SGA spam tomorrow, including possibly a small cracklet fic and a Rodney Fanmix which may or may not already be titled Alien Space Ship of Love.
Wow, it sucks not having any friends in your entire state. I have the house to myself for the first time in ages, and I can't even appreciate the fact, because I'm all alone and I'm even starting to miss my father's busybody ways - at least then I didn't have hours by myself to sink into stupid, ridiculous self-reflection.
When you're alone by choice, it's so much easier to occupy yourself with all the things you want to be doing, you know? It's just no fun to wander around an empty, big house at three AM, knowing that the entire town is quiet around you, and there's no one within walking distance that you can go to if you need help or you need to talk. I spent an hour actually doing dishes this evening, just because I had nothing else that I wanted to do. Some of the things I washed were already clean.
Okay, now I feel like even more of a loser, so first five people to comment get a ficlet of their choosing.
I feel like a tool because I haven't spoken to you in ages, but I just wanted to give you big smishes. *snuuuuuuuuuuugs*
Now, if I manage to get in for the ficlets in time, would love Sam/Dean, maybe some porny H/C after Sam's been injured? Or even, non-porny if that works for you better.
Sam takes one look at Dean's face and says, "How bad?"
A muscle in Dean's jaw jumps, and his eyes look at a little red, but his voice is steady when he says, "Bad," and puts his hand gently on Sam's chest.
It's an odd enough gesture that panic's already building in the pit of Sam's stomach. He tries to catalogue all of his limbs, but he can wiggle his toes and curl his fingers in against his palms, and nothing else is even aching.
"What happened?" he asks eventually.
He remembers being knocked against a wall, remembers the cold rush of air when the ghost pressed against his front and touched the side of his jaw with icy fingers, her eyes as dead and gray as the rest of her, but after that it all goes dim. Dean's fingers are warm enough to scatter even those memories, though, when they press in the exact place where the ghost's had been.
Neither of them speak for a minute, the weight of what Dean's about to do hanging over them like it does every time they cross that line, and then their mouths are pressed together; Dean's tongue smooths over Sam's lower lip, gentle and tentative in a way that has Sam arching up unexpectedly, needing. One of Dean's hands cradles the back of his head familiarly - I've got you, little brother - and there's sudden heat all along Sam's side, welcome weight that ties him to the present, keeps him grounded.
"It's - Dean, I'm okay," he breathes when Dean gives him the room. Stubble scrapes against his neck, and - christ, is Dean actually nuzzling him? "Dean?"
"Shut up," Dean says.
For once, Sam obeys, letting his brother settle half-over him, wrapping an arm around those broad shoulders. His hand is already going numb, but he doesn't mind. He's just about to drift off when Dean raises his head and sucks in a breath like he's about to speak; he lets it out again without saying a word, but Sam gets the meaning away from the way Dean's tension slowly melts away until he's pliant and soft and his lips are catching in the dent just behind Sam's ear.
"You know," he says, quiet like he's not quiet sure if Sam's still awake - he jumps gratifyingly when Sam murmurs, "Yeah, I know."
"Ah, smell that?" Jared asks. "That, my friend, is the smell of your untimely death."
"Hm," Jensen sniffs philosophically, "smells like chicken."
Scowling, which only serves to make him look like a disgruntled puppy dog, Jared slams a sheet of paper down on the table in front of Jensen. He points to it, other arm flailing around wildly like some sort of carnival ride. "I had seventeen bars of Cadbury chocolate in my trailer this morning, Jen. Seventeen."
Jensen mildly stares down at the spreadsheet Jared's compiled. He's not really surprised; Jared's a freak about his candy, and Jensen's seen the inside of his candy cabinet at the hotel, all organized by filling and brand name.
"When I got back from lunch, Jensen," Jared continues, undaunted, "there were only fifteen left. Where might those two candy bars have gone, Jensen? Did you take them? Did you tell someone else where to find them? Did you?"
The chairs in the food tent are hard and unyielding, but Jensen does his best to carelessly sprawl in his. "No and no," he says.
Jared's mouth pinches in, and his left eyebrow is twitching in the most interesting way - sort of like a dying caterpillar. Jensen makes a mental note to study this further in the future. Padalecki: Descendant of Ape or Bug? "You know where they are, don't you."
"Oh, yeah," Jensen says easily.
"Well?" Jared says, looming over the table at Jensen. "Well? Where are they?"
Carefully casual, Jensen tips the chair back down on all four of its legs and plants his feet on the ground so he can get a quick jump off. "Check your pockets, buttmunch."
He's already rounding the corner of his trailer when Jared's chocolate-covered fingers catch his arms and wheel him around, slamming him up against the flimsy metal. They're both laughing, and Jared's got smears of chocolate across his cheeks, so Jensen leans in and lick a slow stripe from Jared's mole down to the corner of his smiling mouth.
"Victory is mine," he says happily as Jared drags him up the trailer stairs and throws him onto the bed.
I've been horrible about leaving you comments and stuff. That feeling of completely loneliness is made of lose, baby. I know that's how I felt when I was at college this past year, so I sympathize greatly. *cuddles*
i dont comment very often (read - at all), but i just want to say that i know how you feel with the no friends close by. (though mine's more like no friends period ^^;;) Its a horrible mind dulling nothingness that nothing seems to really help. *gives you a hug*
I am going to break with the habit of a lifetime and HUG YOU. (fine, only on the astral plane, BUT STILL, I THINK IT COUNTS)
also, Robin told me that you told her that you play the ukulele? or have played the ukulele? or have had some kind of ukulele-related experience? I only ask because I am a fully-fledged ukulele cultist. The very word makes my ears prick up. If you have even seen a ukulele from a distance I consider you ONE OF US.
IT DOES COUNT. I can feel your astral arms around me and AM COMFORTED! \o/
And, uh, one of my friends at school lived in Hawaii for a long while, and he used to come over to the dorm and play us songs on his ukulele regularly. He taught me a few songs (including My Dog Has Flees) even though I wasn't especially GOOD at it - my fingers are too small to reach the strings right - and he could play Beatles. Pretty dern cool.
WAH! If only I were a millionaire I could come visit you. Dammit! But SGA spam sounds like something good you can pass the time with and maybe I can persuade you of the wonderful cracked out idea of a Rodney/John/Carson threesome? C'mon you know you want to!
HAHAH, I don't think I could pull off that threesome - at least because of the scottish accent. I think I would probably end up turning it into bad!fic purposely. "Oh aye, right there, Colonel!"
Aw baby!! I smish you to my chest! *SMISH* And I know exactly how you feel - when I was in my apartment alone for the first two weeks, it got really quite awful and lonely. And even now, I have all this lovely free time to myself on the weekends and whatnot, but I just find myself dearly wishing for one of my best friends, neither of whom are in the state either :( It gives me sadface! I wish we could chill out togetherrr baby. *snuggles*
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I feel like a tool because I haven't spoken to you in ages, but I just wanted to give you big smishes. *snuuuuuuuuuuugs*
Now, if I manage to get in for the ficlets in time, would love Sam/Dean, maybe some porny H/C after Sam's been injured? Or even, non-porny if that works for you better.
*smish*
A muscle in Dean's jaw jumps, and his eyes look at a little red, but his voice is steady when he says, "Bad," and puts his hand gently on Sam's chest.
It's an odd enough gesture that panic's already building in the pit of Sam's stomach. He tries to catalogue all of his limbs, but he can wiggle his toes and curl his fingers in against his palms, and nothing else is even aching.
"What happened?" he asks eventually.
He remembers being knocked against a wall, remembers the cold rush of air when the ghost pressed against his front and touched the side of his jaw with icy fingers, her eyes as dead and gray as the rest of her, but after that it all goes dim. Dean's fingers are warm enough to scatter even those memories, though, when they press in the exact place where the ghost's had been.
Neither of them speak for a minute, the weight of what Dean's about to do hanging over them like it does every time they cross that line, and then their mouths are pressed together; Dean's tongue smooths over Sam's lower lip, gentle and tentative in a way that has Sam arching up unexpectedly, needing. One of Dean's hands cradles the back of his head familiarly - I've got you, little brother - and there's sudden heat all along Sam's side, welcome weight that ties him to the present, keeps him grounded.
"It's - Dean, I'm okay," he breathes when Dean gives him the room. Stubble scrapes against his neck, and - christ, is Dean actually nuzzling him? "Dean?"
"Shut up," Dean says.
For once, Sam obeys, letting his brother settle half-over him, wrapping an arm around those broad shoulders. His hand is already going numb, but he doesn't mind. He's just about to drift off when Dean raises his head and sucks in a breath like he's about to speak; he lets it out again without saying a word, but Sam gets the meaning away from the way Dean's tension slowly melts away until he's pliant and soft and his lips are catching in the dent just behind Sam's ear.
"You know," he says, quiet like he's not quiet sure if Sam's still awake - he jumps gratifyingly when Sam murmurs, "Yeah, I know."
Re: *smish*
Oh babe, this is GORGEOUS. Exactly what I was wanting. Thank you so much. ♥
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I kinda sorta know how you feel, babe. And it does suck. <333
And if you're offering fic, maybe some J2? First week of shooting s3? :)
bloody coding
"Hm," Jensen sniffs philosophically, "smells like chicken."
Scowling, which only serves to make him look like a disgruntled puppy dog, Jared slams a sheet of paper down on the table in front of Jensen. He points to it, other arm flailing around wildly like some sort of carnival ride. "I had seventeen bars of Cadbury chocolate in my trailer this morning, Jen. Seventeen."
Jensen mildly stares down at the spreadsheet Jared's compiled. He's not really surprised; Jared's a freak about his candy, and Jensen's seen the inside of his candy cabinet at the hotel, all organized by filling and brand name.
"When I got back from lunch, Jensen," Jared continues, undaunted, "there were only fifteen left. Where might those two candy bars have gone, Jensen? Did you take them? Did you tell someone else where to find them? Did you?"
The chairs in the food tent are hard and unyielding, but Jensen does his best to carelessly sprawl in his. "No and no," he says.
Jared's mouth pinches in, and his left eyebrow is twitching in the most interesting way - sort of like a dying caterpillar. Jensen makes a mental note to study this further in the future. Padalecki: Descendant of Ape or Bug? "You know where they are, don't you."
"Oh, yeah," Jensen says easily.
"Well?" Jared says, looming over the table at Jensen. "Well? Where are they?"
Carefully casual, Jensen tips the chair back down on all four of its legs and plants his feet on the ground so he can get a quick jump off. "Check your pockets, buttmunch."
He's already rounding the corner of his trailer when Jared's chocolate-covered fingers catch his arms and wheel him around, slamming him up against the flimsy metal. They're both laughing, and Jared's got smears of chocolate across his cheeks, so Jensen leans in and lick a slow stripe from Jared's mole down to the corner of his smiling mouth.
"Victory is mine," he says happily as Jared drags him up the trailer stairs and throws him onto the bed.
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Hmm... J², schmoop and summer rain :D
imj *paws* <333
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Its a horrible mind dulling nothingness that nothing seems to really help.
*gives you a hug*
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also, Robin told me that you told her that you play the ukulele? or have played the ukulele? or have had some kind of ukulele-related experience? I only ask because I am a fully-fledged ukulele cultist. The very word makes my ears prick up. If you have even seen a ukulele from a distance I consider you ONE OF US.
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And, uh, one of my friends at school lived in Hawaii for a long while, and he used to come over to the dorm and play us songs on his ukulele regularly. He taught me a few songs (including My Dog Has Flees) even though I wasn't especially GOOD at it - my fingers are too small to reach the strings right - and he could play Beatles. Pretty dern cool.
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<3
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Also? I love you! ♥!
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<3333
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Also, alien space ship of love? HEE. <3
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