Warhead On Legs

( Deutsch )

And in the category of Things I Do Not Get: having to own 10 pairs of shoes because I'm a woman. Or maybe I'm not a real woman. I own four pairs of shoes that do not involve performance in some way, because for performance I wear costumes, and that's a different category. But. Four pairs of shoes. Black thick-sole hiking sneakers, sneakers, black biker boots, and brown leather sandals. I do not wish to own or intend to own more than that. But apparently as a woman I am somehow obligated to own, lust after, or think about owning at a minimum ten pairs of shoes? I will grant that I probably should have a pair of dressy shoes but if I ever go to an occasion where my black biker boots don't cut it, I'll probably have ample warning to go out and pick up a pair. Or I'll wear my black sneakers over pants long enough to hide that they're sneakers. I just don't get the shoe lust. Clothes lust I get, I will freely admit that I drool over outfits in stores and all. But the only thing I want my shoes to do is protect my feet and keep me from falling. And, occasionally, be stompy.

Anyway. In the category of stereotypical women things I DO get? Chocolate cravings goign with PMS. Every month these days it's like clockwork, a week before, woe and more like puffing than bloating, but still. Day of and/or day surrounding? CHOCOLATE CHOCOLATE GIVE ME ALL THE CHOCOLATE. It's a bit nuts. Right now it's pretty much a litany of oh god feel puffy ow ow ow CHOCOLATE GIVE ME ALL THE CHOCOLATE ow ow CHOCOLATE feel puffy and weird DID I MENTION THE CHOCOLATE. There may be a hot shower when I get home.

... and then I was suckered into writing self-indulgent (and other people indulgent) Supernatural AU fanfic. How. How in the hell. At least it gives me something to write in a bit at a time that isn't any of my original projects. Go go mental floss?

Right: Con, day two. This post using my icon of omg tired because I can't use a Misha icon, it gives me funny feelings.

( The brainweasels attack )

A quick con report before I pass out and get up in, heh, a little under six hours to do it all over again.

We got lunch! We got there! We got there early so Ali could do the volunteering thing. So I helped unload boxes and fold shirts for about two hours before I stood in line for another two hours to get badged and, yes, get tickets for photo ops for Misha, Matt Cohen, the Trickster, and Corin Nemec. I am a sad, sad, SAD person. I am also #33 for Matt and #5 for Corin. NUMBER FREAKING FIVE. I am going to give him all the glompings because damn. I don't know how many people he'll have for the day.

Um. Lesee. Then I decided I was hungry so we went to look for a restaurant and, I swear, somehow ended up finding the most expensive freaking place in the entire complex. And it's a BIG complex. Don't even ask how much I paid for a steak, two salads, and a dessert, but Ali was in a hurry. It was, however, damn good food. As well it better be. I stayed and enjoyed a leisurely dessert and completely forgot to validate parking, which is why we had a short list of restaurants to eat in the first place. So, fuck. Then I went back, got in line and made line friends for the Steve Carlson concert. Which was awesome. And my start to public embarrassment. Basically what happened was he asked what people wanted to hear for the last two songs, half the crowd shouted something I didn't recognize and have now forgotten, and about another third or so shouted Werewolves of London. For some reason. So then he asked again and this time about six song titles came up. And I shouted "Apparently, everything!" which .. .well, yeah. And he actually heard me. God knows how, and was all "I don't think I know that one" teasing me back. And thus began (and ended) the start of my self-inflicted public embarrassment.

We did stay for a little bit of the karaoke. We did not stay for more than four songs or so, because a) two ofthe first four were obviously people who had experience singing both on key and with a mic and, uh, after that I am not damn well going up on stage (I can sing on key? But not into a microphone) and one of the first four was a group of three VERY SMALL children doing Eye of the Tiger. Which was fucking adorable. And Richard Speight and Matt Cohen were adorable emceeing them. And I about died from the adorable. But then we got tired and left.

And now we are going to go to bed because we have to get up stupid early tomorrow and head in. Yaay.

(No, seriously, though, yay, because it IS a lot of fun. I picked up two CDs because, hey, support good artists, right? And it looks like it'll be a lot of fun. And I might well get to squish Corin Nemec.)

( Deutsch )

Ugh. At this point I think I should just throw my Faust into my bag and do word order exercises that way. Bleh.

( 日本語 - level-grinding adjectives and referring to things mentioned immediately before )

Trying something different; in order not to get bogged down by things that I already know, I'm going to mark things off in the table of contents as I have trouble with them and make sure to go back through them when I need to review later. And, you know, hopefully if I remember to do consistent tagging things that'll help. But at least that way I'm not getting fed up with review by doing the same simple things over and over again, and then stopping the review when I get to the more complicated ones.

You'd think this was silly and self-evident. But no. You'd think wrong.

Oof. Slowly starting to regain writing equilibrium, among other things. Writing smaller chunks of stories helps to build those muscles back up again. Even if the smaller chunks of stories are bizarre, depressing, or both. I need to work on a couple other things, too. Writing samples, at the very least, and finish another story that is by now way later than I wanted it to be. Actually two of them, but only one has a deadline.

It's still freaking hot out here. I have no idea what's up with the weather considering it's made about a twenty-five degree (farenheit) jump from last week to this week. I'm actually surprised I haven't gotten sick yet, either, what with the going from indoors and air conditioned to outdoors and, well, not. Glad, really. But surprised. And it looks like it's not supposed to cool down at all the rest of this week. Bugger.

Slowly gearing up for the Supernatural convention in a couple of weeks. Which is to say, I have my tickets and I have my pass and I have my photo ID and my bus ticket. And I feel a little bit guilty for not having the enthusiasm that probably every other Gold Package ticket holder has, but goddammit. If this is going to be my only chance to collect the damn autographs, then I'm going to take it. Because apparently with autographs I'm a bit neurotic or something. Must have as many as I can. (And the truly sad thing is, out of the six people plus the two big ones I'm only getting five. I got Corin Nemec's at Dragon Con. And we stood around and talked for a while, and he was absolutely adorable. And it was probably a friendlier, quieter atmosphere than this. But oh well. I could be wrong. I've never been to a Creation Ent con before!) Anyway, so there's that. I even have a Ramones shirt and I'm going to go out and look for sunglasses and maybe a leather jacket or something so I can dress up as Pamela Barnes. Because I have no life. No, seriously. Lifeless.

Title: Holding Out For No Heroes
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: John Winchester, OCs
Word Count: ~1,500
Rating: PG
Summary: John Winchester meant to rescue the civilians and destroy the demons. Except these particular civilians don't need rescuing...
A/N: Written for mundane_bingo "people trying to help you when you don't need help"

This was supposed to be an easy job, and it had turned into a nest of demons bigger than he'd ever run into before. Probably it was the isolated area that did it; Rappahannock County wasn't the biggest bastion of civilization. He'd tracked the last of them to a dead-end gravel road with a metal bar across it, and three cars parked in front of a cabin. Shit.

There were figures in the windows, too, passing back and forth in through the rooms in front of the light. From the road he could see what looked like a kitchen from the curtain pattern, maybe a bathroom from the water tank hanging outside of it, and he didn't know what that third room was. At least two people in the house. Recent arrivals, too, by the heat coming off the hood of at least one of the cars. He made his way up the short, steep hill towards the door, easing open the screen door without creaking it. His breath was coming fast and shallow already, he needed to be clear about this. Focused. Just two demons, nothing he hadn't handled before. One more breath, and he slammed into the door and ...

... almost fell down, water hitting his face with considerable force.

"Shit!" "Did you get him?" "I got him, is..." "He's not smoking." "Doesn't rule out..."

( Read more... )

Title: Aggressive Negotiations
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Ruby/Crowley
Word Count: ~2500
Rating: R
Summary: Crowley has something Ruby wants. Ruby has something Crowley wants. Ruby loses.
A/N: Dub-con, whether the dub is more or less clear depends, I think, on your interpretation.

Negotiations were a delicate business. If you weren’t careful, you found yourself paying more than you wanted for something that was worth less than you thought. Crowley had learned that lesson repeatedly, less often these days but it was still worth keeping in mind as he faced down the pretty blonde woman with the very old woman inside her.

“Well? Do you have it?”

Crowley smiled. “Hold your horses, love. I thought we could talk for a bit first."

"What's there to talk about? You have my materials. I have your payment." Not money, not cash. Not between them. Her payment came in the form of a small black vial with a viscous liquid that had taken her a lot of time to accumulate. And it still wasn't as valuable as the materials she needed to finish the damn knife.

He allowed himself a step or two closer. Her having the knife, her making the bloody thing put him on edge, but the word had come down that this was what was needed to get the job done. So this was what everyone was told to do; help her in any way they could. Of course, he was a crossroads demon, he had a job to do, so he couldn't exactly make it easy for her. Had to make a profit somehow.

Getting his jollies was just an extra special bonus.

"Are we doing this deal or not?"

"Pucker up, sweetheart."

He should have known better than to trust her. She was that bitch's favorite for a reason.

Crowley caught her hand in his pocket and held it there, squeezing her wrist tight enough that he could hear the bones of her meatsuit grinding together. "Aw, love, if you wanted that, you could have just asked. That, you can have for free."

"I wouldn't touch you to…"

Well, why not. They were already lips to lips, or close enough to it. And even if he couldn't read other demons quite as well as he could humans, he hadn't been the King of the Crossroads for the last few centuries without learning how to negotiate. How to read the signs of body and voice rather than minds. Her body was screaming to be touched. Her voice was screaming to be challenged.

She reached up her other hand to jab her fingers into his throat, and he grabbed her other wrist. “Ah ah ah...” he hissed out through a toothy smile. "No."

"You stupid, slimy bastard..."

"Look who's talking."

There was a moment there, just a moment, when he wasn't sure she wanted it. And then he had to make a decision, searching her stolen face with borrowed eyes for signs distorted by her human body. Not that he was squeamish, but he had to be in the right frame of mind and mood for rape, and this wasn't it. He wanted to play with his food, not devour it, ripping and tearing. But he was hungry. So to speak.

She did respond. Her eyes grew heavy-lidded, half-closed, and her body relaxed enough that her wrists went limp in his hands, though he didn't let go. Not a tricky bitch like her. She tilted her face up to his and sidled closer, till he had just decided to go with it, either way. She wasn't fighting. Actually, she was leaning into it. Brushing up against him. Encouraging him. His smile stretched into a smirk as he leaned back, closer, pulled her closer.

The pain was all the more intrusive for being unexpected. Her knee slammed into his crotch hard enough to make him let go of her wrists. Predictably, she turned and bolted.

"Oh no you don't..."

He tackled her on the dirt in front of her hide-out, knocking the breath out of her against the rocks and the hard-packed ground. She beat at him with her fists, but he cracked her head against the ground first and she went limp.

"There," Crowley panted, smirking. "Now we can have this conversation some place a little more civilized."



( Read more... )

Title: Crowley
Fandom: Good Omens/Supernatural/RPS
Characters: Crowley/Crowley/Crowley
Word Count: 1,328
Rating: R. What did you expect?
Summary: Orgy of Crowleys
A/N: No, I'm not kidding.

"Well. Don't you look familiar."

"Ah-ah-ah. Technically this body looks familiar. I'm just here for the ride."

The demon Crowleys smirk at each other. They understand what's going on. The human, he thinks he has an idea, and he does have a few of them. Debauchery, debasement. But it’s all mundane corruption. Boring stuff. Sex, drugs, and rock and roll, and he’s almost more interested in his reputation as a debased bastard than he is in actually committing the acts. Sad.

Crowley the snake smoothes his palms over his jacket front, preening. Crowley the salesman admires this, this other demon and his fine form, the way the dark linen falls over the human frame.

“What are you doing?”

There’s the magician. Both demons look at each other and roll their eyes a bit. He’s already on something.

“Getting ready,” Crowley says, one eyebrow arched, words perfectly shaped and enunciated. “Why don’t you go right on down to the bed and get yourself ready?”

“Perhaps I will.” ( Read more... )

Title: Where You Are
Fandom: Supernatural/Heroes
Characters: Claire Novak/Molly Walker
Word Count: 1,264 words
Rating: PG
Summary: Claire and Molly, in snapshots.

Claire is sixteen and she's been touched by an angel. Years ago, before the end came and her father died and her mother went a little bit off, an angel came down and told her she had a job to do. Asked her if she would help it. She agreed.

But then the angel left and she lost her father again. She missed him. She didn't understand why.

( Read more... )

Character: Pamela Barnes
Prompt: None
A/N: Detective!Verse Pam

She knew it was a bad case when he turned up at her door late that night, sweaty and still in his work clothes. Word had trickled down to the labs that they'd have incoming to process, but for tonight she and a couple of the others had the night off. One veteran to supervise, and the rest of the newbies got to sort through the evidence and start the testing. Pam was free to go home and rest up for an early roll-out tomorrow morning.

Resting up didn't seem to be in the cards. She looked through the peephole, caught a glimpse of red-rimmed blue eyes, and scrabbled to open the door. "Cas? Baby, you okay?"

He shook his head.

( Read more... )

Title: Progression
Fandom: Supernatural/Babylon 5
Characters: Sam Winchester, Sebastian
Word Count: 1,430
Rating: PG. Ish.
Summary: The four central questions, in the correct progression, and Sam's respective answers.

( 1.1 A Mutual Admiration and Sacrificial Society )