One thing lying awake at three in the morning is good for is stirring up the muses. Setzer, put the top hat down.
I seem to only get fanfic ideas for the games that I swore I hated with a passion; Setzer and the crackheaded FFVI fic have been consuming my sooooouuuul...and now I've got a Sorceress!Selphie and a schizophrenic Squall as a result of my replaying of FFVIII.
I think VIII could have been one of my absolute favorite games if it weren't for Rinoa and the complete and utter out-of-characterness of Squall as soon as you hit the end of the second disk. The boy's not gonna go from a depressive, sulky, talks-to-himself-more-than-is-healthy freak who hates the world to some sort of gung-ho hero who's madly in love with the annoyingly cheerful love interest in the half minute it takes for him to realize Rinoa isn't waking up.
Rinoa so should've died when her life support ran out. Would've made the plot much more interesting. But since she survived, it allows for all sorts of interesting theories on Rinoa-as-Ultimecia, which almost redeems her as a character. I mean, Ultimecia does have those crazy wings...and Rinoa inherited her powers from Edea. Plus Rinoa says something along the lines of "I wish things could be like this forever..." on the 'Rok, which could be construed as the beginning of her desire for time compression.
I rather like the thought of a completely nucking futs Rinoa. It leaves Squall that much more completely screwed up.
Really, the minor characters are the only reason I've decided to like the game; Irvine is a ditz, but he's a sniper so I'll forgive him for his excessive use of the world 'like'. Selphie is crazy. And she's the origin of the word booyaka! so she gets props for that. Quistis is just...cool. And Zell "The Machine" Dincht has got to be one of the most amusing characters ever. Seifer and his posse are definitely the most interesting characters in the game- Squall could've been as interesting as Seifer if it weren't for disks three and four.
And Kiros? Definitely wins the award for best supporting male cast member- and it's entirely because of his largely ass kicking limit break. Laguna is a dork and we love him for it...Ward, I have nothing to say about.
Really, the only minor character I hate, despise, and loathe, is Ellone because everything is all her fault.
I've decided that Selphie is clearly a sorceress because of her limit break and Rinoa is clearly the devil because of her evil mind manipulations done to Squall. There's a plot in there, somewhere, one that definitely involves Seifer saving Squall from his own melodrama and Zell saving the day at least once. Selphie and Irvine definitely do not stay a couple...he can be her Knight, if he feels he must, but Selphie really doesn't need a Knight. She's like, the ultra-feminist version of the Sorceresses.
The problem with Squall is that he can be paired with literally anybody. I mean, even Rinoa isn't so bad if you only think about the way she acts in the FMVs. If I ever do write VIIIfic, I'll have to actually choose a pairing, and that's going to give me a headache. >_<
*sigh* People without spellcheckers make me sad.
I want to take a stick of charcoal to a piece of heavy, expensive paper and just scribble. Have done nothing creative whatsoever during break; writing the occasional bit of pointless drabble doesn't count. That's not creativity, that's wankery. Haven't even played Ophelia or picked up the flute. Been feeling totally and completely worthless as a result.
"Vodka is a nice drink, not like that Scotch crap." Andy says I must be a girl. *rolls eyes*
Being sporadic and just zoning out for the most part...but here I am on the computer while the brother and his friends watch TV. Some things never change- only my realization of how feckin' huge this monitor is.
Was thinking about doing the traditional New Year's Boffo angst snippet, but the characters aren't feeling particularly angsty. Dei just keeps getting amazingly drunk and ends up irritating Tyler to the point of a flying tackle while Opal giggles and Len braids Jubal's hair. It's quite silly and amusing, but rather difficult to describe in words.
I'd just like to let everyone know that I suck at cards, and naps are good, and my sleeping patters are going to be so far out of whack it's going to hurt.
But happy new year. I expect I'll have more to say in a bit...I'm in the mood to do an overview, of sorts.
Wednesday, December 31, 2003
Friday, December 19, 2003
Zulu didn't even struggle as Baz tossed her over his shoulder and strode out of the tent. He didn't put her down until they were home; she felt a little sorry for making him carry her up all six flights of stairs, but a little exercise never hurt anyone.
"D'you wanna explain what the hell happened back there?" He was trying very hard not to yell at her. She appreciated that.
Zulu examined her gore-spattered arm and found the place on her hand where she'd bitten herself. The wound had already scarred over, a jagged strip of shiny, bluish skin. Baz made an angry noise and disappeared for a moment, returning with a wet towel.
"Give me your arm. You nearly gave me a heartattack back there- what were you thinkin', shoving your arm down a bloody dragon's throat like that?" He knelt beside her and began scrubbing furiously at the bloody mess.
"Baz...I think I'm in love." Her scales rippled and her wingbones rattled; the draconic version of a blush.
The demi-human scowled at her. "Dozy female. You would fall fer somethin' that tried to bite your arm off."
-----------
Wow, China Mieville, that was entirely your fault. I've got anthro characters in my head, and a city that's starting to resemble New Crobuzon. Zulu's something of a wannabe self-insertion, only she's developing her own character now...and Baz is just your run of the mill sensible person to counterbalance the crackhead that is Zulu. Don't ask where the names came from. It makes sense in my head.
Reading Perdido Street Station, and it reminds me quite a bit of Rats and Gargoyles and the Golden Compass series, what with the anthro creatures and all. Should probably re-read Rats and Gargoyles, since steampunk seems to be my new favorite thing...though I don't think that was entirely steampunk- maybe slightly pre-steampunk, now that I think of it...
The only problem with Perdido is that it feels a little predictable beneath all the grit and delectable scenery- it really feels like it's borrowed a lot from Rats and Gargoyles which is probably quite incorrect, and it'll turn out that I'm drawing parallels that aren't really there. I mean, hey, rat-people, bug-people, it's all the same, right? Conspiracies to unmake the universe, that sort of thing. Dunno. Have to read more- didn't get all that far.
I love the writing style, even if I'm not entirely thrilled with the characters. I mean, I like Lin and Isaac, and I love all the minor characters (yeah, Derkham!) but they don't click, precisely. I love 'em while I'm reading, but in retrospect I could take 'em or leave 'em. I think I'm still just not thinking straight, is all.
Loving the book, though. Will probably have nightmares about caterpillars, but that's okay. ("Bring me...winged things.")
Also read Fake vol. 3...completely adore Diana Spacey. Huzzah for kickass female characters! And...whoa, with the het. I'm used to the het being reserved completely for the Bicky/Cal chapters of the manga, so it's a little bit unsettling to be seeing it in the Dee/Ryo chapters. (Doesn't bother me *that* much...Sanami Maitoh does adults much better than she does kids, in my opinion, so I really wouldn't mind seeing more of Diana and her random molestation of the boys. It's all quite pretty, either way.)
Also, the evil that is Berkley Rose sends me into spasms of joy. He's not really evil, mind you, he's just- gah. With the glasses, and the hair, and the manipulation- wonderful. Never mind that he keeps trying to mac it to Ryo and we all know how completely wrong that is, since Ryo quite decidedly belongs with Dee, I still think his character is insanely cool. Insanely evil but cool.
What can I say, I'm a sucker for the soft-hearted villain and the utterly ruthless good guy.
Volume 3 is the shortest volume yet, I think- only three chapters, and one of them was really short. Less gay than usual, too- blaming that on the shortness and the presence of Diana. It might not be that there's less gay, but simply that there's more het to balance it out.
All in all, huzzah.
"D'you wanna explain what the hell happened back there?" He was trying very hard not to yell at her. She appreciated that.
Zulu examined her gore-spattered arm and found the place on her hand where she'd bitten herself. The wound had already scarred over, a jagged strip of shiny, bluish skin. Baz made an angry noise and disappeared for a moment, returning with a wet towel.
"Give me your arm. You nearly gave me a heartattack back there- what were you thinkin', shoving your arm down a bloody dragon's throat like that?" He knelt beside her and began scrubbing furiously at the bloody mess.
"Baz...I think I'm in love." Her scales rippled and her wingbones rattled; the draconic version of a blush.
The demi-human scowled at her. "Dozy female. You would fall fer somethin' that tried to bite your arm off."
-----------
Wow, China Mieville, that was entirely your fault. I've got anthro characters in my head, and a city that's starting to resemble New Crobuzon. Zulu's something of a wannabe self-insertion, only she's developing her own character now...and Baz is just your run of the mill sensible person to counterbalance the crackhead that is Zulu. Don't ask where the names came from. It makes sense in my head.
Reading Perdido Street Station, and it reminds me quite a bit of Rats and Gargoyles and the Golden Compass series, what with the anthro creatures and all. Should probably re-read Rats and Gargoyles, since steampunk seems to be my new favorite thing...though I don't think that was entirely steampunk- maybe slightly pre-steampunk, now that I think of it...
The only problem with Perdido is that it feels a little predictable beneath all the grit and delectable scenery- it really feels like it's borrowed a lot from Rats and Gargoyles which is probably quite incorrect, and it'll turn out that I'm drawing parallels that aren't really there. I mean, hey, rat-people, bug-people, it's all the same, right? Conspiracies to unmake the universe, that sort of thing. Dunno. Have to read more- didn't get all that far.
I love the writing style, even if I'm not entirely thrilled with the characters. I mean, I like Lin and Isaac, and I love all the minor characters (yeah, Derkham!) but they don't click, precisely. I love 'em while I'm reading, but in retrospect I could take 'em or leave 'em. I think I'm still just not thinking straight, is all.
Loving the book, though. Will probably have nightmares about caterpillars, but that's okay. ("Bring me...winged things.")
Also read Fake vol. 3...completely adore Diana Spacey. Huzzah for kickass female characters! And...whoa, with the het. I'm used to the het being reserved completely for the Bicky/Cal chapters of the manga, so it's a little bit unsettling to be seeing it in the Dee/Ryo chapters. (Doesn't bother me *that* much...Sanami Maitoh does adults much better than she does kids, in my opinion, so I really wouldn't mind seeing more of Diana and her random molestation of the boys. It's all quite pretty, either way.)
Also, the evil that is Berkley Rose sends me into spasms of joy. He's not really evil, mind you, he's just- gah. With the glasses, and the hair, and the manipulation- wonderful. Never mind that he keeps trying to mac it to Ryo and we all know how completely wrong that is, since Ryo quite decidedly belongs with Dee, I still think his character is insanely cool. Insanely evil but cool.
What can I say, I'm a sucker for the soft-hearted villain and the utterly ruthless good guy.
Volume 3 is the shortest volume yet, I think- only three chapters, and one of them was really short. Less gay than usual, too- blaming that on the shortness and the presence of Diana. It might not be that there's less gay, but simply that there's more het to balance it out.
All in all, huzzah.
Wednesday, December 17, 2003
On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me...(the gay! the gay!)
--------------------------------------
Someone was making noise, and lots of it. Ergo, someone was going to die.
Shadow peered out from the nest of pillows and blankets, and tried to figure the logistics of hitting something he couldn't actually see with a shuriken, while hung over. Then he remembered that his throwing stars were still in his sash, which was probably near his pants, and he really wasn't sure where his pants had ended up. So he shifted the pillow on top of his head slightly and tried to figure how long his reach was and if he could strangle something without seeing it while hung over.
"I know you're awake under there- Goddesses, you're like some sort of rodent, as soon as the weather gets cold you start to hibernate. You're not even prone to hypothermia, so you have no excuse. I should be the one still in bed, ordering you to go muck about with the engines, but I'm sure that if I did that, you'd make the whole ship explode. You're worse than Cyan, you are. I mean, the kitchen hasn't blown up so spectacularly since that one time I let Daryl cook with brandy, and you weren't even drinking, so I don't know how you set the ceiling on fire, now get out of bed before I start singing. Because then I'll start coughing up blood again and it'll be all your fault and you'll be stoic and feel guilty and it'll just be a largely unpleasant experience for everyone involved- and since you'll be so guilty and worried you'll manage to get everyone involved, including Umaro- although that was really quite impressive on your part, I had no idea you were so charismatic since you're usually such a bastard. Now get up, damn it! Get up and put on layers like the rest of us, you lazy ass. A nice ass, but a lazy one. I swear-"
Shadow burrowed deeper beneath the covers, trying desperately to block out the other man's constant stream of babble. It wasn't fair. He knew for a fact that Setzer had had at least as much to drink as he had, and the other man was too thin and malnourished to hold his alcohol properly anymore.
He was still talking. Setzer was worse than a fishwife. Shadow felt himself to be the authority on this, having been married to a fishwife. Almost a fishwife, anyway. She'd probably beat him with a frying pan for calling her a fishwife, or blast him with a nuke, but she was dead so the most she could do was glare and make him feel guilty. Strago might beat him with a frying pan, and Relm might try to paint his picture, but as long as he stayed away from Thamasa he would probably be safe. But given the tendency of his old battle companions to show up when they were least expected- or welcomed- not even that was a sure thing anymore. Shadow scowled. Damnit. He was starting to think the way Setzer spoke. It was too early in the morning to deal with the gambler in 'fishwife' mode.
His train of thought cut off abruptly as Setzer began tossing pillows to the floor, still talking. The assassin squinted at the sudden rush of bright light and tried to scowl ferociously. Normally he was quite good at it, but the expression was difficult to maintain when suffering from severe bedhead and confronted with a Setzer who had finally shut up.
The gambler was just looking at him, a half smile on his face. Shadow stared back, still slightly disoriented and more than a little hung over, but pleased at the quiet.
"Today's the first day of Yule, you know." Yes, Setzer was definitely more appealing when he limited himself to one or two thoughts per sentence and wasn't cackling like Kefka. Shadow filed that fact away to mention when he wasn't otherwise occupied with memorizing they way Setzer looked without the bags under his eyes.
Moments of peace like this were few and far between.
Setzer grinned suddenly, his expression going from wistful to demonic. "Look! Mistletoe! Lay one on me, baby!" The gambler closed his eyes and puckered his lips comically, holding a tiny sprig of greenery above the assassin's head.
In retrospect (after he regained consciousness), Setzer really should have been more specific about the words "Lay one on me." Shadow still felt the need to apologize profusely, however, and allowed himself to be guilted into attending the Figaro Yule party.
Only Relm dared to comment, saying that the bruises made Setzer's face look particularly festive; after all, he was normally so pale.
---------------------
On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me...a black eye. D'oi.
(Shadow:*sweatdrop* True love? Who said anything about true love? This is Setzer we're talking about- clearly you meant "to bluff" as he's a card cheat who welches on his debts-
Setzer: Really, now you're just being immature. In a minute we'll have Relm going after you with a paintbrush saying "You killed my father, prepare to die!" and then you'll have to pull off the mask and visor and go "Relm, I am your father," and then you'll cut off her hand and it'll all just be one big, stupid mess because who would that make me, Emperor Palpatine? That just throws a whole new light on Vader and Palpatine's relationship, and we really just don't want to go there, do we? Even if Interceptor does make an excellent Chewbacca and Strago would work so well as Obi-Wan, and Celes could be Princess Leia, only that would make her Relm's sister, and she's a little bit old for that. Unless, of course, there's something else you want to tell me...
Shadow: Stop, please stop, before I am forced to kill you.
Setzer: Well, you're the one who brought up The Princess Bride.
Shadow: Only because you're obviously the human incarnation of Humperdink's pain machine.
Setzer: Low blow, man, low blow.)
*sweatdrop* Wow. That was...*scratches head* It makes me very sad that these things are really only funny to me, because I find them so hilarious it's almost sad. I am sorry for bringing Star Wars into this, it was completely unintentional. But- they bicker. Constantly.
Oh, Setzer, why are you such a fucking bipolar queen!? I swear, he's got a bet going with Jack Sparrow to see which of them can possibly act more blatantly flaming. They get into arguments over who's the better pirate and then sit around drinking rum while Shadow and Will stand off on the sidelines and sulk.
Not that I condone Jack/Will slash. That's just wrong, even if Will is a eunich. (I used to date a eunich...) But someone has to play the straight-man to his antics, and Will does that fairly well. (Better Will than Mr Gibbs, you know?) Anyway.
You'll have to excuse Shadow, he's a little slow when hung over, and possibly delirious. ('Cuz that's the only way he'd be acting that mellow, even several years post-fic.)
The exploding kitchen was actually Setzer's fault, btw. But try telling him that. *rolls eyes*
Well hey, happy Christmas/Yule/what-have-you from the voices in my head. Oh, and from me, too.
(Run-on sentences are stylistic, I swear! *sweatdrop*)
--------------------------------------
Someone was making noise, and lots of it. Ergo, someone was going to die.
Shadow peered out from the nest of pillows and blankets, and tried to figure the logistics of hitting something he couldn't actually see with a shuriken, while hung over. Then he remembered that his throwing stars were still in his sash, which was probably near his pants, and he really wasn't sure where his pants had ended up. So he shifted the pillow on top of his head slightly and tried to figure how long his reach was and if he could strangle something without seeing it while hung over.
"I know you're awake under there- Goddesses, you're like some sort of rodent, as soon as the weather gets cold you start to hibernate. You're not even prone to hypothermia, so you have no excuse. I should be the one still in bed, ordering you to go muck about with the engines, but I'm sure that if I did that, you'd make the whole ship explode. You're worse than Cyan, you are. I mean, the kitchen hasn't blown up so spectacularly since that one time I let Daryl cook with brandy, and you weren't even drinking, so I don't know how you set the ceiling on fire, now get out of bed before I start singing. Because then I'll start coughing up blood again and it'll be all your fault and you'll be stoic and feel guilty and it'll just be a largely unpleasant experience for everyone involved- and since you'll be so guilty and worried you'll manage to get everyone involved, including Umaro- although that was really quite impressive on your part, I had no idea you were so charismatic since you're usually such a bastard. Now get up, damn it! Get up and put on layers like the rest of us, you lazy ass. A nice ass, but a lazy one. I swear-"
Shadow burrowed deeper beneath the covers, trying desperately to block out the other man's constant stream of babble. It wasn't fair. He knew for a fact that Setzer had had at least as much to drink as he had, and the other man was too thin and malnourished to hold his alcohol properly anymore.
He was still talking. Setzer was worse than a fishwife. Shadow felt himself to be the authority on this, having been married to a fishwife. Almost a fishwife, anyway. She'd probably beat him with a frying pan for calling her a fishwife, or blast him with a nuke, but she was dead so the most she could do was glare and make him feel guilty. Strago might beat him with a frying pan, and Relm might try to paint his picture, but as long as he stayed away from Thamasa he would probably be safe. But given the tendency of his old battle companions to show up when they were least expected- or welcomed- not even that was a sure thing anymore. Shadow scowled. Damnit. He was starting to think the way Setzer spoke. It was too early in the morning to deal with the gambler in 'fishwife' mode.
His train of thought cut off abruptly as Setzer began tossing pillows to the floor, still talking. The assassin squinted at the sudden rush of bright light and tried to scowl ferociously. Normally he was quite good at it, but the expression was difficult to maintain when suffering from severe bedhead and confronted with a Setzer who had finally shut up.
The gambler was just looking at him, a half smile on his face. Shadow stared back, still slightly disoriented and more than a little hung over, but pleased at the quiet.
"Today's the first day of Yule, you know." Yes, Setzer was definitely more appealing when he limited himself to one or two thoughts per sentence and wasn't cackling like Kefka. Shadow filed that fact away to mention when he wasn't otherwise occupied with memorizing they way Setzer looked without the bags under his eyes.
Moments of peace like this were few and far between.
Setzer grinned suddenly, his expression going from wistful to demonic. "Look! Mistletoe! Lay one on me, baby!" The gambler closed his eyes and puckered his lips comically, holding a tiny sprig of greenery above the assassin's head.
In retrospect (after he regained consciousness), Setzer really should have been more specific about the words "Lay one on me." Shadow still felt the need to apologize profusely, however, and allowed himself to be guilted into attending the Figaro Yule party.
Only Relm dared to comment, saying that the bruises made Setzer's face look particularly festive; after all, he was normally so pale.
---------------------
On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me...a black eye. D'oi.
(Shadow:*sweatdrop* True love? Who said anything about true love? This is Setzer we're talking about- clearly you meant "to bluff" as he's a card cheat who welches on his debts-
Setzer: Really, now you're just being immature. In a minute we'll have Relm going after you with a paintbrush saying "You killed my father, prepare to die!" and then you'll have to pull off the mask and visor and go "Relm, I am your father," and then you'll cut off her hand and it'll all just be one big, stupid mess because who would that make me, Emperor Palpatine? That just throws a whole new light on Vader and Palpatine's relationship, and we really just don't want to go there, do we? Even if Interceptor does make an excellent Chewbacca and Strago would work so well as Obi-Wan, and Celes could be Princess Leia, only that would make her Relm's sister, and she's a little bit old for that. Unless, of course, there's something else you want to tell me...
Shadow: Stop, please stop, before I am forced to kill you.
Setzer: Well, you're the one who brought up The Princess Bride.
Shadow: Only because you're obviously the human incarnation of Humperdink's pain machine.
Setzer: Low blow, man, low blow.)
*sweatdrop* Wow. That was...*scratches head* It makes me very sad that these things are really only funny to me, because I find them so hilarious it's almost sad. I am sorry for bringing Star Wars into this, it was completely unintentional. But- they bicker. Constantly.
Oh, Setzer, why are you such a fucking bipolar queen!? I swear, he's got a bet going with Jack Sparrow to see which of them can possibly act more blatantly flaming. They get into arguments over who's the better pirate and then sit around drinking rum while Shadow and Will stand off on the sidelines and sulk.
Not that I condone Jack/Will slash. That's just wrong, even if Will is a eunich. (I used to date a eunich...) But someone has to play the straight-man to his antics, and Will does that fairly well. (Better Will than Mr Gibbs, you know?) Anyway.
You'll have to excuse Shadow, he's a little slow when hung over, and possibly delirious. ('Cuz that's the only way he'd be acting that mellow, even several years post-fic.)
The exploding kitchen was actually Setzer's fault, btw. But try telling him that. *rolls eyes*
Well hey, happy Christmas/Yule/what-have-you from the voices in my head. Oh, and from me, too.
(Run-on sentences are stylistic, I swear! *sweatdrop*)
Tuesday, December 16, 2003
Oh! Let me be as a man triumphant
standing proud and unashamed
As ships find their way into waiting harbors
no longer bereft and empty
The stupid fanfic, in a nutshell:
scheme scheme flashback plot plot sex! angst scheme plot whine angst pout violence! grr hiss rarr sex! banter banter angst! whine sap pout banter sap sex! angst lies drugs plot! action action violence evil! angst! sex! happy ending.
Only there will probably be a few more exclamation points and I am on so much seriously bad crack it frightens me sometimes. I want to find out who is responsible for this crack rabbit of a story so I can kick them in the head. ...now that I look at it, that rather resembles a lot of the stories I've written/intended to write. Huh. How odd. Only there's usually less sex! and more UST! And in this one, there are no people with voices- wait, no, never mind, I lied. Due to feedback from ff.net (told you I was a crack whore) I've decided to keep the whole Sixth Sense thing. So, yeah, voices. Oops.
I need a new hobby. One that doesn't label me as quite so much of a deviant and a loser. I should've stuck to knitting. *sigh*
Tree63 reminds me of Vertical Horizon, only with the praise Jesus aspect, and the fact that they're gold, not blue-orange. Don't even bother telling me that blue-orange isn't a color. I will pointedly ignore you and hum the chorus to "Glorious Ones," because it's currently stuck in my head like it has been for the last three days.
I have the first 16 episodes of Saiyuki, and I have decided that I want to marry Gojyo. Because marrying Hakkai would just be asking for trouble, (even if I'm not his sister) and Sanzo...uh...yeah. Not touching Goku with a ten foot pole, he'd probably eat it. I *heart* this series and it's silly angst and homoerotic subtext and wonderful characters and nifty storyboarding. (Hella love for the storyboarding.) Also, the excellent taste in music of the people who make amvs for the series. Much love, there. My other new favorite song is "Blinded" by tatu. S'like Sarah MacLachlan on acid. Yummy.
I have had two and a half ours of sleep over the past thirty something hours. Sleeping on trains is really hard. *yawwwwn* But...I'm home. And that means video games. In bed. Clearly, I did something good in a past life. *happy*
standing proud and unashamed
As ships find their way into waiting harbors
no longer bereft and empty
The stupid fanfic, in a nutshell:
scheme scheme flashback plot plot sex! angst scheme plot whine angst pout violence! grr hiss rarr sex! banter banter angst! whine sap pout banter sap sex! angst lies drugs plot! action action violence evil! angst! sex! happy ending.
Only there will probably be a few more exclamation points and I am on so much seriously bad crack it frightens me sometimes. I want to find out who is responsible for this crack rabbit of a story so I can kick them in the head. ...now that I look at it, that rather resembles a lot of the stories I've written/intended to write. Huh. How odd. Only there's usually less sex! and more UST! And in this one, there are no people with voices- wait, no, never mind, I lied. Due to feedback from ff.net (told you I was a crack whore) I've decided to keep the whole Sixth Sense thing. So, yeah, voices. Oops.
I need a new hobby. One that doesn't label me as quite so much of a deviant and a loser. I should've stuck to knitting. *sigh*
Tree63 reminds me of Vertical Horizon, only with the praise Jesus aspect, and the fact that they're gold, not blue-orange. Don't even bother telling me that blue-orange isn't a color. I will pointedly ignore you and hum the chorus to "Glorious Ones," because it's currently stuck in my head like it has been for the last three days.
I have the first 16 episodes of Saiyuki, and I have decided that I want to marry Gojyo. Because marrying Hakkai would just be asking for trouble, (even if I'm not his sister) and Sanzo...uh...yeah. Not touching Goku with a ten foot pole, he'd probably eat it. I *heart* this series and it's silly angst and homoerotic subtext and wonderful characters and nifty storyboarding. (Hella love for the storyboarding.) Also, the excellent taste in music of the people who make amvs for the series. Much love, there. My other new favorite song is "Blinded" by tatu. S'like Sarah MacLachlan on acid. Yummy.
I have had two and a half ours of sleep over the past thirty something hours. Sleeping on trains is really hard. *yawwwwn* But...I'm home. And that means video games. In bed. Clearly, I did something good in a past life. *happy*
Remember, kiddies, during finals:
Write papers, not porn!
*sigh* What a wonderful time to get over my fear of writing lemons. >_< Seriously, writer's block? You have one sick, sick sense of humor.
...I feel dirty. In a good way, but still. I don't think I'm going to sleep tonight. At all.
Self destructive habits? Why yes, yes, I do. Huzzah for sleeping on trains. Funny how lucid I am at this hour of the morning. I think I'm making up words, but that's okay, really.
This is what I get for eating capuccino muffins. I mean, seriously, what did I expect? This is worse than the tea. *shakes head*
Write papers, not porn!
*sigh* What a wonderful time to get over my fear of writing lemons. >_< Seriously, writer's block? You have one sick, sick sense of humor.
...I feel dirty. In a good way, but still. I don't think I'm going to sleep tonight. At all.
Self destructive habits? Why yes, yes, I do. Huzzah for sleeping on trains. Funny how lucid I am at this hour of the morning. I think I'm making up words, but that's okay, really.
This is what I get for eating capuccino muffins. I mean, seriously, what did I expect? This is worse than the tea. *shakes head*
Monday, December 15, 2003
(when you hear the signal,
it will be Tree63 - exactly)
I am someone who got up again
I am someone unshakable
I have seen the earth spinning 'round
and now I understand
they used to keep you on the outside
Now you're the only survivor
you have spoken with the angels
and your face still shines
just like mine
CHORUS
We're The Glorious Ones
The Glorious Ones
forever in the sun,
We're The Glorious Ones
And tonight we are the strangers
in the darkness underground
we have eternal things in our hands
and tomorrow we rise
so wise
We're The Glorious Ones
The Glorious Ones
forever in the sun,
We're The Glorious Ones
Forever in the sun, we are
The Glorious ones...
*repeat*
-"The Glorious Ones", Tree63
New favorite song. And they're a South African Christian rock band. *shakes head* It's just...if songs had colors, this one is gold. Makes me happy. Found it on a Saiyuki music video, and it does rather suit the cast, even if the video itself isn't as well done as it could have been. Really cool song, though.
it will be Tree63 - exactly)
I am someone who got up again
I am someone unshakable
I have seen the earth spinning 'round
and now I understand
they used to keep you on the outside
Now you're the only survivor
you have spoken with the angels
and your face still shines
just like mine
CHORUS
We're The Glorious Ones
The Glorious Ones
forever in the sun,
We're The Glorious Ones
And tonight we are the strangers
in the darkness underground
we have eternal things in our hands
and tomorrow we rise
so wise
We're The Glorious Ones
The Glorious Ones
forever in the sun,
We're The Glorious Ones
Forever in the sun, we are
The Glorious ones...
*repeat*
-"The Glorious Ones", Tree63
New favorite song. And they're a South African Christian rock band. *shakes head* It's just...if songs had colors, this one is gold. Makes me happy. Found it on a Saiyuki music video, and it does rather suit the cast, even if the video itself isn't as well done as it could have been. Really cool song, though.
Sunday, December 14, 2003
The problem with ff.net is that it does not offer instant gratification, or really, any gratification at all. Stories and comments seem to update all at once at midnight because of whatever coding they use on the site, which is quite frustrating, particularly when you're writing in an obscure fandom that doesn't get many comments under normal circumstances. Even more particularly when you're writing an obscure pairing in a strange way in an obscure fandom that doesn't get many comments under extenuating circumstances, either.
The snow is making hissing noises.
Going to bite the bullet and write a paper that requires actual reading and quoting and thought, none of this winging it shit. Compare and contrast shite and whatnot. Also, two of those questions on the Tao are the same question. I object. >_< No matter.
I can do this. Outlines done. Will write after dinner.
The snow is making hissing noises.
Going to bite the bullet and write a paper that requires actual reading and quoting and thought, none of this winging it shit. Compare and contrast shite and whatnot. Also, two of those questions on the Tao are the same question. I object. >_< No matter.
I can do this. Outlines done. Will write after dinner.
Saturday, December 13, 2003
Angst, out of character muses, dying, fanfic, and the gay. Not a whole lot of it, but for some reason I feel the need to warn y'all this time.
********
"It's like an itch you can't scratch." Setzer's hair fluttered aimlessly in the wind. The air was cold and he might have been shivering, but his bulky coat concealed it if he were. The hand that held the smoldering cigarette was steady, but then, he'd always had steady hands. "Dying, I mean."
If Shadow was at all surprised by the gambler's bluntness, he gave no indication. The one predictable thing on the Falcon was her master's unpredictability. He gave no reply; Setzer wasn't really talking to him. He was talking to the ghost who stood at the wheel, laughing in the face of the wind. When Setzer stood like this, staring out at the horizon like it was the only thing that ever mattered, the only thing to do was let him talk.
"Lady Luck has a coin with my face on it, and one of these days it's going to land heads down." The gambler chuckled and took a long drag off his cigarette. The wind whisked away the smoke. "Have you ever wondered..." He let the cigarette drop carelessly over the railing and coughed delicately into a lacy handkerchief. He wiped blood from his lips with a fastidious grimace and glanced at the assassin expectantly.
"Wondered what?" This was an unfamiliar game, and he did not know the rules.
Setzer leaned over the railing, eyes fixed on the horizon. "What it would be like...to just...fall..." He tipped forward a little further, dangerously far, hair unfurling like a white flag. Surrender.
To hell with that. Shadow grabbed the other man by the collar of his greatcoat and hauled him back to his feet. "Idiot." He shook the gambler a little, trying to shake the unfocused look out of his eyes.
"Well..." Setzer grinned a little, self-deprecating and apologetic. "Can you blame me for wondering?"
Shadow dropped him with a noise of disgust and turned away. There was a snap and click beside him as Setzer lit another cigarette. This time the wind blew the acrid smoke directly into his face. Do you want to die? "Nothing happens," he said at last. Finding the right words was difficult. "You fall. You hit the ground. You die."
"She didn't."
But she did. Shadow wondered what would happen if he walked up to her ghost and put a shuriken through her eye. He wondered if Setzer even saw her, if the gambler also woke up in the middle of the night hearing her voice. He glanced at the spirit, and saw her wink. She wasn't that far away; he could put a shuriken through her eye from the railing. No need to move. His fingers twitched towards the weapons in his sash, wanting an end to this.
Setzer was waiting for him to say something, Shadow realized belatedly. He had nothing to say. Part of him wanted to tear the cigarette out of the other man's mouth and replace it with his tongue, but Setzer didn't see that sort of thing. He wanted to trace the scars that mapped out a lifetime of pain and failure and strange, unflagging optimism, but Setzer didn't see that sort of thing, either. He saw truth in the fall of cards, the rattle of dice, the flip of a coin- but anything else was beyond him. Incomprehensible. He remained silent.
Setzer laughed softly so as not to aggravate his lungs any further. "So serious! I wouldn't do it, you know. You worry too much- I'm not dead yet." He flicked the spent cigarette over the edge of the deck. It was a good thing they were flying over the ocean.
He did reach out, then, and caught a tendril of pale hair between his fingers. Setzer's hair was thin and rough, reminiscent of another time, another place, and a lot of razor wire. "But you are. You've been dead for so long you've forgotten what it's like to die." Despair was familiar in his line of work. You got used to it after a while.
"Then remind me what it's like to live." The palms of Setzer's gloves were made of silk, not leather, raw and warm against his face, tracing the scars there. 'I can match you scar for scar' the gambler's eyes seemed to whisper.
It wasn't a promise he would ever hold the other man to. Shadow pulled away and shook his head. "From one dead man to another," he said, voice rough with all the things he could not say. "It just isn't worth it."
Her ghost was still laughing.
---------------------------------------------------------------
Well that was a pretty reversal of roles, wasn't it? Angst angst angst, jesus christ on a pogo stick...Aren't terminal diseases fun? ...don't answer that. I swear, this wasn't half as angsty the first time around (fuck you, blogger!). I kinda like the end result, though. Not as craptacular as my usual drivel, even if this doesn't really fit into any continuity; this would just be Setzer going completely out of character 'cuz he's losing his mind and Shadow being his angst-muffiny self. Also, Daryl ought to stay dead. The haunting thing's really not her style- she's cooler than that.
Hey, it's Final Fantasy meets The Sixth Sense!
Shadow: I see dead people? That's seriously fucked up.
*coughcoughpotkettleblackcoughcough*
Or...not. *grin*
********
"It's like an itch you can't scratch." Setzer's hair fluttered aimlessly in the wind. The air was cold and he might have been shivering, but his bulky coat concealed it if he were. The hand that held the smoldering cigarette was steady, but then, he'd always had steady hands. "Dying, I mean."
If Shadow was at all surprised by the gambler's bluntness, he gave no indication. The one predictable thing on the Falcon was her master's unpredictability. He gave no reply; Setzer wasn't really talking to him. He was talking to the ghost who stood at the wheel, laughing in the face of the wind. When Setzer stood like this, staring out at the horizon like it was the only thing that ever mattered, the only thing to do was let him talk.
"Lady Luck has a coin with my face on it, and one of these days it's going to land heads down." The gambler chuckled and took a long drag off his cigarette. The wind whisked away the smoke. "Have you ever wondered..." He let the cigarette drop carelessly over the railing and coughed delicately into a lacy handkerchief. He wiped blood from his lips with a fastidious grimace and glanced at the assassin expectantly.
"Wondered what?" This was an unfamiliar game, and he did not know the rules.
Setzer leaned over the railing, eyes fixed on the horizon. "What it would be like...to just...fall..." He tipped forward a little further, dangerously far, hair unfurling like a white flag. Surrender.
To hell with that. Shadow grabbed the other man by the collar of his greatcoat and hauled him back to his feet. "Idiot." He shook the gambler a little, trying to shake the unfocused look out of his eyes.
"Well..." Setzer grinned a little, self-deprecating and apologetic. "Can you blame me for wondering?"
Shadow dropped him with a noise of disgust and turned away. There was a snap and click beside him as Setzer lit another cigarette. This time the wind blew the acrid smoke directly into his face. Do you want to die? "Nothing happens," he said at last. Finding the right words was difficult. "You fall. You hit the ground. You die."
"She didn't."
But she did. Shadow wondered what would happen if he walked up to her ghost and put a shuriken through her eye. He wondered if Setzer even saw her, if the gambler also woke up in the middle of the night hearing her voice. He glanced at the spirit, and saw her wink. She wasn't that far away; he could put a shuriken through her eye from the railing. No need to move. His fingers twitched towards the weapons in his sash, wanting an end to this.
Setzer was waiting for him to say something, Shadow realized belatedly. He had nothing to say. Part of him wanted to tear the cigarette out of the other man's mouth and replace it with his tongue, but Setzer didn't see that sort of thing. He wanted to trace the scars that mapped out a lifetime of pain and failure and strange, unflagging optimism, but Setzer didn't see that sort of thing, either. He saw truth in the fall of cards, the rattle of dice, the flip of a coin- but anything else was beyond him. Incomprehensible. He remained silent.
Setzer laughed softly so as not to aggravate his lungs any further. "So serious! I wouldn't do it, you know. You worry too much- I'm not dead yet." He flicked the spent cigarette over the edge of the deck. It was a good thing they were flying over the ocean.
He did reach out, then, and caught a tendril of pale hair between his fingers. Setzer's hair was thin and rough, reminiscent of another time, another place, and a lot of razor wire. "But you are. You've been dead for so long you've forgotten what it's like to die." Despair was familiar in his line of work. You got used to it after a while.
"Then remind me what it's like to live." The palms of Setzer's gloves were made of silk, not leather, raw and warm against his face, tracing the scars there. 'I can match you scar for scar' the gambler's eyes seemed to whisper.
It wasn't a promise he would ever hold the other man to. Shadow pulled away and shook his head. "From one dead man to another," he said, voice rough with all the things he could not say. "It just isn't worth it."
Her ghost was still laughing.
---------------------------------------------------------------
Well that was a pretty reversal of roles, wasn't it? Angst angst angst, jesus christ on a pogo stick...Aren't terminal diseases fun? ...don't answer that. I swear, this wasn't half as angsty the first time around (fuck you, blogger!). I kinda like the end result, though. Not as craptacular as my usual drivel, even if this doesn't really fit into any continuity; this would just be Setzer going completely out of character 'cuz he's losing his mind and Shadow being his angst-muffiny self. Also, Daryl ought to stay dead. The haunting thing's really not her style- she's cooler than that.
Hey, it's Final Fantasy meets The Sixth Sense!
Shadow: I see dead people? That's seriously fucked up.
*coughcoughpotkettleblackcoughcough*
Or...not. *grin*
Friday, December 12, 2003
All I can say is that my life is pretty plain
I like watchin' the puddles gather rain
And all I can do is just pour some tea for two
and speak my point of view
But it's not sane, It's not sane
I just want someone to say to me oh,oh, oh, oh
I'll always be there when you wake
Ya know I'd like to keep my cheeks dry today
So stay with me and I'll have it made
And I don't understand why I sleep all day
And I start to complain that there's no rain
And all I can do is read a book to stay awake
And it rips my life away, but it's a great escape
escape......escape......escape......
All I can say is that my life is pretty plain
ya don't like my point of view
ya think I'm insane
Its not sane......it's not sane.
I just want someone to say to me oh, oh, oh
I'll always be there when you wake
Ya know I'd like to keep my cheeks dry today
So stay with me and I'll have it made
(I'll have it made
I'll have it made
You know we're really gonna, really gonna have it made
Gonna have it made
ahhh,ahhh, ahhh, ahhh)
- Blind Melon, "No Rain"
I dare you to listen to this song and not feel like dancing. Go on. Try it. I'm not talking about real dancing, I'm talking about the boogie-woogie zoot zoot happy kind of dancing that's really just idiotic wiggling and head bouncing. *bouncebounce* Happy song.
Snow's melting. Hn. How...odd.
I like watchin' the puddles gather rain
And all I can do is just pour some tea for two
and speak my point of view
But it's not sane, It's not sane
I just want someone to say to me oh,oh, oh, oh
I'll always be there when you wake
Ya know I'd like to keep my cheeks dry today
So stay with me and I'll have it made
And I don't understand why I sleep all day
And I start to complain that there's no rain
And all I can do is read a book to stay awake
And it rips my life away, but it's a great escape
escape......escape......escape......
All I can say is that my life is pretty plain
ya don't like my point of view
ya think I'm insane
Its not sane......it's not sane.
I just want someone to say to me oh, oh, oh
I'll always be there when you wake
Ya know I'd like to keep my cheeks dry today
So stay with me and I'll have it made
(I'll have it made
I'll have it made
You know we're really gonna, really gonna have it made
Gonna have it made
ahhh,ahhh, ahhh, ahhh)
- Blind Melon, "No Rain"
I dare you to listen to this song and not feel like dancing. Go on. Try it. I'm not talking about real dancing, I'm talking about the boogie-woogie zoot zoot happy kind of dancing that's really just idiotic wiggling and head bouncing. *bouncebounce* Happy song.
Snow's melting. Hn. How...odd.
Ah, winamp always knows what I need. Thank you, Spock's Beard.
Continuing with the spamming of the blog and the ignoring of the livejournal...
Want Pirates DVD for the sole purpose of hearing the raisin line over and over again. Humiliated grapes. *dies* Huzzah for gay pirates and the dating of eunuchs.
I don't have words to describe my mood right now. Some sort of horrible combination of anger/jealously/loathing/hate/loneliness/fear/desire/desolation/weariness that really just culminates into that overburdened canopy of 'bad'. I'm in a bad mood, as in not a good mood.
There is poetry lurking in my head, but my elbow aches and the words don't want to come. I hate being in this position, this place of uncertainty.
Maaaa...Well, excessive Saiyuki gives me something else to focus on, at any rate, even if it doesn't help much with the angst.
The wind has gone crazy, completely crazy...sounds lovely. *sigh* Sleep. Definitely sleep.
Continuing with the spamming of the blog and the ignoring of the livejournal...
Want Pirates DVD for the sole purpose of hearing the raisin line over and over again. Humiliated grapes. *dies* Huzzah for gay pirates and the dating of eunuchs.
I don't have words to describe my mood right now. Some sort of horrible combination of anger/jealously/loathing/hate/loneliness/fear/desire/desolation/weariness that really just culminates into that overburdened canopy of 'bad'. I'm in a bad mood, as in not a good mood.
There is poetry lurking in my head, but my elbow aches and the words don't want to come. I hate being in this position, this place of uncertainty.
Maaaa...Well, excessive Saiyuki gives me something else to focus on, at any rate, even if it doesn't help much with the angst.
The wind has gone crazy, completely crazy...sounds lovely. *sigh* Sleep. Definitely sleep.
Thursday, December 11, 2003
They weren't married yet; he'd suggested it once, meaning it as a joke, and she'd given him a ring the next day. He spent at least an hour trying to explain that it didn't work like that, not exactly, more amused than annoyed. Lilith had offered to officiate, but neither of them had forgiven her completely after that incident with the kids.
So, they weren't married, though he did eventually tie a feather around her wrist and told her he'd know if she ever took it off, and then she'd catch unholy hell from him. She'd laughed, of course, and he'd laughed, and they spent the entire day just laughing, making up for lost time.
Marriage implied faithfulness, though her people found that concept rather confusing. He knew that. She knew he knew that. Marriage was a human custom. She'd never been human, and he hardly qualified anymore. So there was no reason to feel that surge of jealousy as she laughed at some comment made by the silver haired man. No reason to want to rip his too-pretty face off and hang it from his spear as she leaned in closer, touching his hand.
Hadn't he waited for six thousand years? Was it so much to ask that she cater to his admitedly warped human sensibilities for a little while, at least? There was a burning sensation on his forehead, marking where his ancestor had spilled the blood of a brother in a jealous rage.
Jubal fixed his smile in place with a little more alcohol as she beckoned him over, still laughing. "Hullo, pet. Found a new friend?" He'd gotten better, really. He'd reached a record twenty-six words without one slip of profanity, once- he could hold a civilized conversation with a stranger who stood a little too close to the woman he wasn't married to yet.
Her laughter made angels sing, once. Hells, her voice could make anyone sing- she could give a voice to the mute and make hyenas melodious. "This is Jude. I didn't mean to make it sound like a pick- up line, I really didn't, but he just reminds me of someone." She was smiling at him, bright and innocent. Her smiles lied.
He still wore feathers in his hair, because Heaven wasn't all powerful anymore, and somethings could not be undone or forgotten. The pale eyed man smiled, too, and his smiles lied just as easily as hers. Jubal wound his fingers through his braid (much easier to keep it that way, since it would not be cut) and tugged a feather free. "She's beautiful, isn't she?" His forehead was wet with blood.
Jude tilted his head to the side, the look in his eyes lazy and half-hidden. "Exquisite."
"She's mine." He ignored her sudden fury, and the raw heat of her anger. He grabbed the other man's wrist and wrapped pale fingers around the feather. "Back the fuck off, or you'll get hurt, human."
"Jubal!" The stench of burned flesh filled the air between them and he knew he was making a scene, a dangerous scene in this innocuous little human bar.
"Quiet, Len." Blood ran freely down his face, between his eyes and across his nose.
The pale eyed man stared at his hand, at the contrast between their hands and the feather and the blood that mingled all three together, and smiled. "No more human than she is, little one." His own hand began to bleed, cold searing away his skin and tearing it to pieces with his trembling.
Their eyes met, inhuman paleness to common earth tones, and neither let go. Jubal knew his hand would probably be permanently scarred and it would take months to recover enough to even pick up harp, let alone play it. But that wasn't the point.
"There is no point, you idiots!" Her fingers were slender but strong- her bones were made of rock, and her muscles were wires holding everything together, or in this case, pulling everything apart. She'd stopped smiling.
"Fuck! Lenore!" His hand was a mess, frozen and blackened flesh hanging in tatters from too-white slices of bone.
"Enough, Jubal. There will be no more of your foolish posturing here. And you-" Her fury was still burning, but she wasn't looking at him. She was looking at the other one, with his ethereal features and easy perfection. "Who are you? I've been away too long to recognize old faces."
It gave Jubal a perverse sort of pleasure to see that his rival was nursing a sulking expression and a hand that was little more than charred bone. "My name is Jude," he muttered.
"No demon would name themselves something that unpretentious." Len was angry with him, but Jubal knew he'd won anyway.
She shot him a glare. "Demon?"
He held up his hand by way of explanation. "Ice. Fuck." Better make that useless for a year, unless Len decided to take pity on him.
"There aren't any angels left in heaven with enough sense to take a human name," the demon shot back. "Who are you?"
Her smile was bitter, and the bitterness did not lie. "'Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.'"
The blood had gotten in his mouth, making his grin seem devilish. "'Quoth the raven, nevermore.'"
The demon cast him an irritated glance and bowed contritely to Len. "Nameless? Then my apologies. I am called Judecca, formerly of the Ninth Circle and now a wanderer after recent...upsets."
Len slapped him, leaving a stinging handprint across the pale cheek. Jubal chuckled under his breath, wary of bringing her wrath down upon his head. "You bastard! You unforgiveable bastard! I knew you looked familiar!" She didn't slap him again, though she did shake him a little, tears in her gray-green eyes. "How dare you not recognize me!"
"I-"
"Len, pet, give it a rest. You hardly resemble your old self." Feeling secure at last, Jubal decided to take pity on the demon. "Her name was Radueriel, master of Heaven's choir. I am Jubal al Lamech," he finally took the time to wipe the blood off his face, "second to last of the line of Cain."
Judecca's jaw dropped and his eyes glazed over. "But..." Len was still shaking him.
"Bastard! Forgetful, brainless, good-for-nothing, stupid, worthless, asshole of a bastard!" She was getting more creative by the second, and Jubal wondered if he shouldn't watch his own language more often around her.
His amusement stopped abruptly when the demon grabbed her and kissed her, ignoring the pain such contact must have caused. It really was the only way to get her to shut up, but it was a technique few others could get away with and survive. His hand twitched in impotent fury until they finally broke apart.
Len leaned against him, and smiled a little sheepishly. Judecca blushed and touched his burnt lips a little ruefully. Then he grinned. "Hey, mister- she's my sister."
Jubal's eyebrow twitched as Len dissolved into giggles against him. He solemnly brought his good fist down on her head with a hollow thunk and gave Judecca the same treatment. Same hollow noise, too.
He shook his head and dragged them both to a table. Angels. Go figure.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Uh, crap. Sheer crap and I know it, but...Jubal! Being all psychotic and jealous and whatnot. And Jude, who is my newest crossover whore, and Radueriel's...sibling. (Gender? What's that?) He's usually Jude, though he does occasionally make appearances as Judith...and he annoys Jubal to no end even though he doesn't do much. Very laid back sort of guy. People accuse him of being on heroin rather frequently when he's in human form. He's got a major part in Godless Avatar (still working on it, I promise!) where he gets to be a transvestite stripper in his free time.
Yes, Radueriel becomes Lenore afterwards...it's just too much of a pain to write out her full name, and Poe's "The Raven" is too much of a Jubal poem to pass up. Also, Heaven's beuracracy rivals that of Congress when it comes to getting anything done, so while Radueriel, Singer of Songs is still blacklisted, Lenore is not and can wander about freely. She's still partly made of stone in human form, though...if she wants to fly, she has to revert into her pure angel form, which tends to inflict massive property damage.
I do write about het couples, see? They're just all so...fluffy. There's no backstory relationship angst (Tyler and Opal don't count, I have to rewrite the whole story to get to their angst), just generalized angst and Jubal's little human insecurities angst and the six thousand years of waiting angst. But together? No angst at all. Ridiculous sap, with baby talk and pet names and all that other silly crap.
Disgustingly fluffy, really- if you ignore the fact that they're both a little crazy. Just a bit. :)
So, they weren't married, though he did eventually tie a feather around her wrist and told her he'd know if she ever took it off, and then she'd catch unholy hell from him. She'd laughed, of course, and he'd laughed, and they spent the entire day just laughing, making up for lost time.
Marriage implied faithfulness, though her people found that concept rather confusing. He knew that. She knew he knew that. Marriage was a human custom. She'd never been human, and he hardly qualified anymore. So there was no reason to feel that surge of jealousy as she laughed at some comment made by the silver haired man. No reason to want to rip his too-pretty face off and hang it from his spear as she leaned in closer, touching his hand.
Hadn't he waited for six thousand years? Was it so much to ask that she cater to his admitedly warped human sensibilities for a little while, at least? There was a burning sensation on his forehead, marking where his ancestor had spilled the blood of a brother in a jealous rage.
Jubal fixed his smile in place with a little more alcohol as she beckoned him over, still laughing. "Hullo, pet. Found a new friend?" He'd gotten better, really. He'd reached a record twenty-six words without one slip of profanity, once- he could hold a civilized conversation with a stranger who stood a little too close to the woman he wasn't married to yet.
Her laughter made angels sing, once. Hells, her voice could make anyone sing- she could give a voice to the mute and make hyenas melodious. "This is Jude. I didn't mean to make it sound like a pick- up line, I really didn't, but he just reminds me of someone." She was smiling at him, bright and innocent. Her smiles lied.
He still wore feathers in his hair, because Heaven wasn't all powerful anymore, and somethings could not be undone or forgotten. The pale eyed man smiled, too, and his smiles lied just as easily as hers. Jubal wound his fingers through his braid (much easier to keep it that way, since it would not be cut) and tugged a feather free. "She's beautiful, isn't she?" His forehead was wet with blood.
Jude tilted his head to the side, the look in his eyes lazy and half-hidden. "Exquisite."
"She's mine." He ignored her sudden fury, and the raw heat of her anger. He grabbed the other man's wrist and wrapped pale fingers around the feather. "Back the fuck off, or you'll get hurt, human."
"Jubal!" The stench of burned flesh filled the air between them and he knew he was making a scene, a dangerous scene in this innocuous little human bar.
"Quiet, Len." Blood ran freely down his face, between his eyes and across his nose.
The pale eyed man stared at his hand, at the contrast between their hands and the feather and the blood that mingled all three together, and smiled. "No more human than she is, little one." His own hand began to bleed, cold searing away his skin and tearing it to pieces with his trembling.
Their eyes met, inhuman paleness to common earth tones, and neither let go. Jubal knew his hand would probably be permanently scarred and it would take months to recover enough to even pick up harp, let alone play it. But that wasn't the point.
"There is no point, you idiots!" Her fingers were slender but strong- her bones were made of rock, and her muscles were wires holding everything together, or in this case, pulling everything apart. She'd stopped smiling.
"Fuck! Lenore!" His hand was a mess, frozen and blackened flesh hanging in tatters from too-white slices of bone.
"Enough, Jubal. There will be no more of your foolish posturing here. And you-" Her fury was still burning, but she wasn't looking at him. She was looking at the other one, with his ethereal features and easy perfection. "Who are you? I've been away too long to recognize old faces."
It gave Jubal a perverse sort of pleasure to see that his rival was nursing a sulking expression and a hand that was little more than charred bone. "My name is Jude," he muttered.
"No demon would name themselves something that unpretentious." Len was angry with him, but Jubal knew he'd won anyway.
She shot him a glare. "Demon?"
He held up his hand by way of explanation. "Ice. Fuck." Better make that useless for a year, unless Len decided to take pity on him.
"There aren't any angels left in heaven with enough sense to take a human name," the demon shot back. "Who are you?"
Her smile was bitter, and the bitterness did not lie. "'Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.'"
The blood had gotten in his mouth, making his grin seem devilish. "'Quoth the raven, nevermore.'"
The demon cast him an irritated glance and bowed contritely to Len. "Nameless? Then my apologies. I am called Judecca, formerly of the Ninth Circle and now a wanderer after recent...upsets."
Len slapped him, leaving a stinging handprint across the pale cheek. Jubal chuckled under his breath, wary of bringing her wrath down upon his head. "You bastard! You unforgiveable bastard! I knew you looked familiar!" She didn't slap him again, though she did shake him a little, tears in her gray-green eyes. "How dare you not recognize me!"
"I-"
"Len, pet, give it a rest. You hardly resemble your old self." Feeling secure at last, Jubal decided to take pity on the demon. "Her name was Radueriel, master of Heaven's choir. I am Jubal al Lamech," he finally took the time to wipe the blood off his face, "second to last of the line of Cain."
Judecca's jaw dropped and his eyes glazed over. "But..." Len was still shaking him.
"Bastard! Forgetful, brainless, good-for-nothing, stupid, worthless, asshole of a bastard!" She was getting more creative by the second, and Jubal wondered if he shouldn't watch his own language more often around her.
His amusement stopped abruptly when the demon grabbed her and kissed her, ignoring the pain such contact must have caused. It really was the only way to get her to shut up, but it was a technique few others could get away with and survive. His hand twitched in impotent fury until they finally broke apart.
Len leaned against him, and smiled a little sheepishly. Judecca blushed and touched his burnt lips a little ruefully. Then he grinned. "Hey, mister- she's my sister."
Jubal's eyebrow twitched as Len dissolved into giggles against him. He solemnly brought his good fist down on her head with a hollow thunk and gave Judecca the same treatment. Same hollow noise, too.
He shook his head and dragged them both to a table. Angels. Go figure.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Uh, crap. Sheer crap and I know it, but...Jubal! Being all psychotic and jealous and whatnot. And Jude, who is my newest crossover whore, and Radueriel's...sibling. (Gender? What's that?) He's usually Jude, though he does occasionally make appearances as Judith...and he annoys Jubal to no end even though he doesn't do much. Very laid back sort of guy. People accuse him of being on heroin rather frequently when he's in human form. He's got a major part in Godless Avatar (still working on it, I promise!) where he gets to be a transvestite stripper in his free time.
Yes, Radueriel becomes Lenore afterwards...it's just too much of a pain to write out her full name, and Poe's "The Raven" is too much of a Jubal poem to pass up. Also, Heaven's beuracracy rivals that of Congress when it comes to getting anything done, so while Radueriel, Singer of Songs is still blacklisted, Lenore is not and can wander about freely. She's still partly made of stone in human form, though...if she wants to fly, she has to revert into her pure angel form, which tends to inflict massive property damage.
I do write about het couples, see? They're just all so...fluffy. There's no backstory relationship angst (Tyler and Opal don't count, I have to rewrite the whole story to get to their angst), just generalized angst and Jubal's little human insecurities angst and the six thousand years of waiting angst. But together? No angst at all. Ridiculous sap, with baby talk and pet names and all that other silly crap.
Disgustingly fluffy, really- if you ignore the fact that they're both a little crazy. Just a bit. :)
"I was born amidst the purple waterfalls.
I was weak, yet not unblessed.
Dead to the world. Alive for the journey.
One night I dreamt a white rose withering,
a newborn drowning a lifetime loneliness.
I dreamt all my future. Relived my past.
A witnessed the beauty of the beast"
Where have all the feelings gone?
Why has all the laughter ceased?
Why am I loved only when I'm gone?
Gone back in time to bless the child
Think of me long enough to make a memory
Come bless the child one more time
How can I ever feel again?
Given the chance would I return?
Why am I loved only when I'm gone?
Gone back in time to bless the child
Think of me long enough to make a memory
Come bless the child one more time
I've never felt so alone in my life
As I drank from a cup which was counting my time
There's a poison drop in this cup of Man
To drink it is to follow the left hand path
Why am I loved only when I'm gone?
Gone back in time to bless the child
Think of me long enough to make a memory
Come bless the child one more time
Where have all the feelings gone?
Why is the deadliest sin - to love as I loved you?
Now unblessed, homesick in time,
soon to be freed from care, from human pain.
My tale is the most bitter truth:
Time pays us but with earth & dust, and a dark, silent grave.
Remember, my child: Without innocence the cross is only iron,
hope is only an illusion & Ocean Soul's nothing but a name...
The Child bless thee & keep thee forever"
-Nightwish, "Bless the Child"
Man, Evanescence ain't got nothin' on Nightwish. Nothin' at all.
I was weak, yet not unblessed.
Dead to the world. Alive for the journey.
One night I dreamt a white rose withering,
a newborn drowning a lifetime loneliness.
I dreamt all my future. Relived my past.
A witnessed the beauty of the beast"
Where have all the feelings gone?
Why has all the laughter ceased?
Why am I loved only when I'm gone?
Gone back in time to bless the child
Think of me long enough to make a memory
Come bless the child one more time
How can I ever feel again?
Given the chance would I return?
Why am I loved only when I'm gone?
Gone back in time to bless the child
Think of me long enough to make a memory
Come bless the child one more time
I've never felt so alone in my life
As I drank from a cup which was counting my time
There's a poison drop in this cup of Man
To drink it is to follow the left hand path
Why am I loved only when I'm gone?
Gone back in time to bless the child
Think of me long enough to make a memory
Come bless the child one more time
Where have all the feelings gone?
Why is the deadliest sin - to love as I loved you?
Now unblessed, homesick in time,
soon to be freed from care, from human pain.
My tale is the most bitter truth:
Time pays us but with earth & dust, and a dark, silent grave.
Remember, my child: Without innocence the cross is only iron,
hope is only an illusion & Ocean Soul's nothing but a name...
The Child bless thee & keep thee forever"
-Nightwish, "Bless the Child"
Man, Evanescence ain't got nothin' on Nightwish. Nothin' at all.
Well, there's just no pleasing some people.
Nuala McGrael.
Giftpic for Sara, of her D20 character Nuala. She makes it her goal in life to torment my characters, so I figured it was about time I tried to draw her. Didn't give her enough boobage, apparently, but I absolutely love the way the jeans came out.
Funked up with the background shiz, but eh, whatever. Elements doesn't allow the same happy things with layers that 4.0 did, so I got frustrated...but my sad, sad attempt at perspective (without a model, always without a model, because I like making myself suffer) came out pretty good, in my opinion. The background really is painful, though. *sigh* It balances out, I guess; it's an okay pic. I was trying too hard.
I found Virgil's character sheet yesterday, when searching for my English papers...I think, if I bring him back into the game (which I probably won't) I'll have him branch into a fast or strong hero...probably fast, and then I'll make him a gunslinger eventually. Two levels smart, one level charismatic, and the rest, all fast hero...that's about what Virgil is. Possibly a few more levels of smart to up his hacking skills, as that was his original intent. But Virgil is really just a jack-of-all trades- in the nanoverse, he runs a taxi/mail service and repairs engines for a living. In d20verse, he's a hacker/drug dealer on the run from the law for tax evasion, and he's more than a little handy with a gun in each hand.
Spots prefers using melee weapons, because they're less dangerous to him, and he really, really likes beating the shit out of things. Blunt weapons all the way- nothing takes out your frustration or your enemies faster. His staff does the same amount of damage as weilding two shotguns would, which is why he has the highest body count out of anyone in the party, I believe...
I want to do a chibi Christmas pic of the whole d20 group- Virgil with Nuala and Elle in his lap, armed with mistletoe (Santa and his elves style), Mike trimming the tree (actually just putting Ghost with a Santa hat on the top instead of a star or an angel), Moshe looking confused with a menorah, and Spots sulking and trying to get drunk in a corner, wearing reindeer antlers because someone is cruel and evil.
Actually, I want to do a Spots Christmas pic with him as the Grinch, so I can put an antler on Ghost and have her pulling a sleigh. Again with the cruel and evil.
I should write something, the room has reached the perfect atmosphere for writing. Sun's gone down, and the only lights on are the warm desktop ones, not the cold, overly bright flourescent ones...and the lights hanging in the window are on, too. I should sit in the window seat and write. Maybe I'll dig out a pencil- it's that sort of a mood.
Should work on papers, really should...but...*le sigh* Not in the mood, really. Just not in the mood.
Nuala McGrael.
Giftpic for Sara, of her D20 character Nuala. She makes it her goal in life to torment my characters, so I figured it was about time I tried to draw her. Didn't give her enough boobage, apparently, but I absolutely love the way the jeans came out.
Funked up with the background shiz, but eh, whatever. Elements doesn't allow the same happy things with layers that 4.0 did, so I got frustrated...but my sad, sad attempt at perspective (without a model, always without a model, because I like making myself suffer) came out pretty good, in my opinion. The background really is painful, though. *sigh* It balances out, I guess; it's an okay pic. I was trying too hard.
I found Virgil's character sheet yesterday, when searching for my English papers...I think, if I bring him back into the game (which I probably won't) I'll have him branch into a fast or strong hero...probably fast, and then I'll make him a gunslinger eventually. Two levels smart, one level charismatic, and the rest, all fast hero...that's about what Virgil is. Possibly a few more levels of smart to up his hacking skills, as that was his original intent. But Virgil is really just a jack-of-all trades- in the nanoverse, he runs a taxi/mail service and repairs engines for a living. In d20verse, he's a hacker/drug dealer on the run from the law for tax evasion, and he's more than a little handy with a gun in each hand.
Spots prefers using melee weapons, because they're less dangerous to him, and he really, really likes beating the shit out of things. Blunt weapons all the way- nothing takes out your frustration or your enemies faster. His staff does the same amount of damage as weilding two shotguns would, which is why he has the highest body count out of anyone in the party, I believe...
I want to do a chibi Christmas pic of the whole d20 group- Virgil with Nuala and Elle in his lap, armed with mistletoe (Santa and his elves style), Mike trimming the tree (actually just putting Ghost with a Santa hat on the top instead of a star or an angel), Moshe looking confused with a menorah, and Spots sulking and trying to get drunk in a corner, wearing reindeer antlers because someone is cruel and evil.
Actually, I want to do a Spots Christmas pic with him as the Grinch, so I can put an antler on Ghost and have her pulling a sleigh. Again with the cruel and evil.
I should write something, the room has reached the perfect atmosphere for writing. Sun's gone down, and the only lights on are the warm desktop ones, not the cold, overly bright flourescent ones...and the lights hanging in the window are on, too. I should sit in the window seat and write. Maybe I'll dig out a pencil- it's that sort of a mood.
Should work on papers, really should...but...*le sigh* Not in the mood, really. Just not in the mood.
Again with the posting of stuff that's probably deeply disturbing to the two or three people who read this. I apologize. It's late, and I need to babble about the little fanfic that I allow myself to write occasionally, even if I know none of you really give a damn.
Hypothetically this blog is for my own benefit- but that doesn't make me any less of a closet comment whore.
But then, I suppose I'm a closet lots-of-things, so we'll just leave that alone.
I'm going to sleep soon, I swear. The happy wore off some time around dinner, when Tina turned into my mom and ordered me downstairs to eat something. I gave in eventually and just went to sleep for a while...very restless sleep. Tina's phone kept ringing. I don't know why I'm putting this here, and not in the livejournal; things here are more private, I suppose. More unobtrusive. (Can one be obtrusive? Is it like being inept versus being ept? Hmm...)
Anyway, good night. This was entirely pointless, although I might have had a point in the beginning. Can't remember it now. Oh well.
Hypothetically this blog is for my own benefit- but that doesn't make me any less of a closet comment whore.
But then, I suppose I'm a closet lots-of-things, so we'll just leave that alone.
I'm going to sleep soon, I swear. The happy wore off some time around dinner, when Tina turned into my mom and ordered me downstairs to eat something. I gave in eventually and just went to sleep for a while...very restless sleep. Tina's phone kept ringing. I don't know why I'm putting this here, and not in the livejournal; things here are more private, I suppose. More unobtrusive. (Can one be obtrusive? Is it like being inept versus being ept? Hmm...)
Anyway, good night. This was entirely pointless, although I might have had a point in the beginning. Can't remember it now. Oh well.
Setzer: Is that what I think it is?
Shadow: Isn't that all you think about?
Setzer: You'd know, wouldn't you?
Shadow: Hn. She's completely thrown off the entire story, you know. She'll have to rewrite the whole thing now.
Setzer: So? I finally get some!
Shadow: Actually...no. *smug*I finally get some.
Setzer: *looks closer* What the- since when am I that nice? I'm not that nice, are you kidding me? No way.
Shadow: I don't think it's a matter of you being nice so much as it is a matter of you dying.
Setzer: ...'m not dead yet. And I'm not fucking dying until I get laid.
Shadow: *amused* Of course you're not. There hasn't been nearly enough angst.
Had this going through my head today because instead of writing my English paper last night I wrote for them. I adore them, I really do, however blasphemous pairing them together may be. It's the scars, you know. They match. Artsyness, because the muses sometimes just insist on song calls no matter how much I try to discourage them. I should do a matching one for Shadow, and one for Clyde, although he usually doen't demand much in the way of attention. It's all just Setzer, the fucking drama queen. (So. Incredibly. Bipolar.)
I do have to completely rewrite a good fifteen pages of story now, though. *sigh* Angst angst angst- there's going to be so much more of it now...
Amazingly tired and headachey. Water's not doing any good. Bugger it. Going to bed soon.
"Math is merely the lesbian sister of biology." Lordy, I love Family Guy. It's approaching Velvet Goldmine levels of strangeness, but I love it.
*snerk* Sesshomaru's new arm: "It slices, it dices, it takes out pesky half breed dog demons with a single swipe! Now it can be yours for the low, low price of one Tetsusaiga!" Ugh. Horrible, horrible dub. I know these voices...Can't place 'em, though. That bothers me. Spike and Vicious are used somewhere...excellent villain voices, them.
"Wind Tunnel"?!!?! Dude. That's just...wow. Horrible, horrible dub. Miroku is also cool...but then, I do have a soft spot for corrupted clergy.
Working for Adult Swim is up there with video game critic as one of my dream jobs, I think.
Ah, Big O. Spike and Faye's voices always leave me feeling incredibly confused because, cool as he is, Roger Smith is just not Spike Spiegel. Nope. Doesn't work. Not at all. And Angel? So not Faye. Gah! Creepy robot love. And I'm not talking about Roger and Dorothy, 'cuz they're actually cute. Whee, reasons Dorothy rocks. And aww, Roger's worried.
Oh, ick. Spike's voice and Faye's voice just don't belong together, make it stop.
Batman meets Bebop. *lovelove* And Norman? So cool. The music, too. Yayness.
Whoever designed Reign the Conquerer was on severe crack. Pretty crack, but severe and disturbing crack. *snerk* Codpieces...and ass shots. Whoa. So much crack. ...actually, make that acid. This show is on acid. Lots of it. And I really ought to see about filling in my Macedonian history.
Getting ideas for a general purpose Christmas card...imitation cell shaded trees and Taoist philosophy. Should be fun.
Shadow: Isn't that all you think about?
Setzer: You'd know, wouldn't you?
Shadow: Hn. She's completely thrown off the entire story, you know. She'll have to rewrite the whole thing now.
Setzer: So? I finally get some!
Shadow: Actually...no. *smug*I finally get some.
Setzer: *looks closer* What the- since when am I that nice? I'm not that nice, are you kidding me? No way.
Shadow: I don't think it's a matter of you being nice so much as it is a matter of you dying.
Setzer: ...'m not dead yet. And I'm not fucking dying until I get laid.
Shadow: *amused* Of course you're not. There hasn't been nearly enough angst.
Had this going through my head today because instead of writing my English paper last night I wrote for them. I adore them, I really do, however blasphemous pairing them together may be. It's the scars, you know. They match. Artsyness, because the muses sometimes just insist on song calls no matter how much I try to discourage them. I should do a matching one for Shadow, and one for Clyde, although he usually doen't demand much in the way of attention. It's all just Setzer, the fucking drama queen. (So. Incredibly. Bipolar.)
I do have to completely rewrite a good fifteen pages of story now, though. *sigh* Angst angst angst- there's going to be so much more of it now...
Amazingly tired and headachey. Water's not doing any good. Bugger it. Going to bed soon.
"Math is merely the lesbian sister of biology." Lordy, I love Family Guy. It's approaching Velvet Goldmine levels of strangeness, but I love it.
*snerk* Sesshomaru's new arm: "It slices, it dices, it takes out pesky half breed dog demons with a single swipe! Now it can be yours for the low, low price of one Tetsusaiga!" Ugh. Horrible, horrible dub. I know these voices...Can't place 'em, though. That bothers me. Spike and Vicious are used somewhere...excellent villain voices, them.
"Wind Tunnel"?!!?! Dude. That's just...wow. Horrible, horrible dub. Miroku is also cool...but then, I do have a soft spot for corrupted clergy.
Working for Adult Swim is up there with video game critic as one of my dream jobs, I think.
Ah, Big O. Spike and Faye's voices always leave me feeling incredibly confused because, cool as he is, Roger Smith is just not Spike Spiegel. Nope. Doesn't work. Not at all. And Angel? So not Faye. Gah! Creepy robot love. And I'm not talking about Roger and Dorothy, 'cuz they're actually cute. Whee, reasons Dorothy rocks. And aww, Roger's worried.
Oh, ick. Spike's voice and Faye's voice just don't belong together, make it stop.
Batman meets Bebop. *lovelove* And Norman? So cool. The music, too. Yayness.
Whoever designed Reign the Conquerer was on severe crack. Pretty crack, but severe and disturbing crack. *snerk* Codpieces...and ass shots. Whoa. So much crack. ...actually, make that acid. This show is on acid. Lots of it. And I really ought to see about filling in my Macedonian history.
Getting ideas for a general purpose Christmas card...imitation cell shaded trees and Taoist philosophy. Should be fun.
Wednesday, December 10, 2003
*looks down* Wow. I really shouldn't blog at that hour of the morning. Silly things happen, and I'm sure I've traumatized a few of you. *sheepish*
Still feeling the happy, and let me tell you, it disturbs me. In a good way, but dude. Disturbing.
The world has resolved itself into another endless stream of glittering possibilities. Kinda looks like snow, actually. Sparkly. Shiny. Cold and possibly deadly, but quite pretty, really.
I have a new idea for the blog layout, since I can't leave it like this...
I am no one's daughter but my own.
Woo. Happy.
Still feeling the happy, and let me tell you, it disturbs me. In a good way, but dude. Disturbing.
The world has resolved itself into another endless stream of glittering possibilities. Kinda looks like snow, actually. Sparkly. Shiny. Cold and possibly deadly, but quite pretty, really.
I have a new idea for the blog layout, since I can't leave it like this...
I am no one's daughter but my own.
Woo. Happy.
My Tina is the bestest Tina that ever Tinaed the Seven Seas and you should all be jealous that you don't have Tinas as cool as mine.
w00t. I love my roommate.
And I'm happy now. Yay, soup. And friends. I'd forgotten how nice they were. Water, too. Damn that dihydrogen monoxide addiction of mine.
"What's this?"
"Dihydrogen monoxide. It helps the pills go down."
...Fuck. I should know better, I should definitely know better. Going to stop that now.
Head hurts. Keep trying to drink something and getting distracted along the way.
Oh, Hakkai. You can move into the cabin of angst, if you want. I don't think Sydney would let you bring Gojyo along with you, he'd make Shinji cry. Maybe you could bring Sanzo, and he could hold glaring contests with Ashley, but I think he'd totally throw off the happy vibes in the place. Goku would also make Shinji cry, and come to think of it, so would Sanzo. Maybe you could just visit for tea every now and then, and have deep, meaningful discussions on being a sidekick with Hardin.
The problem with acquiring four new muses is that I have no place to put them. I'm rather curious as to how they'll interact with the others (because I'm on such horrible, horrible crack) because the Saiyuki lot are so...flamboyant. So I don't want to isolate them in their own little corner of the world that is my head. Also, for all musefic intents and purposes, it'll take someone like Cay or Von to get Sanzo to realize exactly how much denial he's in.
Mirage of Blaze is clearly on the backburner while I obsess about Saiyuki, which is kind of funny since I've always hated the artwork for Saiyuki, but now I'm quite fond of it. Blaming it on Sanzo's underclothes. Yummy. And the angst, dear god the angst. But it's good angst, because it's remiscing over the past angst, and that can be dealt with. In fandom, it's usually dealt with frequent applications of sex (re: the healing power of cock)...and, okay, it's like that in my head too, a fair amount of the time. But there's also fluff, excessive amounts of fluff. It's like a giant group therapy session, only with more sex. And kittens. There is an alarming number of kittens inhabiting my headspace. It's like every new character that comes along gets a starter kit, including a map, a history book, and a kitten.
It's very late and I should be writing about why I think a book of poetry and King Lear were the most effective books in the course. Not about my muses and their kittens.
Ah ha ha ha...I'm too tired to form coherent sentences. Slick, V, real slick. I should probably just outline, drabble, and go to sleep.
...I may just do that. Oi.
'Least I'm back with the happy. w00t.
w00t. I love my roommate.
And I'm happy now. Yay, soup. And friends. I'd forgotten how nice they were. Water, too. Damn that dihydrogen monoxide addiction of mine.
"What's this?"
"Dihydrogen monoxide. It helps the pills go down."
...Fuck. I should know better, I should definitely know better. Going to stop that now.
Head hurts. Keep trying to drink something and getting distracted along the way.
Oh, Hakkai. You can move into the cabin of angst, if you want. I don't think Sydney would let you bring Gojyo along with you, he'd make Shinji cry. Maybe you could bring Sanzo, and he could hold glaring contests with Ashley, but I think he'd totally throw off the happy vibes in the place. Goku would also make Shinji cry, and come to think of it, so would Sanzo. Maybe you could just visit for tea every now and then, and have deep, meaningful discussions on being a sidekick with Hardin.
The problem with acquiring four new muses is that I have no place to put them. I'm rather curious as to how they'll interact with the others (because I'm on such horrible, horrible crack) because the Saiyuki lot are so...flamboyant. So I don't want to isolate them in their own little corner of the world that is my head. Also, for all musefic intents and purposes, it'll take someone like Cay or Von to get Sanzo to realize exactly how much denial he's in.
Mirage of Blaze is clearly on the backburner while I obsess about Saiyuki, which is kind of funny since I've always hated the artwork for Saiyuki, but now I'm quite fond of it. Blaming it on Sanzo's underclothes. Yummy. And the angst, dear god the angst. But it's good angst, because it's remiscing over the past angst, and that can be dealt with. In fandom, it's usually dealt with frequent applications of sex (re: the healing power of cock)...and, okay, it's like that in my head too, a fair amount of the time. But there's also fluff, excessive amounts of fluff. It's like a giant group therapy session, only with more sex. And kittens. There is an alarming number of kittens inhabiting my headspace. It's like every new character that comes along gets a starter kit, including a map, a history book, and a kitten.
It's very late and I should be writing about why I think a book of poetry and King Lear were the most effective books in the course. Not about my muses and their kittens.
Ah ha ha ha...I'm too tired to form coherent sentences. Slick, V, real slick. I should probably just outline, drabble, and go to sleep.
...I may just do that. Oi.
'Least I'm back with the happy. w00t.
Tuesday, December 09, 2003
So, the last entry involved a lot of babble about art, and how perspective is the devil, black and white monotone stuff is yummier than lemon bars, and subtle shades of grey are god. Feel the power of god, unf.
Right. It was also about how I like not having a style, sort of. I know I draw my faces too long and my noses too large, and I know I fluctuate between styles like crazy. I wish I didn't love the way everyone else drew so much. I do like that my style is more unconventional than not, though. That pleases me.
Favorite artists:
Faith Hicks of Demonology fame, with her lovely noses and squee facial structure.
Arby of Grayling, who does sexy noses and some gorgeous black and white.
Vert from Kill the City with black and white art to die for.
Glass Shard. Dude. Just. Dude.
Other artists I worship are Dylan of Bite Me with her yummy noses and cheekbones and coloring, the two Veras (not me and not me either) with the creativity and the disturbingness and the whatnot.
When looking for more Christmas music, I found Nightwish's "Bless the Child." Now there's a song that begs for a music video. Sephiroth, put it down. I've had enough of your angst.
I'd forgotten how much fun the airbrush could be for outlines...but I hate that photoshop is so sensitive it picks up every tremor in my hand and makes it impossible to draw a long, fluid line. Pisses me off, but the layers are more versatile than in OC, which is what I prefer to use for lineart.
I'm in my "work, what work?" mode. Can't deal with things anymore. Feel the need to hide under the bed, but the dust bunnies would kick me out.
Born too late and left to wallow in thoughts of what might have been. *sigh*
Enough of this. I have no fucking reason or right to be in this mood.
...yes, dehydration causes mood swings. Next time, someone remind me not to be a fucking moron, hey?
Right. It was also about how I like not having a style, sort of. I know I draw my faces too long and my noses too large, and I know I fluctuate between styles like crazy. I wish I didn't love the way everyone else drew so much. I do like that my style is more unconventional than not, though. That pleases me.
Favorite artists:
Faith Hicks of Demonology fame, with her lovely noses and squee facial structure.
Arby of Grayling, who does sexy noses and some gorgeous black and white.
Vert from Kill the City with black and white art to die for.
Glass Shard. Dude. Just. Dude.
Other artists I worship are Dylan of Bite Me with her yummy noses and cheekbones and coloring, the two Veras (not me and not me either) with the creativity and the disturbingness and the whatnot.
When looking for more Christmas music, I found Nightwish's "Bless the Child." Now there's a song that begs for a music video. Sephiroth, put it down. I've had enough of your angst.
I'd forgotten how much fun the airbrush could be for outlines...but I hate that photoshop is so sensitive it picks up every tremor in my hand and makes it impossible to draw a long, fluid line. Pisses me off, but the layers are more versatile than in OC, which is what I prefer to use for lineart.
I'm in my "work, what work?" mode. Can't deal with things anymore. Feel the need to hide under the bed, but the dust bunnies would kick me out.
Born too late and left to wallow in thoughts of what might have been. *sigh*
Enough of this. I have no fucking reason or right to be in this mood.
...yes, dehydration causes mood swings. Next time, someone remind me not to be a fucking moron, hey?
I should know better, I really should...
Is it time for a nervous breakdown yet? I want a nervous breakdown. Please, let me indulge myself in a nervous breakdown. A proper one, for once, I'm tired of being half assed about things.
Only I'm not. I'm fine, really, just not particularly stable and I don't know why. Everything itches, like I'm suddenly too loose in my skin and it's all sliding off.
It amuses me that I can rattle off my credit card number with a fair amount of ease, but I'm amazingly paranoid about forgetting my pin number. It's nice to see pending deposits, especially since I know I'm going to be hurting a bit once dad deposits the check I gave him for the car.
Ignore me, I actually have disgusting amounts of money. Disgusting.
*sigh* The reason I don't write fanfic is that it embarasses me. Particularly the game fic, since it'll always be a hell of a lot more important to me than it will be to anyone who reads it, which is just plain sad. But other fic- since I know the only people who read this thing aren't into my fandoms, it'd just be pointless wankery on my part and- ah, hells.
I should know better.
Anyway. I'd decided yesterday in the long, involved, and somewhat angsty blog post that I was born too late. This of course led into speculation on all the things I can't ask my parents and would have degenerated into something rambling on why I wish I smoke sometimes but I didn't get that far because Blogger hates me.
Not that I didn't deserve it; I was being whiny.
I think I'm tired; strange, I went to bed so very early last night. Couldn't handle being a friend last night. Still feeling bad about that. I feel like I take too much 'me' time as it is. And what I'm probably doing right now is fishing for sympathy that I haven't done anything to deserve, so please, feel free to ignore this.
There I go again. Should know better. Some people never learn, I suppose.
When you have something and lose it, there's always the chance of having it again. No one is so scarred that they can't ever love again. Not that I would know, it's just what I, in my happy, idealistic, Taoist world, would like to think. Number 29, baby, that's what it's all about.
But when you've never had something, how can you be sure?
I have an English paper to write that I haven't even started thinking about, but all that's running through my head is fanfic that I'll always be too embarassed to write, because I can never be any less pathetic than I have been, only more.
Angst angst angst bitch moan whine. I'll shut up now.
I should know better.
Is it time for a nervous breakdown yet? I want a nervous breakdown. Please, let me indulge myself in a nervous breakdown. A proper one, for once, I'm tired of being half assed about things.
Only I'm not. I'm fine, really, just not particularly stable and I don't know why. Everything itches, like I'm suddenly too loose in my skin and it's all sliding off.
It amuses me that I can rattle off my credit card number with a fair amount of ease, but I'm amazingly paranoid about forgetting my pin number. It's nice to see pending deposits, especially since I know I'm going to be hurting a bit once dad deposits the check I gave him for the car.
Ignore me, I actually have disgusting amounts of money. Disgusting.
*sigh* The reason I don't write fanfic is that it embarasses me. Particularly the game fic, since it'll always be a hell of a lot more important to me than it will be to anyone who reads it, which is just plain sad. But other fic- since I know the only people who read this thing aren't into my fandoms, it'd just be pointless wankery on my part and- ah, hells.
I should know better.
Anyway. I'd decided yesterday in the long, involved, and somewhat angsty blog post that I was born too late. This of course led into speculation on all the things I can't ask my parents and would have degenerated into something rambling on why I wish I smoke sometimes but I didn't get that far because Blogger hates me.
Not that I didn't deserve it; I was being whiny.
I think I'm tired; strange, I went to bed so very early last night. Couldn't handle being a friend last night. Still feeling bad about that. I feel like I take too much 'me' time as it is. And what I'm probably doing right now is fishing for sympathy that I haven't done anything to deserve, so please, feel free to ignore this.
There I go again. Should know better. Some people never learn, I suppose.
When you have something and lose it, there's always the chance of having it again. No one is so scarred that they can't ever love again. Not that I would know, it's just what I, in my happy, idealistic, Taoist world, would like to think. Number 29, baby, that's what it's all about.
But when you've never had something, how can you be sure?
I have an English paper to write that I haven't even started thinking about, but all that's running through my head is fanfic that I'll always be too embarassed to write, because I can never be any less pathetic than I have been, only more.
Angst angst angst bitch moan whine. I'll shut up now.
I should know better.
No, Sanzo, I am not writing you any angst. Now step away from the Flogging Molly and stop giving me amv ideas. Trent would kick your ass from here to Atlantis for that song, anyway, so just give it up.
Fucking muses and their fucking song calls. *rolls eyes* Schuldich, you are not suffering from gender issues, I won't allow it, so stop pretending your name is Hedwig. And don't even think about going around saying "I'm just a slip of a girly-boy from East Berlin." I'll rearrange your whole backstory if I have to, and then I'll have someone else rearrange your face.
Also, Setzer, your name is not Angel, Collins, or Maureen. Shadow is not Joanne. The both of you need to stop it with the Rent and Shadow needs to quite eyeing the O Fortuna and the Eccentric Opera. There is a such thing as too much drama in fanfic, and if that story ever wants to be finished, the both of you will quit it with that. Spoiled brats, the both of you- dozens of other muses will never see their stories in writing. So behave.
*sigh* Blah. Need to do homework.
*is in a very antisocial mood* Blah indeed.
Fucking muses and their fucking song calls. *rolls eyes* Schuldich, you are not suffering from gender issues, I won't allow it, so stop pretending your name is Hedwig. And don't even think about going around saying "I'm just a slip of a girly-boy from East Berlin." I'll rearrange your whole backstory if I have to, and then I'll have someone else rearrange your face.
Also, Setzer, your name is not Angel, Collins, or Maureen. Shadow is not Joanne. The both of you need to stop it with the Rent and Shadow needs to quite eyeing the O Fortuna and the Eccentric Opera. There is a such thing as too much drama in fanfic, and if that story ever wants to be finished, the both of you will quit it with that. Spoiled brats, the both of you- dozens of other muses will never see their stories in writing. So behave.
*sigh* Blah. Need to do homework.
*is in a very antisocial mood* Blah indeed.
Monday, December 08, 2003
I'm awake in the afternoon
I fell asleep in the living room
and it's one of those moments
when everything is so clear
before the truth goes back into hiding
I want to decide 'cause it's worth deciding
to work on finding something more than this fear
It takes so much out of me to pretend
tell me now, tell me how to make amends
maybe, I need to see the daylight
to leave behind this half-life
don't you see I'm breaking down
lately, something here don't feel right
this is just a half-life
is there really no escape?
no escape from time
of any kind
I keep trying to understand
this thing and that thing, my fellow man
I guess I'll let you know
when i figure it out
but I don't mind a few mysteries
they can stay that way it's fine by me
and you are another mystery i am missing
It takes so much out of me to pretend
maybe, I need to see the daylight
to leave behind this half-life
don't you see I'm breaking down
Lately, something here don't feel right
this is just a half-life
is there really no escape?
no escape from time
of any kind
come on lets fall in love
come on lets fall in love
come on lets fall in love
again
'cause lately something here don't feel right
this is just a half-life,
without you I am breaking down
wake me, let me see the daylight
save me from this half-life
let's you and I escape
escape from time
- "Half Life" Duncan Sheik
Tina has this song on her computer. It makes me squee. Tina is also a SNOWFLAKE FIEND OF DOOM. It's scary.
I fell asleep in the living room
and it's one of those moments
when everything is so clear
before the truth goes back into hiding
I want to decide 'cause it's worth deciding
to work on finding something more than this fear
It takes so much out of me to pretend
tell me now, tell me how to make amends
maybe, I need to see the daylight
to leave behind this half-life
don't you see I'm breaking down
lately, something here don't feel right
this is just a half-life
is there really no escape?
no escape from time
of any kind
I keep trying to understand
this thing and that thing, my fellow man
I guess I'll let you know
when i figure it out
but I don't mind a few mysteries
they can stay that way it's fine by me
and you are another mystery i am missing
It takes so much out of me to pretend
maybe, I need to see the daylight
to leave behind this half-life
don't you see I'm breaking down
Lately, something here don't feel right
this is just a half-life
is there really no escape?
no escape from time
of any kind
come on lets fall in love
come on lets fall in love
come on lets fall in love
again
'cause lately something here don't feel right
this is just a half-life,
without you I am breaking down
wake me, let me see the daylight
save me from this half-life
let's you and I escape
escape from time
- "Half Life" Duncan Sheik
Tina has this song on her computer. It makes me squee. Tina is also a SNOWFLAKE FIEND OF DOOM. It's scary.
Mmm, Vespers. It always shocks me (even though I know it shouldn't) when people don't know what I consider to be common Christmas carols. It's the Madrigals' fault, you know, with their Carol of the Bells and Wassail Song and O Come, Emmanuel (also St Matthias' fault for being Catholic and singing carols during Advent and all).
When the lights came on at the start of the first carol, my mind just sort of shut down and went "Oh, wow. That's nice. That's very nice. We're just going to stand here and absorb the music for a while. Mmm, musicgasm." And then I got to sing. Huzzah.
And there is nothing (and I do mean nothing) more triumphant, jubilant, or incredible than a trumpet in winter. It's the season for 'em, you know. Brass instruments in general are just more effective in cold weather, I think. Yes, I'm a freak. But the brass are very warm instruments, and bright, which just makes them perfect for warming the soul in winter. Kinda like mulled cider or wine- it's good any time of year, but it's always better when it's snowing.
I really want a picture of Toca Rivera's gnome to use as icon fodder, and I really want to write angsty Saiyuki yaoi ('cuz dude, Sanzo, you're only fooling yourself, we all know you're in loooooove), and I really want to go out and dance in circles in the snow.
Jason Mraz is teh r0xx0r. So is Jesus. The baby Jesus, especially, even though we make him cry on a regular basis. Also, God. Teh r0xx0r, definitely. Michelle Brooks voice is sex, and I'm absorbing Molly's speech patterns at a frightening rate. Since she's absorbed more than a few of mine, it's okay, but still.
My headphones are quite loud right now. 'Tis a happy thing. And because I'm more or less done with the memoir (it has been proclaimed 'cute' by most people) I don't have anything else to do tonight, really. It's a happy thing. Apparently my writing reads like my voice- nasal and annoying. ;)
If Dani doesn't stop trying to eat Seph and all things connected to him, I'm gonna have to take drastic measures. Bubble wrap may be involved.
doop.
When the lights came on at the start of the first carol, my mind just sort of shut down and went "Oh, wow. That's nice. That's very nice. We're just going to stand here and absorb the music for a while. Mmm, musicgasm." And then I got to sing. Huzzah.
And there is nothing (and I do mean nothing) more triumphant, jubilant, or incredible than a trumpet in winter. It's the season for 'em, you know. Brass instruments in general are just more effective in cold weather, I think. Yes, I'm a freak. But the brass are very warm instruments, and bright, which just makes them perfect for warming the soul in winter. Kinda like mulled cider or wine- it's good any time of year, but it's always better when it's snowing.
I really want a picture of Toca Rivera's gnome to use as icon fodder, and I really want to write angsty Saiyuki yaoi ('cuz dude, Sanzo, you're only fooling yourself, we all know you're in loooooove), and I really want to go out and dance in circles in the snow.
Jason Mraz is teh r0xx0r. So is Jesus. The baby Jesus, especially, even though we make him cry on a regular basis. Also, God. Teh r0xx0r, definitely. Michelle Brooks voice is sex, and I'm absorbing Molly's speech patterns at a frightening rate. Since she's absorbed more than a few of mine, it's okay, but still.
My headphones are quite loud right now. 'Tis a happy thing. And because I'm more or less done with the memoir (it has been proclaimed 'cute' by most people) I don't have anything else to do tonight, really. It's a happy thing. Apparently my writing reads like my voice- nasal and annoying. ;)
If Dani doesn't stop trying to eat Seph and all things connected to him, I'm gonna have to take drastic measures. Bubble wrap may be involved.
doop.
Saturday, December 06, 2003
"But it was like we were walking backwards, you know? We might as well have been walking backwards, because we sure as hell weren't going forwards and with the snow and the wind and the ice we would've been better off just standing still but we didn't, you know? We kept going, even though we couldn't see and I was bleeding all over the place but I couldn't feel a damn thing 'cuz it had all gone numb hours before and we just kept telling ourselves 'a little further just a little further we're almost there we'll survive this' and we knew it was a lie. Complete and utter bunk, but we said it anyway..."
You trail off, looking up expectantly, waiting almost patiently and silently for once. The hand on your cheek is warmer than anything you've felt in a very long time, and the heat shocks your eyes open, wide enough for the whites to show, bright and panicked, around your heavily dilated pupils.
Feverish and delirious and dying, your gaze never once wavers, the memory still keeping you in a grip so powerful that it will crush you in the end.
They will find you eventually, alone in the snow; you will be smiling, your eyes still open and the warmth of a foreign hand still clinging to your face.
You trail off, looking up expectantly, waiting almost patiently and silently for once. The hand on your cheek is warmer than anything you've felt in a very long time, and the heat shocks your eyes open, wide enough for the whites to show, bright and panicked, around your heavily dilated pupils.
Feverish and delirious and dying, your gaze never once wavers, the memory still keeping you in a grip so powerful that it will crush you in the end.
They will find you eventually, alone in the snow; you will be smiling, your eyes still open and the warmth of a foreign hand still clinging to your face.
This layout irritates me, too, since it's so...unfinished. But it's not black, and I do like that background image. I know the green in the text is too olive to match the green in the book, but I'm not changing anything right now. It's late, and there is snow.
Snow makes me thoughtful. There's something humbling about the beauty of it- snow falling at night is an amazing thing, something ethereal and glittering and untouchably holy. And it's always so silent- not like rain or any other kind of precipitiation. You don't find rain or hail falling up, but snow? Snow floats and flutters and drifts, heedless of gravity.
It must be nice, being snow. Because then you melt and you're...nothing. Nothing more than nothing, as they say in the parable of the sparrow- which is still hanging on my bulletin board back home.
I think it has a little to do with it suddenly being winter, and winter being the dead month, the renewing month, and the end of the year. You start to think back over everything, and that's important, because it's easy to forget when everything is pure and clean and covered in white. Snow at night is beautiful, and it turns the sky stormy violet (sometimes I wonder if I ever really see the sky any other color) and catches in the streetlights like so much diamond dust. Everything is softer at night when it snows, when the world is already blunted by darkness. But during the day everything is blinding white and painful but still soft edged with fluff. Something of a contradiction, almost.
And it just makes me thoughtful, and turns me into something of a hopeless romantic. Playing in the snow was fun, amazingly fun; living the life of a Christmas card isn't so bad, really. But it makes me sad, because snow is so...final, I guess. In a 'this is it, end of the year, end of the semester, end of the line' sort of way. No turning back now, only going forward...
Autumn and summer are dying months, really; after the summer solstice the days get shorter until winter solstice- the first day of winter marks the lengthening of the days. Dormancy, hibernation- restive sleep. Not precisely death. That's for the blazing glory of autumn and I wax poetical over the seasons far too often. Poetical isn't even properly a word, so I should stop waxing it unless I want it to get stickey.
You know my all purpose excuse: it's the weather. And it really is- I'm happy, and full of joy over the incredible beauty of everything and everyone, but...(and there's always a but, isn't there?) I can't even describe the way the snow makes everything ache. Every little loneliness and sadness is magnified beneath the ice crystals that frost the windows.
Waxing poetic. Sorry. Pensive is a good word for it. Contemplative. Filled with infinite joy and infinite despair. (Full of excessive bullshit and overused, flowery turns of phrase.) It's dramatic weather, snow. A proper snow doesn't do anything by halves, and you start to live the extremes acted out in the weather.
I'm sure the weather has been partly influencing my O Fortuna obsession (2 orchestra versions and 6 remixes and still counting). Dramatic music for dramatic weather and a decidedly melodramatic outlook on life. (My favorite is still the Therion version because it doesn't drop down to such a pianissimo that I can't hear the second verse and I'm reasonably sure it's the whole song and not just bits cut and remixed. How can you remix "O Fortuna" and not include the part where they actually sing "Ooooohhhh, Fortuuuunaaaaaa!"? I mean, really now.)
*sigh* Yay, playing in the snow. Yay, not being a monkey. Yay, Velvet Goldmine and gay sex. Yay, strangely random and vaguely intimate questions. Not so much yay with the silence and the sadness and the desire to disappear. Not feelin' that particular groove, really.
And here I was intending to go to the library tomorrow to do work. I'm not taking Seph out in this weather, hells no! ...Well, I might, but I'd have to wrap him up in a plastic bag, first. *sigh* Alas.
That sums it up fairly well: Alas.
Snow makes me thoughtful. There's something humbling about the beauty of it- snow falling at night is an amazing thing, something ethereal and glittering and untouchably holy. And it's always so silent- not like rain or any other kind of precipitiation. You don't find rain or hail falling up, but snow? Snow floats and flutters and drifts, heedless of gravity.
It must be nice, being snow. Because then you melt and you're...nothing. Nothing more than nothing, as they say in the parable of the sparrow- which is still hanging on my bulletin board back home.
I think it has a little to do with it suddenly being winter, and winter being the dead month, the renewing month, and the end of the year. You start to think back over everything, and that's important, because it's easy to forget when everything is pure and clean and covered in white. Snow at night is beautiful, and it turns the sky stormy violet (sometimes I wonder if I ever really see the sky any other color) and catches in the streetlights like so much diamond dust. Everything is softer at night when it snows, when the world is already blunted by darkness. But during the day everything is blinding white and painful but still soft edged with fluff. Something of a contradiction, almost.
And it just makes me thoughtful, and turns me into something of a hopeless romantic. Playing in the snow was fun, amazingly fun; living the life of a Christmas card isn't so bad, really. But it makes me sad, because snow is so...final, I guess. In a 'this is it, end of the year, end of the semester, end of the line' sort of way. No turning back now, only going forward...
Autumn and summer are dying months, really; after the summer solstice the days get shorter until winter solstice- the first day of winter marks the lengthening of the days. Dormancy, hibernation- restive sleep. Not precisely death. That's for the blazing glory of autumn and I wax poetical over the seasons far too often. Poetical isn't even properly a word, so I should stop waxing it unless I want it to get stickey.
You know my all purpose excuse: it's the weather. And it really is- I'm happy, and full of joy over the incredible beauty of everything and everyone, but...(and there's always a but, isn't there?) I can't even describe the way the snow makes everything ache. Every little loneliness and sadness is magnified beneath the ice crystals that frost the windows.
Waxing poetic. Sorry. Pensive is a good word for it. Contemplative. Filled with infinite joy and infinite despair. (Full of excessive bullshit and overused, flowery turns of phrase.) It's dramatic weather, snow. A proper snow doesn't do anything by halves, and you start to live the extremes acted out in the weather.
I'm sure the weather has been partly influencing my O Fortuna obsession (2 orchestra versions and 6 remixes and still counting). Dramatic music for dramatic weather and a decidedly melodramatic outlook on life. (My favorite is still the Therion version because it doesn't drop down to such a pianissimo that I can't hear the second verse and I'm reasonably sure it's the whole song and not just bits cut and remixed. How can you remix "O Fortuna" and not include the part where they actually sing "Ooooohhhh, Fortuuuunaaaaaa!"? I mean, really now.)
*sigh* Yay, playing in the snow. Yay, not being a monkey. Yay, Velvet Goldmine and gay sex. Yay, strangely random and vaguely intimate questions. Not so much yay with the silence and the sadness and the desire to disappear. Not feelin' that particular groove, really.
And here I was intending to go to the library tomorrow to do work. I'm not taking Seph out in this weather, hells no! ...Well, I might, but I'd have to wrap him up in a plastic bag, first. *sigh* Alas.
That sums it up fairly well: Alas.
Thursday, December 04, 2003
Couldn't take the black anymore. Had to change. This is only temporary; I can't figure out how to do what I really want to do, so this is it for the time being. I'll have something a little more permanent up later, once I finish with the images.
Inked and colored a pic of Spots and Meg when they were in college; it's up on the wall now. Skintones in colored pencils are a bitch and a half; Meg's came out halfway decent, but Spots looks dead, and this picture is supposed to be from before the first demonic attack. *mildly irritated* I do adore the way their clothing came out, though. And Meg's hair. Shiny. If I run into a scanner in the near future, I'll see if I can't scan it...
Inked and colored a pic of Spots and Meg when they were in college; it's up on the wall now. Skintones in colored pencils are a bitch and a half; Meg's came out halfway decent, but Spots looks dead, and this picture is supposed to be from before the first demonic attack. *mildly irritated* I do adore the way their clothing came out, though. And Meg's hair. Shiny. If I run into a scanner in the near future, I'll see if I can't scan it...