i've covered my tracks well
Fucking around on Tumblr while scanning insurance documents I came across this graphic and then accidentally wrote half-assed Arthur/Eames apocafic drabble when I went to reblog it. I mean I wouldn't call it fic really, more like a fic idea, but I figured it's been a goddamn long time since I posted anything even remotely fic-like so why the fuck not.
This makes me want apocalyptic road trip fic where they drive out to the middle of the desert in that convertible (even though it's highly impractical for defense against zombies but Arthur has come to terms with the fact that their days are numbered and, fuck it, he's going to drive the goddamn convertible until he can't drive any more).
They drive out to the desert because out there were there are no people, and no cities, and they wouldn't have been able to pick up a radio station even if there were still broadcast signals they can pretend - for a few hours, maybe a few days, before the hordes shuffle their way toward the last living breathing bodies left - that this is just a road trip, that they are taking a break from the world. And they have vicious, desperate, end of the world sex in the back seat with the top down. Clawing and biting, marking each other before the undead can. Because now, at the end, they can admit that this unnamed thing between them is real, and those scratches down Arthur’s back, the deep purple bruise blooming on Eames’ neck, the bite marks along his collar bone, the moans that float off into the dark sky as they fight for more, deeper, harder, this is what actually matters. And the whole world may have gone to hell in a way that makes even the worst nightmare dreamshare failure look like a cake walk, but the stars are so bright above them, not lights left to dull them. So bright. And they are going to have this before there is nothing left to have.
And the next morning they can smell the horde before they see it, and they stand back to back on the trunk, taking out as many zombies as they can until they are completely surrounded and down to one bullet each. One bullet each to end the dream from which they will never wake up.
In other news, I'm not doing NaNo (this is not actually news since I never have) but I have so far written at least 200 words each day this month at 750words.com. I'm shooting for writing everyday of November even if I only get to 200 words a day (I haven't managed to write every day for a month so far so I figured this was the month to do it and 750words makes it just for me which takes the pressure off). 200 words isn't much but, as my friend C says, everything counts and doing it at all is sometimes the hardest part.
And the nearly two feet of snow we got on Oct 30th (way too early, there are still leaves on the trees) is almost all gone and it's been in the upper 50s and lower 60s the last couple days. Which is to say, life is good.
This makes me want apocalyptic road trip fic where they drive out to the middle of the desert in that convertible (even though it's highly impractical for defense against zombies but Arthur has come to terms with the fact that their days are numbered and, fuck it, he's going to drive the goddamn convertible until he can't drive any more).
They drive out to the desert because out there were there are no people, and no cities, and they wouldn't have been able to pick up a radio station even if there were still broadcast signals they can pretend - for a few hours, maybe a few days, before the hordes shuffle their way toward the last living breathing bodies left - that this is just a road trip, that they are taking a break from the world. And they have vicious, desperate, end of the world sex in the back seat with the top down. Clawing and biting, marking each other before the undead can. Because now, at the end, they can admit that this unnamed thing between them is real, and those scratches down Arthur’s back, the deep purple bruise blooming on Eames’ neck, the bite marks along his collar bone, the moans that float off into the dark sky as they fight for more, deeper, harder, this is what actually matters. And the whole world may have gone to hell in a way that makes even the worst nightmare dreamshare failure look like a cake walk, but the stars are so bright above them, not lights left to dull them. So bright. And they are going to have this before there is nothing left to have.
And the next morning they can smell the horde before they see it, and they stand back to back on the trunk, taking out as many zombies as they can until they are completely surrounded and down to one bullet each. One bullet each to end the dream from which they will never wake up.
In other news, I'm not doing NaNo (this is not actually news since I never have) but I have so far written at least 200 words each day this month at 750words.com. I'm shooting for writing everyday of November even if I only get to 200 words a day (I haven't managed to write every day for a month so far so I figured this was the month to do it and 750words makes it just for me which takes the pressure off). 200 words isn't much but, as my friend C says, everything counts and doing it at all is sometimes the hardest part.
And the nearly two feet of snow we got on Oct 30th (way too early, there are still leaves on the trees) is almost all gone and it's been in the upper 50s and lower 60s the last couple days. Which is to say, life is good.