I wasn't made for this scene, baby, but I was made in this scene...
Wtf, body? Drop the other shoe already. It does this to me on purpose, you know. Honestly, being a girl is a real pain in the ass sometimes. >:O
I accidentally slept for about thirteen hours last night and only woke up in time to get ready for my 10 am because the maintenance man finally came to check the leak in my bathroom ceiling. (The toilet overflowed in the room above me yesterday, he said. Which, gross, but whatever.) So I wasted a whole night, I'm lazy and fuzzy today because I slept too long and forgot to eat last night, and now I have about 72748740749 things to take care of tonight, which means my sleeping schedule's going to be wrecked again anyway. Fantastic.
In class yesterday, because apparently that is when I get the most inspiration to write, I started writing a poem about Jared and Jensen. In second person, because it was starting to sound weird and stalkerish in third person, and I get paranoid about that kind of thing. *facepalm* I really really hope no one in my workshop class watches SPN or knows much about it because these are some of the best turns of phrases I've ever come up with. They're getting it regardless, so.
If anyone's interested (and I know all y'all totally are), this is my favorite part so far. Yes, it's slash. *oppressed sigh* I think my gen might be irrevocably broken, you guys.
Three years later, the dimpled grin he offers is rough and ragged with the hour
As you drop down on the steps beside him, your shoulders bumping, weary and familiar,
Your thighs careworn with the bruises of stunt work next to the sharper ones you made together.
I'm being optimistic with the three years thing. It sounded better in context than two. :)
and also this, which comes earlier, except I might change the last line because omg long:
You slot together like puzzle pieces, like you were made for this:
Broad shoulders and lean muscle under your shaking hands, narrow hips sliding home,
Your mouths curving to fit just there, just like this, hushed and secret under bright Vancouver stars,
And someone impatiently calling your names as you exhale on a vow and straighten your borrowed clothes.
The only problem is now I have to find a way to end it and try to actually make it mean something, ha ha. And probably see if I can tame the Comma Monster a bit without wrecking the style/rhythm.
Meh, whatever. I have shit I need to be doing now. Later!
I accidentally slept for about thirteen hours last night and only woke up in time to get ready for my 10 am because the maintenance man finally came to check the leak in my bathroom ceiling. (The toilet overflowed in the room above me yesterday, he said. Which, gross, but whatever.) So I wasted a whole night, I'm lazy and fuzzy today because I slept too long and forgot to eat last night, and now I have about 72748740749 things to take care of tonight, which means my sleeping schedule's going to be wrecked again anyway. Fantastic.
In class yesterday, because apparently that is when I get the most inspiration to write, I started writing a poem about Jared and Jensen. In second person, because it was starting to sound weird and stalkerish in third person, and I get paranoid about that kind of thing. *facepalm* I really really hope no one in my workshop class watches SPN or knows much about it because these are some of the best turns of phrases I've ever come up with. They're getting it regardless, so.
If anyone's interested (and I know all y'all totally are), this is my favorite part so far. Yes, it's slash. *oppressed sigh* I think my gen might be irrevocably broken, you guys.
Three years later, the dimpled grin he offers is rough and ragged with the hour
As you drop down on the steps beside him, your shoulders bumping, weary and familiar,
Your thighs careworn with the bruises of stunt work next to the sharper ones you made together.
I'm being optimistic with the three years thing. It sounded better in context than two. :)
and also this, which comes earlier, except I might change the last line because omg long:
You slot together like puzzle pieces, like you were made for this:
Broad shoulders and lean muscle under your shaking hands, narrow hips sliding home,
Your mouths curving to fit just there, just like this, hushed and secret under bright Vancouver stars,
And someone impatiently calling your names as you exhale on a vow and straighten your borrowed clothes.
The only problem is now I have to find a way to end it and try to actually make it mean something, ha ha. And probably see if I can tame the Comma Monster a bit without wrecking the style/rhythm.
Meh, whatever. I have shit I need to be doing now. Later!