Oodles (but not of Noodles)
Does anyone even call them Oodles o' Noodles anymore? I think they're mostly called Ramen now, or cup o' noodle. A dehydrated block of bland pasta by any other name...
Anyway, on from the random to the... er... lots of random. Note the multiple cut-tags *g* because otherwise it would be insanely tl;dr.
This one goes outside a cut, though. You, friends list, are awesome with your hand-holding through writer's block and related fretting, and I adore you all. ♥
I've received all my supplies. Honestly, it's almost inappropriate, the love I have for the "green" smell of henna and the rich spiciness of the terp oils and lemon-citrus sealant. And the harquus ink just looks SO COOL. It's all black and saturated and just nifty in its potential for fun. Knock wood and the weather will be warm enough this weekend to mix up a batch of henna and to play around with harquus designs. \o/
I'd actually never watched any of it before today. After viewing the first disc, WEE!JARED has stolen my heart and I have a serious girlcrush on Lorelei. OMG, how have I missed this?
While I do have more plans for Tilted in the works, I think I'm growing a bunny for another J2 verse. Here, a snippet:
"People don't get me. They think I'm a dick. And y'know what? They're right." He smiled, thinking to himself he'd describe it -- if he did that kind of girly shit -- as "beatific". Or
smug. Either one worked.
"You know this isn't 'The Grinch Who Stole Christmas', right?" He passed Jared the bottle. Jared took a swig without even wiping the rim. Good man. "My heart's not gonna grow
three sizes."
Jared shrugged. "Yeah, I know. As long as your dick grows, I'll be good."
I think this wants to be a rewrite of "What Dreams May Come", which I've wanted to do for a while. Yet I really hate to do that to the guys (although it'd have a happy ending).
He hesitated, twitched his lips and looked away. He still wasn't smiling, not yet, so she did it for him, putting her hand over his -- like a sister's -- and squeezing over his raw-boned knuckles. "If you were anyone else, right about now you'd be saying 'that's not fair'."
"Jess."
She went on, because she needed to say it. "It's not fair, after all you and Dean went through to stay together. After he almost went to hell for you. That you'd leave him."
"Jess."
"Sam." She laid her head on his shoulder, stiff and unyielding beneath her cheek. That was okay. She'd known how to read him for a long time. "Anyone else would say 'it's not fair'. And it's not. But you'll never say it, Sam Winchester. You learned a long, long time ago that life's never fair."
She waited for him to turn his hand over and grasp hers in return. Eventually, he did.
The Spectacles verse has been calling to me today, too.
"Bet you can't go without until we finish this hunt."
"Excuse me?" Dean doesn't take his hands off the wheel. He does turn his head to stare, baffled, at Sam. The way Sam figures it, Dean's driving without glasses anyway and he knows the car and the roads well enough in the memories of his body, they're not in any more danger than they were before.
They might actually be on their way to better. He has a Plan. Capital "P" and everything.
In conclusion, it appears that if I have a healthy afternoon nap, I get really very wired. ;-p And babble. A lot. Fortunately, some of it crystallizes as bits of "gosh, I'd love to write that..." dialogue, eh?
Anyway, on from the random to the... er... lots of random. Note the multiple cut-tags *g* because otherwise it would be insanely tl;dr.
This one goes outside a cut, though. You, friends list, are awesome with your hand-holding through writer's block and related fretting, and I adore you all. ♥
I've received all my supplies. Honestly, it's almost inappropriate, the love I have for the "green" smell of henna and the rich spiciness of the terp oils and lemon-citrus sealant. And the harquus ink just looks SO COOL. It's all black and saturated and just nifty in its potential for fun. Knock wood and the weather will be warm enough this weekend to mix up a batch of henna and to play around with harquus designs. \o/
I'd actually never watched any of it before today. After viewing the first disc, WEE!JARED has stolen my heart and I have a serious girlcrush on Lorelei. OMG, how have I missed this?
While I do have more plans for Tilted in the works, I think I'm growing a bunny for another J2 verse. Here, a snippet:
"People don't get me. They think I'm a dick. And y'know what? They're right." He smiled, thinking to himself he'd describe it -- if he did that kind of girly shit -- as "beatific". Or
smug. Either one worked.
"You know this isn't 'The Grinch Who Stole Christmas', right?" He passed Jared the bottle. Jared took a swig without even wiping the rim. Good man. "My heart's not gonna grow
three sizes."
Jared shrugged. "Yeah, I know. As long as your dick grows, I'll be good."
I think this wants to be a rewrite of "What Dreams May Come", which I've wanted to do for a while. Yet I really hate to do that to the guys (although it'd have a happy ending).
He hesitated, twitched his lips and looked away. He still wasn't smiling, not yet, so she did it for him, putting her hand over his -- like a sister's -- and squeezing over his raw-boned knuckles. "If you were anyone else, right about now you'd be saying 'that's not fair'."
"Jess."
She went on, because she needed to say it. "It's not fair, after all you and Dean went through to stay together. After he almost went to hell for you. That you'd leave him."
"Jess."
"Sam." She laid her head on his shoulder, stiff and unyielding beneath her cheek. That was okay. She'd known how to read him for a long time. "Anyone else would say 'it's not fair'. And it's not. But you'll never say it, Sam Winchester. You learned a long, long time ago that life's never fair."
She waited for him to turn his hand over and grasp hers in return. Eventually, he did.
The Spectacles verse has been calling to me today, too.
"Bet you can't go without until we finish this hunt."
"Excuse me?" Dean doesn't take his hands off the wheel. He does turn his head to stare, baffled, at Sam. The way Sam figures it, Dean's driving without glasses anyway and he knows the car and the roads well enough in the memories of his body, they're not in any more danger than they were before.
They might actually be on their way to better. He has a Plan. Capital "P" and everything.
In conclusion, it appears that if I have a healthy afternoon nap, I get really very wired. ;-p And babble. A lot. Fortunately, some of it crystallizes as bits of "gosh, I'd love to write that..." dialogue, eh?