Stuff/drabble
I think I'm having some kind of a reaction to the cholera vaccine: fever, snivels, nausea and "general feeling of illness" are all listed side effects. Blew off class yesterday and a meeting today, but if it doesn't pass before the weekend I'm going to be nervous since we're leaving Monday.
It'd probably help if I took days off to, y'know, stay in bed and drink lots of healthy whatevers. Instead I've been to Piekea (yay storage!) and the fabric store with mom, met E for coffee (I frown at apples from Germany and then I order a cookie that was flown here from Australia. Australia. F'reals) and spent the night at mom's place (nachos and comfy bed + fireplace = win) before going grocery shopping. Doctor's orders? Sure.
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Title: Talk is Cheap
Fandom: Weiß Kreuz
Word Count: 100
Characters: Schuldig/Crawford
Notes: This didn't really do what I wanted; maybe I'll try again later.
To Schuldig, actions speak louder than words; he’s already heard anything you might've thought to say. To Crawford, words are silver bullets and bringing them into the equation would be like bringing guns into bed. Worse.
He could probably use a gun in bed.
When Schuldig pushes him against the wall and demands acknowledgment the only words Crawford has are tools and weapons, so he shuts up and lets Schuldig trace bitemarks along his collarbone, closing his hand around the back of Schuldig’s head. In the morning he makes coffee, black as sin.
Schuldig talks for both of them, anyway.
It'd probably help if I took days off to, y'know, stay in bed and drink lots of healthy whatevers. Instead I've been to Piekea (yay storage!) and the fabric store with mom, met E for coffee (I frown at apples from Germany and then I order a cookie that was flown here from Australia. Australia. F'reals) and spent the night at mom's place (nachos and comfy bed + fireplace = win) before going grocery shopping. Doctor's orders? Sure.
----
Title: Talk is Cheap
Fandom: Weiß Kreuz
Word Count: 100
Characters: Schuldig/Crawford
Notes: This didn't really do what I wanted; maybe I'll try again later.
To Schuldig, actions speak louder than words; he’s already heard anything you might've thought to say. To Crawford, words are silver bullets and bringing them into the equation would be like bringing guns into bed. Worse.
He could probably use a gun in bed.
When Schuldig pushes him against the wall and demands acknowledgment the only words Crawford has are tools and weapons, so he shuts up and lets Schuldig trace bitemarks along his collarbone, closing his hand around the back of Schuldig’s head. In the morning he makes coffee, black as sin.
Schuldig talks for both of them, anyway.