Jan. 7th, 2006

kittydesade: (big damn list)
Title: Ten Little Monkeys
Fandom: From Hell
Characters: Many
Word Count: 2500
Rating: R
Summary: Children have the strangest nursery rhymes. That's not really a summary, is it? One by one, the characters monkeys fall.

"Ten little monkeys jumping on the bed
One fell off and bumped his head
Momma called the doctor and the doctor said:
No more monkeys jumping on the bed!"
-- Trad.



Ten Little Monkeys )
kittydesade: (facepalm (nopejr))
Title: Safe and Warm
Fandom: Hellblazer/Books of Magic
Characters: John Constantine, Tim Hunter
Word Count: 400
Rating: PG
Summary: You gotta figure they'd screw up again sometime.

“John.”

He was drunk, as usual.

Tim wished he could join him, but one of them had to keep an eye on the way out. He didn’t really blame John for being drunk, either, even if he wanted to be the one half asleep. Someone had to keep an eye on the door.

He took another drink. Water. He’d promised not to turn it into wine.

“John.”

The door was still closed, and they were just waiting for the sunlight. Sunlight would open it, the simplest things for the simplest spells. Funny how it was always the simplest spells that went the most horribly wrong, wasn’t it?

It had been simple, at least it was supposed to be. And somehow they’d mucked it all up when they’d started arguing right there in the middle of the path and now they were trapped in the damn house.

He didn’t even know where Yo-Yo was.

He’d never felt so alone in his life.

“Fat bloody lot of good you are,” he said, not caring that his words didn’t really make sense. Or maybe they did, they were just in the wrong order. Must have things in the proper order for them to work. Like peanut butter before jelly. Like Tom and Dick before Harry. Like hello before goodbye.

Tim wrapped his arms around himself and stared at the crack of dark underneath the door. It was cold here at night, colder than he’d expected.

He really wanted to be drunk.

“John.”

It was a shack. It was a hovel. It was in the middle of bloody nowhere and it wasn’t London and he wanted to go home. He wanted to be safe more than he wanted to be drunk. Warm.

Funny how he’d spent most of the last year trying to prove to everyone that he was all right. All grown up. He’d just turned eighteen, he could do whatever the bloody hell he wanted. He was the most powerful magician most of the people he knew had ever seen. He’d gotten the attention of angels.

He didn’t want to be grown up right now. He wanted to be taken care of.

“Johnnnnn.”

He tugged at the covers. The old man grumbled, rolled over. Hair plastered to his face and forehead.

“Whaddayawant.”

“Scoot over, you old bastard. I’m freezing.”

John didn’t even blink or ask questions. Tim crawled in.

Safe and warm.
kittydesade: (lunatic)
So fucking tired.

I need something to keep me asleep all through the night. I wake up two, three, four hours if I'm lucky after I've gone to bed and then I'm up just long enough to have to fall back asleep. If I'm really lucky this only happens once in the night. Then I fall asleep during the day.

Two more fics to upload. Might only get one tonight. Both Kingdom Hospital, so there's some of that thing whittled down. Hee. Kingdom Hospital eats my brain. So does the damned ferryman. You hear that you smug little shit? You and your pouting-lip smile and your kohl eyes. Too damn sexy for your own good, quit hanging around in my head. Or don't, but at least calm down.

Three days of work done. Now for three days off. And then a bunch of sporadic days off days on, which is a little better. I can live with that. Better than I can with three solid days on. I almost said better than I can of three solid days on, and from that I know I'm tired. More tired than I want to be. My thoughts are rambling all over the place. Right now they're mostly hanging around how tired I am and how much I want to have a shower. Sweaty. For no apparent reason. Actually, no, I think it was the far too many blankets I was curled up under a little while ago. From too cold to too hot. Wanted to nap. Shouldn't.

I'm starting to feel like a character out of my own fiction and that's never a good sign. Not that fiction doesn't occasionally mirror life, if not quite as bad as Stephen Write-The-Damn-Accident-Into-Every-Other-Bloody-Thing King. But when I'm starting to feel like someone I write about? That's exa-- maybe not exaggeration. But that's not real. I'm starting to disconnect. Bad idea.

Might be time to eat something. Have a shower. Exercise. Remind myself I have two dimensions and I'm not text on a page. After I upload the stories.

Nah. Before.

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