum's away and she'd asked me to stay in the house to look after the dogs. I think it'll explain a lot about my parents marriage if I tell you that my dad pretends to not to like the dogs and ignores them when my mum's around, and yet I kept walking into rooms to find him feeding them pork crackling. So me and my dog packed up and returned to the nest for a week.

Mum's dogs are beautifully trained, and Freya is... not. To be fair, she sits, and shakes paws, and comes when called, and all that jazz; I just have slightly different (read: no) standards when it comes to things like her being allowed on the furniture, sleeping on the bed, and begging for food. My mum is totally appalled that I let the dog sleep on my bed, she says it's not hygienic, to which I have that Eddie Izzard response (I'm an adult now; it's my toaster...)

Unfortunately rather than rising to the standards of mum's dogs, Freya dragged Errol and Flynn down to hers (yes, my mother really did name her dogs Errol and Flynn; yes, on purpose.) So by Wednesday night I was sleeping in a single bed with no fewer than three dogs. I think at least some of you will agree that my getting up for work on Thursday was an act of heroism.

But, god, there's some sort of when-the-cat's-away thing that happens when I stay with dad without mum; we've been living off pizza and beer all week, it's like being on vacation in the world weirdest fraternity.

3. I lost the use of one of my arms for a couple of days this week, too. So, that was fun. I face planted on a sheet of black ice and landed really awkwardly on one shoulder. And that would have been fine, except all three of the dogs ran over to investigate. And Freya, in an uncharacteristic attempt to defend my honour, decided the other two dogs were too close to me and went bananas.

So there I am, sitting on a sheet of ice, a small labrador staging some sort of 300 level siege warfare from my lap, raising the arm I can still lift to wave at passersby. "Hi! Everything's fine!"

4. I have been writing fics - slowly, sometimes with one hand - and I ended up writing two fics for the person that 'won' me in the fandomtrumpshate auction.

They Want To Make Me Their Queen (The 100, Clarke/Lexa, 9k, Role Reversal AU)

Clarke smoothed the fall of the long coat over Lexa's shoulders and straightened her collar.

"Leksa kom Skaikru," she said with a soft, almost fond smile.

Or,

The one where all the Grounders are Sky People, and all the Sky People are Grounders.


I ended up feeling a little weird about this, because I don't watch the show anymore, and ship Clarke/Lexa so little that I had to rewrite huge chunks of this because I got to the bit where they were supposed to kiss, couldn't make it work, and realised I'd accidentally been writing it as a Lexa/Anya fic, so I had go back and be sure to add bits where Lexa actually noticed Clarke. Oops.

The Werewolves of Liechtenstein (The Checquy Files, Myfanwy/Shantay, 3k)

"Is this or is this not a seduction?"

"Not a good one."

"Are you kidding? I got to punch Thatcher's ghost in the face."


This one I loved writing, and I think it shows. It was a great excuse to reread The Rook. It reminded me that one of the things I find most charming about those books, and the reason they get past my no-urban-fantasies-set-in-London filter, is that they read like they were written by the sort of person who back in the day never got their Harry Potter fic britpicked.

I mean, it's adorable, but with the best will in the world there's no such place as downtown Stoke-on-Trent.

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