Updaty-ness and such and so on....
Hallo! I am here to report, to my eternal shame, that my Sweet Charity fics will be late. Bah, and humbug, and i am *so* very sorry, but it must be.
They are in progress, though, so....do not despair!
In other news...In two days - less! - i get a sweptawaybayou!! Yes, yes i do!
*twirls her* And insidious plans are afoot to keep her here Thursday night! So we can watch Supernatural together!
*dies of glee*
Omg, omg, omg, i must clean my bathrooms....*runs about madly*
*cough* we shall not talk of baseboards *cough*
ANYway....that's pretty much all the news that's fit to print. Oh, except for this teeny little snippty coda of a thing to the last ep of SPN. It keeps intruding into my brain, so - better to write it than not.
It's not really dark. Not really, and the wall (is it a wall? it's warm, maybe it's not a wall, is it a person? Maybe it is...maybe...) whatever is behind him is slick-sticky, warm. Hard and soft and not right and he doesn't want to think about it, won't fucking think about it, no, no, he won't, can't make me, can't make me....
It, he, it...comes in. (From where? There's no there, there, it's just more of the same, more blackredslickhotnotrightnot). Something like teeth in something like a grin in something nothing like a face and he knows, he knows. Have to get up now, have to go, have to, have to....
He's so fucking tired, he's so tired and the stink is ironshithot, it's sulphercharpuke and it never goes away and he pushes against the (wallthingperson) and stands and his leg is wrong, his hand is slick, his mouth is sealed shut, blood and gut and screams and....
"Another day, another dollar," he it he says, somethingnothing like a chuckle grating out of the thing like a mouth and he goes, he goes, he goes, (five hundered and thirty-seven days ago, five hundred and thirty-seven days I broke, I lost, I gave up, five hundred and thirty-seven days ago I let them win I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry....)
Yeah, not so happy, sorry.
*twirls you all*
They are in progress, though, so....do not despair!
In other news...In two days - less! - i get a sweptawaybayou!! Yes, yes i do!
*twirls her* And insidious plans are afoot to keep her here Thursday night! So we can watch Supernatural together!
*dies of glee*
Omg, omg, omg, i must clean my bathrooms....*runs about madly*
*cough* we shall not talk of baseboards *cough*
ANYway....that's pretty much all the news that's fit to print. Oh, except for this teeny little snippty coda of a thing to the last ep of SPN. It keeps intruding into my brain, so - better to write it than not.
It's not really dark. Not really, and the wall (is it a wall? it's warm, maybe it's not a wall, is it a person? Maybe it is...maybe...) whatever is behind him is slick-sticky, warm. Hard and soft and not right and he doesn't want to think about it, won't fucking think about it, no, no, he won't, can't make me, can't make me....
It, he, it...comes in. (From where? There's no there, there, it's just more of the same, more blackredslickhotnotrightnot). Something like teeth in something like a grin in something nothing like a face and he knows, he knows. Have to get up now, have to go, have to, have to....
He's so fucking tired, he's so tired and the stink is ironshithot, it's sulphercharpuke and it never goes away and he pushes against the (wallthingperson) and stands and his leg is wrong, his hand is slick, his mouth is sealed shut, blood and gut and screams and....
"Another day, another dollar," he it he says, somethingnothing like a chuckle grating out of the thing like a mouth and he goes, he goes, he goes, (five hundered and thirty-seven days ago, five hundred and thirty-seven days I broke, I lost, I gave up, five hundred and thirty-seven days ago I let them win I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry....)
Yeah, not so happy, sorry.
*twirls you all*