BRB, cleaning maggots out of a dog's eye.
- Current Mood: nauseated
...a mess of hemp bracelets...
‘Oh, you’ve never heard of them'
t-shirt, plain black with the words Oedipus: the ORIGINAL mother fucker printed on it
the music... had to spend good money on a record player for
the amount of money they spend on shitty coffee
Oh dear. Does this mean I'm a fringe hipster as well as a fringe gamer?
(I don't actually own an Oedipus t-shirt, I just tend to find myself inordinately amused by various historical and/or mythological irony and make inappropriate jokes to express this amusement. And also think that Freud is a douche, but then, who doesn't?)
Merlin sort of has this look in his eyes like he'd like to fall in love with a terminally ill patient. This does not bode well for his happiness in my future fic writing endeavors.
CURSE YOU FOR LOOKING SO PRETTY WHEN YOU CRY, COLIN MORGAN, CURSE YOUUUUUUUU!!!1!!elevenIn other news, um, what do you all know about secret agents/james bond/what the feck ever? Hypothetically?
- Current Mood: crushed
Hang on, wait. I'm confused - where is the Prince of Persia slash?
And, um, getting myself back into greek mythology was probably a bad idea. Would anyone even be interested in reading a modern retelling of the story of Psyche and Eros, wherein Psyche is a boy named Cyril and Eros is a little, er, naive?
“Stop that.” Cyril said sharply, smacking Eros’ hand away from the delicate looking bauble and sounding very much like Ares did whenever he thought Eros needed a father's guidance (which wasn't terribly often, because he was awful at it). “Just because it’s there doesn’t mean you have to touch it.”
“But it’s pretty.” Eros insisted fervently, reaching out again.
Cyril grabbed his hand this time and held it instead, and the warmth from that touch spread all the way down to Eros’ toes. “Thusly, fragile. Perhaps even expensive.”
- Current Mood: confused
In other news: It's feckin' hard to write text speak like a lackawit. Oh, English language, why have I deserted thee?!
- Current Mood: crazy
Another fandom? Already? And the subject matter?
Like I really needed to revisit this preteen mythology obesession of mine. This is where running to my friends for morale support would be more useful if I actually bothered to LISTEN to them when they told me not to.
Val's right, I have a Big Bang piece to write. Not to mention five million other things. >.> ... tomorrow. Definately tomorrow.
- Current Location:Livingroom, because the light in my bedroom is burnt out
- Current Mood: frustrated
- Current Music:Breakeven - The Script
broken keywords for past posts D: whoops.
- Current Mood: embarrassed
... I knew FYE would have it.
More later, after I've had a chance to sit and watch it.
- Current Mood: accomplished
Just watched Freakdog, AKA Red Mist, AKA that movie that Andrew-Lee Potts played a sexually deviant autistic hospital janitor who likes to film people with his camera phone and kills people while he's in a coma movie...
Best horror movie I've seen in awhile. Seriously. Not going to put up a trailer for it here, because the trailer is shite and all, but I literally sat and told my friend five minutes before the end of the movie what the best possible ending for it would be and what does this show do, but deliver it.
The fact that ALP spends most of the movie laying half naked (which, BTW, what the heck? Do hospitals make a regular practice of leaving their long term coma patients NAKED now and just no one told me, but, um, Andrew-Lee naked chest so who cares, y/y?) and comatose in a hospital bed and still manages to completely hold my attention is either a testament to his acting abilities or just another example of how obsessive I can be.
:( Neither Blockbuster nor Best Buy had Return to the House on Haunted Hill though, which was distressing, because he absolutely calls a heavy weight wrestling champion a girl to his face and then proceeds to stand only a few feet away while the same man is torn literally limb from limb in front of him, in which case he goes crawling into a corner for a small breakdown that his professor has to try and talk him out of because his face is STILL COVERED IN THE MAN'S BLOOD. It was at this point that I decided that Kyle was really Connor, simply returned to school for a new Masters. >.>
Also? I love my mom. Told her that ALP dies to save the resident "pretty girl" that must contractually survive every horror movie and her response was "well what about the pretty boys?" and then, while I was still attempting to recover from the first zinger, "I'm sure he was prettier than her anyway"
Me: Actually... he was
The strange thing about this whole conversation was... she was totally serious.
And, Andrew-Lee? Please dear, no more American accents? Not to say you're BAD at them, but I'm just ever so fond of your normal one, and you sound even scrawnier than usual when you do.
- Current Mood: content
Work in Progress (WIP) meme: (which, honestly, considering my semi recent retirement from most fandoms and the equally ill-timed loss of my computer, is not quite so eclectic as it could have been... unless I decide to dig out the hard copy stuff)
Post a sentence (or two) from as many of your WIPs as you want, with no explanation attached.
"Right, so let's go through this again--" The stout, scowling police officer says, staring down at Kenta like he's just another punk teenager which, Kenta supposes, with his bleached brown hair, leather jacket and punk rock t-shirt, he pretty much was.
Complete with a disregard of authority. Kenta rolls his eyes, slumped further into his chair. "I told you," He barks, matching the fat bastard's dark stare eye for eye, "I went in there and she was already dead. I didn't see anyone else, I don't even know how she died - I saw that she wasn't breathing and I got the heck out of there and called the police."
He doesn't remember what the movie was called-some flavor of the month teen angst thriller that all of Akane's friend's were cooing over and Akane absolutely had to see it-but that night he dreams of aquariums and talking dogs, and being buried alive.
He hums a song in class that he doesn't know the words to, because this is the third time he's taken English and he's still failing.~*~
Nino holds up the balloons and stares at them darkly. She turns to brandish them menacingly in Aiba's direction. “Is this, like, some sort of message that mine aren’t big enough? Because they totally are – Satoshi thinks so, ne?” She turns a sudden and blinding smile his way.
Ohno nods eagerly.
The director yells cut.
“Battle?” Mimura said, distractedly, watching the way bits of Shizo’ hair escaped from their clips and fell in inky waves against her slim, pale neck. He tried to remember if the class had read recently about any wars or rebellions, but could only come up with a long, rambling line of agricultural data that Shizo had shared with him over lunch that day, after he’d offered to share his bento.
“Um.” Said Sho.
The scrawny boy’s hands shot out to claw at Sho’s thighs, far too close to some delicate objects for Sho’s concern. “Shhhh!” He hissed. “I’m not here!”
Sho quietly contemplated the merits of explaining to the boy that he was there, he was most unmistakably here, and that, actually, Sho would much rather prefer it if the boy wasn’t here so he could please finish his research in peace?
Kenta would like to say that he stopped because the guy looked lost, eyes wide behind thick rim glasses and gnawing frantically on his lower lip.
He had the shell-shocked look of a survivor of some sort of natural disaster, like an earthquake or a tsunami.
But then, Kenta’s never been particularly concerned about the hardships of others unless they directly affected him anyway. It had more to do with the fact that the guy was crouched awkwardly behind a potted plant like he had something to hide, flinching violently every time a particularly loud set of footsteps echoed down the hall. He wasn’t wearing a visitor’s badge either.
“I got kissed by another one of your friends today.” Shouchan says idly over his and Sho’s conbini bento lunches, pushing around the cold soba noodles with his chopsticks and taking a sip of Calpis.
Sho nearly choked on his own food. “What.” He says, after several frantic gulps of Shouchan’s proffered drink and then, “Another?” And then again, louder. “WHAT.”
“So we’ll be using Shizuna as the bait again.” Taisuke asked, without a hint of question in his voice. If given the task choosing which of his two sisters was prettier, Taisuke would be hardpressed not to say Tomoe, if only for Shizuna’s tomboy tendencies. Tomoe was tiny and slender, like a little bird, but while many men inevitably fell in love with her face and her soft, wispy voice, upon getting to know her it became increasingly clear that Tomoe was more than a little ODD.
“Er.” Tomoe said, staring hard at the desktop in front of her. “No.” She fidgeted. “Apparently he already likes me, throwing another girl into the equation at this point would just be messy.”
Sachiko narrows her eyes at the detective and casually leans forward, letting the loose collar of her shirt gape unabashedly. She watches in triumph as the focus of his eyes slides down. Men, she thought unkindly.
Taisuke is fourteen and flipping girls skirts in the school hallway when he really starts noticing Kouichi.
"Did that dog just smirk at me?"
It’s seven months of chasing after him with term papers and recently published science journals and various drafts of her half finished dissertation, trampling all over the stereotype with her nice, comfy, fantastically leather boots (cost more than half her wardrobe put together but they’ve lasted her six years now and only look a bit battered about the edges for it) by buying him coffee because that’s the only way that he’ll stick around long enough for her to get more than a handful of words out, before she actually learns his name.
(Bordering on nine months and he still hasn't learned not to call her Connie.)
Xander had a study period that he spent sleeping in the library just as often as he did studying in it, though the former was usually interrupted by the frowning visage of their new librarian hanging above him, which almost always translated into more studying, because the librarian seemed to creep a lot of kids out and thus, had an awful lot of spare time with which he offered to help Xander with his French; and Xander knew better than to look a smart person – gift horse, whatever – in the mouth.
He loves Abby. More than anyone else in the world. But after all that they’ve been through together, how far they’ve come, he’s not too sure than he wants to risk ruining it by shoving his stupid clumsy foot into anything like a relationship with her.
Kid’s voice bled out from the shadows. “I admit, I’ve never been challenged to a formal duel before. Is there any sort of special ceremony we should observe?”
Hakuba scowled. “They never called me that. That’s Kudo Shinichi you’re thinking of.”
Kid tapped his chin in thought. “Hmmm… Kudo, Kudo… ah, yes, of course!” He pounded his fist in his hand as he remembered. “The kid that shot at me at the clocktower!”
Hakuba knows that Kuroba is Kaitou Kid. The evidence is all there, circumstantial though it may be.
“You can’t eat me.” Conan said, voice shrill and taking a step back from the two eager looking Villains, wondering why it felt to him like the gentleman thief’s and the scarlet witch’s definition of ‘eat’ were totally different.
“Poor foolish child, you have no idea what I am capable of—“
“We’re not talking about that right now.” The child said dismissively, waving his small hand next to Hakuba’s nose in a visual metaphor of pushing it aside. “We’re talking about the men in black.”
“Yes. We are.”
In the end, he only ran into the guy because he looked like Kudo. Or, no, it was because he didn’t look like Kudo, little Kudo, Edogawa Conan and his too big glasses and his sharp little smile, the Kudo that Hattori was beginning to imagine every time he found himself idly thinking of the “great detective of the East,” the Kudo with a target painted on his back.
Her frenzied little gasps cut off suddenly in a hiccup of laughter.
Kaito frowned. “Did I use the wrong word again?” He asked, tone taking on a slight whine. Why did English have to be so difficult, French didn’t give him nearly this much trouble. “I was sure lovely was a good thing, I remember reading—“
The tiniest vision of guilt danced quietly across Aoko’s face before being covered firmly by mirth. “Hakuba-kun looked like he was ready to stab you in the neck with a protractor. I thought it would be best if I got you out of there. What were the two of you talking about anyway?”
“Hakuba’s good looks.” Kaito said, tilting his head and sticking his tongue out to taste the rain.
- Current Mood: bored