The Screwball Letters

aibari — Fri, 17 Feb 2012 22:44:26 GMT

Sometimes, you just need to blast one song on repeat until you turn deaf or forget about the less-than-good stuff, and that is okay.

aibari — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 12:30:42 GMT

Watched Sherlock and the latest Sherlock Holmes movie within two days. I'd like to report that I am still pretty damn holmessexual, (holmesosexual?). ALL THESE DIFFERENT TAKES ON CANON YES

Still.

How and when did Sherlock switch his body for a corpse?

aibari — Mon, 05 Dec 2011 22:58:07 GMT

Just delivered something for class I know is going to get blasted: NOT SUCH A GOOD FEELING, actually.

I can't get too upset, though, because I'm done with all my exams for the semester. If you need anything, I'll be sitting over here, not studying for the ex.phil.

Fuck yes.

aibari — Sun, 27 Nov 2011 22:51:43 GMT

First exam of the semester in a bit more than nine hours.

Here's the thing about Japanese History: it's like a soap-opera where everyone has similar names and kill their own brothers a lot.

I LOVE IT but oh god I don't know

I feel like I am forgetting everything

everything

so yeah. Wish me luck?

history: people are dicks and then die horribly

aibari — Mon, 19 Sep 2011 20:14:36 GMT

My highlighter is running out of ... high ... light ... ing?

THIS IS THE THIRD ONE SINCE THE BEGINNING OF THE SEMESTER

IT HASN'T BEEN THAT LONG

... despite the insomnia and the rapidly shrinking/dying writing utensils, though, everything is beautiful.

also I finally have a suit. With shoes. THIS IS THE BEST THING.

so yeah

aibari — Wed, 14 Sep 2011 19:22:23 GMT

Things that have happened on campus this month:

1. A (non-functional) gun was found in one of the student lockers.

2. There was a gas leak in the Geology building.

3. A woman was found dead in one of the girls' bathrooms.

I guess you could say it's shaping up to be an interesting year.

let this whole town hear your knuckles crack

aibari — Fri, 22 Apr 2011 23:54:09 GMT

Title: let this whole town hear your knuckles crack
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 320
Summary: Mar has no patience for ghosts.
Warnings: Zombies? Sort of?
Notes: I don't even know. Title from Damn These Vampires by The Mountain Goats.

let this whole town hear your knuckles crack

“I just think you should –” Cim says. Her voice is as pale as her body.

“No.” Mar plants her shovel in the ground. She has no patience for ghosts. It's spring, and the earth is wet and partially dissolved like coffee grounds under her wellingtons.

“You forgot the salt,” Cim says, quietly. Mar doesn't hear, or pretends not to.

In the evening, the creatures burst from the ground like dandelions. Skin hangs like cobwebs from their grasping fingers. Mar hefts her shovel in the dim halo of a street light. There is a simplicity to them that she finds almost unbearably beautiful, and when they come at her, shambling like destitute drunks and hungry animals, it feels almost like a waste to take them down.

Still, she reasons, as she slams the shovel into yet another salivating face, someone has to do it. It might as well be her.

Cim is giving her the evil eye.

“What, then,” Mar says, shoveling mud over the bodies.

“I didn't say anything,” Cim mutters.

“You wouldn't bother showing up if there wasn't something.”

Cim takes a deep breath – some habits are harder to break than others. “You keep forgetting the salt.”

Mar bristles. “I'm not even done burying them.”

“Yesterday,” Cim says. “And twice the last time.”

Mar stops, shovel halfway to the ground. “What are you trying to say, exactly?”

Cim fidgets, eyes fixed on the shovel. “I just think that maybe,” and she takes an almost imperceptible step backwards, “maybe you should take a break.”

“That's ridiculous,” Mar says, but her mouth feels dry.

“You're getting sloppy,” Cim says, and disappears. Mar finishes her work, and sits back on her haunches. The sky is vast and blue like a headache.

She remembers to salt.

The silence that follows is unbearable.

aibari — Sun, 17 Apr 2011 22:33:13 GMT

so I just saw this:

"While searching for a way to defeat Eve, Dean stumbles upon Samuel Colt's journal in the Campbell library. Realizing Samuel might have the answer to their problems, Sam and Dean ask Castiel to send them back in time so they can meet the man himself. While Sam is a bit reluctant to time travel, Dean is beside himself with excitement to return to the Wild, Wild West."
- imdb

oh dear god.

this is probably a bad idea

aibari — Fri, 31 Dec 2010 01:22:31 GMT

GIMME A PROMPT
a comment!fic meme

almost as interesting as beans

aibari — Tue, 09 Nov 2010 01:35:48 GMT

I am writing fiction about a sock

at two thirty in the morning

what is life

also hi guys what's up

i ate your bees

aibari — Fri, 01 Oct 2010 23:23:10 GMT

home for ~FALL BREAK~

and I am going to sleep all week, except for the parts where I stalk my friends ~~and softly read gay porn in their ears as they sleep~~. Or not, because I still haven't finished my Big Bang and sdfgsdfhsfdgh panic. I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I AM DOING OH GOD.

I haven't gotten around to watching any Glee or Supernatural (yet), and so know pretty much nothing beyond this: one, Sam has terrible hair, two, Sera what are you doing, and three, Brittany needs to get in all the pants. I FEEL LIKE I AM GOING TO LAUGH A LOT, BUT I'M NOT SURE IF THAT'S A GOOD THING.

(very, very) relatedly, jesus god what is this. [spoilery spoiler for SPN 6x06] There are so many ways this can turn into a smoking pile of disaster, I'm not even sure I want to look. (On the other hand, the crack fic will be glorious. ALSO, TWILIGHT/SPN EXCUSE OH GOD do they even know what they've begun.)

that is totally the face I make, too

aibari — Tue, 28 Sep 2010 16:03:02 GMT

GUYS

PEOPLE LIKE MY POETRY

SHERLOCK: Suddenly, Change

aibari — Thu, 23 Sep 2010 10:59:57 GMT

Title: Suddenly, Change
Characters: Sherlock, John, ofc
Rating: pg
Word Count: ~500
Spoilers: Not really.
Warnings: Kidfic, basically. Also footnotes.
Disclaimer: Not in any way mine.
Summary: There was a child in the living room.
Notes: I need a second opinion here, guys. Also, really inspired by the one annlarimer and rozenkrantz wrote.

There was a child in the living room.

It was quite unmistakeably a child. There was the height, for one thing, and the aura of permanent stickiness that surrounded it like a gravitational field. Everything within its reach seemed to shine under a coating of spit;¹ the carpet would never be the same.

John nearly tripped over it on his way in, and found himself face to face with a pair of deceptively innocent-looking blue eyes the size of ping pong balls. It smiled at him. Immediately, he could count five missing teeth; the emptiness between the remaining ones stood out like miniature black holes.

“Sherlock,” he said, trying to ignore the sense of rapidly approaching doom. “Why is there a child in our living room?”

Sherlock appeared in the kitchen doorway, looking like the anthropomorphic representation of distaste. He was holding a jar of what looked like – and, admittedly, probably was – several pairs of human eyes.

“Mrs. Hudson is a cruel beast,” he said, by way of explanation. The child fell backwards to stare at him, or, more specifically, the jar.

“What,” said John, more as a statement than any hope for a satisfactory answer, or even one that made sense. Sherlock rarely made sense to anyone but himself, unless he wanted to show people how clever he was.²

“You're on babysitting duty,” Sherlock said. Displeasure dripped from every syllable, leaving greasy stains on the carpet.

“Me?” The last time John had been in charge of a child had ended in something like a siege. It had taken days to remove the stray silly putty, and he could never look at spaghetti carbonara in quite the same way afterwards.

“I'm busy,” Sherlock said, giving the jar in his hands a meaningful look. The child was watching it with the sort of attention usually associated with moving shapes in bright colours and chewing on its hair.

“Why is it even here?”

“Mrs. Hudson's niece,” Sherlock said, in a flat voice. “Our landlady asked us to … babysit.”

“You never do what people tell you to,” John pointed out.

“She threatened to throw away my nicotine patches.” The look on Sherlock's face suggested that this was a fate worse than a fate worse than death.

“Really, Sherlock?”

“Mrs. Hudson has something of a sixth sense when it comes to the whereabouts of stimulants,” Sherlock said.

“Are those eyes?” Mrs. Hudson's niece piped up, although through the hair is sounded more like, arsh dosh eysh?

“Yes,” said Sherlock.

“Pickled onions,” said John, at the same time. The niece spared a brief look at each of them before going back to staring at the jar.

“Cool,” she said. Sherlock watched her with something that could almost be mistaken for new-found interest.

“Christ,” John muttered under his breath.

And then he went to make himself a cup of tea.

¹Hopefully.

² Which he did.³

³All the time.

SPN: Time Travel for Fun and Profit

aibari — Fri, 27 Aug 2010 22:08:58 GMT

Title: Time Travel for Fun and Profit
Pairing: Sam/the Colt
Rating: R for ridiculous. Also, porn.
Word Count: 434
Spoilers: Some for season five, but not really.
Warnings: Porn involving a historical character. Possibly mind-breaking, I don't know.
Disclaimer: Not in any way mine.
Summary: They need the Colt.
Notes: This is probably one of the weirdest things I have ever written. Um. Months ago, isiteggs came up with a prompt that pretty much destroyed my brain forever (Sam/the Colt, in a truck? I think?) and, look, this is what happens when you give me ideas.

Time Travel for Fun and Profit

They need the Colt.

Actually, what they need is a better Colt. And, Dean reasons, with the if-we’re-all-gonna-die-anyway mentality Sam is way too familiar with at this point, the only guy who can make that happen is the Colt, one hundred and fifty years dead.

Which is when Gabriel, that asshole, mentions time travel, kidnapping by use of.

Which is why Samuel Colt is in Bobby’s living room.

-

Not that any of that is enough to explain how, five hours later, Sam is pretty much straddling him in the passenger’s seat of the Impala. Sam’s jeans are somewhere in the vicinity of his knees, and he isn’t entirely sure where his underwear went. His head keeps scraping against the ceiling, but Colt’s mouth is hot on his neck, and he can’t really bring himself to care.

It’s the beard, he thinks. It’s definitely the beard.

Of course, he hadn’t been expecting Colt’s “would you mind showing me the workings of your horseless carriage” to be shorthand for “please fuck me into the upholstery”, but it’s not as if it’s even the second weirdest thing that’s happened this week, and it’s been a really, really long time since the last time he got laid.

Colt wraps a warm, callused palm around Sam’s cock, and as it turns out, being a gunsmith requires being good with your hands. (Well, either that or Colt has given a lot of handjobs in his life. On reflection, Sam doesn’t find it all that unlikely.) “I am curious,” he says, mouthing the words out against Sam’s shoulder. “In theory, that gun should have worked on anything.”

“You forgot about angels,” Sam says, surprised at the steadiness of his voice.

“Angels,” Colt says thoughtfully, working his hand in a steady rhythm, “I have never seen evidence of one.”

“Trust me,” Sam says, fighting the urge to pick up the pace, “they’re real.”

“Even if they are,” Colt says, leaving the sentence hanging like a question. Sam shrugs awkwardly.

“It - ah, Christ,” as Colt licks at his collarbone, “it works on most of them,” he says. “Just not the Devil.”

“Oh, I see,” Colt says, and even if Sam can’t see his face, he can hear the grin in his voice. “Fascinating,” he murmurs, adding a rough little twist with his hand that has Sam reaching for the headrest.

“Nnngh,” he says coherently. Colt lifts his head to look at him; the look on his face sends a jolt straight to Sam’s groin.

“So, Sam,” he says, and the gleam in his eye is practically evil, “tell me about angels.”

(unsure)

aibari — Sun, 15 Aug 2010 14:32:23 GMT

the ❝that's my favorite!❞ meme
A FANFICTION PRAISE MEME
I feel like I should make a masterlist of fic. :/

Arthur would be Tinkerbell

aibari — Thu, 12 Aug 2010 11:16:32 GMT

♠ Hi, c00kie!

♠ Plurk continues to be the dangerously addictive place that inspires people to write Batman/Sherlock Holmes and imagine the cast of Inception as Peter Pan-characters. (And Toy Story porn. I think the response you're looking for is, JESUS FUCK WHY? DDD:)

♠ I'm pretty much completely addicted to Sherlock at this point, which is kind of unfortunate. (ONLY THREE EPISODES WHAT) It's one part problematic and two parts fucking amazing.

♠ Also, Avatar: the Last Airbender. Words cannot contain my love for this show.

Thirty Days meme: Day Two

aibari — Fri, 30 Jul 2010 10:23:01 GMT

Thirty Days: Writing

1. Tell us about your favorite writing project/universe that you've worked with and why.
2. How many characters do you have? Do you prefer males or females?
3. How do you come up with names, for characters (and for places if you're writing about fictional places)?
4. Tell us about one of your first stories/characters!
5. By age, who is your youngest character? Oldest? How about “youngest” and “oldest” in terms of when you created them?
6. Where are you most comfortable writing? At what time of day? Computer or good ol' pen and paper?
7. Do you listen to music while you write? What kind? Are there any songs you like to relate/apply to your characters?
8. What's your favorite genre to write? To read?
9. How do you get ideas for your characters? Describe the process of creating them.
10. What are some really weird situations your characters have been in? Everything from serious canon scenes to meme questions counts!
11. Who is your favorite character to write? Least favorite?
12. In what story did you feel you did the best job of worldbuilding? Any side-notes on it you'd like to share?
13. What's your favorite culture to write, fictional or not?
14. How do you map out locations, if needed? Do you have any to show us?
15. Midway question! Tell us about a writer you admire, whether professional or not!
16. Do you write romantic relationships? How do you do with those, and how “far” are you willing to go in your writing? ;)
17. Favorite protagonist and why!
18. Favorite antagonist and why!
19. Favorite minor that decided to shove himself into the spotlight and why!
20. What are your favorite character interactions to write?
21. Do any of your characters have children? How well do you write them?
22. Tell us about one scene between your characters that you've never written or told anyone about before! Serious or not.
23. How long does it usually take you to complete an entire story—from planning to writing to posting (if you post your work)?
24. How willing are you to kill your characters if the plot so demands it? What's the most interesting way you've killed someone?
25. Do any of your characters have pets? Tell us about them.
26. Let's talk art! Do you draw your characters? Do others draw them? Pick one of your OCs and post your favorite picture of him!
27. Along similar lines, do appearances play a big role in your stories? Tell us about them, or if not, how you go about designing your characters.
28. Have you ever written a character with physical or mental disabilities? Describe them, and if there's nothing major to speak of, tell us a few smaller ones.
29. How often do you think about writing? Ever come across something IRL that reminds you of your story/characters?
30. Final question! Tag someone! And tell us what you like about that person as a writer and/or about one of his/her characters!

DAY TWO: How many characters do you have? Do you prefer males or females?

In total? Lots. I usually write about small casts, though, because it's easier to keep track of everyone. As for gender, I don't really have a preference; good characters are defined by their personality, not their gender. (That said, I do feel the need to balance out the gender of my main characters; we need more strong women in fiction, goddam it.)

Thirty Days meme: day one

aibari — Thu, 29 Jul 2010 21:20:53 GMT

princess_aleera tagged me, so I guess I'm giving this a shot?

Thirty Days: Writing

1. Tell us about your favorite writing project/universe that you've worked with and why.
2. How many characters do you have? Do you prefer males or females?
3. How do you come up with names, for characters (and for places if you're writing about fictional places)?
4. Tell us about one of your first stories/characters!
5. By age, who is your youngest character? Oldest? How about “youngest” and “oldest” in terms of when you created them?
6. Where are you most comfortable writing? At what time of day? Computer or good ol' pen and paper?
7. Do you listen to music while you write? What kind? Are there any songs you like to relate/apply to your characters?
8. What's your favorite genre to write? To read?
9. How do you get ideas for your characters? Describe the process of creating them.
10. What are some really weird situations your characters have been in? Everything from serious canon scenes to meme questions counts!
11. Who is your favorite character to write? Least favorite?
12. In what story did you feel you did the best job of worldbuilding? Any side-notes on it you'd like to share?
13. What's your favorite culture to write, fictional or not?
14. How do you map out locations, if needed? Do you have any to show us?
15. Midway question! Tell us about a writer you admire, whether professional or not!
16. Do you write romantic relationships? How do you do with those, and how “far” are you willing to go in your writing? ;)
17. Favorite protagonist and why!
18. Favorite antagonist and why!
19. Favorite minor that decided to shove himself into the spotlight and why!
20. What are your favorite character interactions to write?
21. Do any of your characters have children? How well do you write them?
22. Tell us about one scene between your characters that you've never written or told anyone about before! Serious or not.
23. How long does it usually take you to complete an entire story—from planning to writing to posting (if you post your work)?
24. How willing are you to kill your characters if the plot so demands it? What's the most interesting way you've killed someone?
25. Do any of your characters have pets? Tell us about them.
26. Let's talk art! Do you draw your characters? Do others draw them? Pick one of your OCs and post your favorite picture of him!
27. Along similar lines, do appearances play a big role in your stories? Tell us about them, or if not, how you go about designing your characters.
28. Have you ever written a character with physical or mental disabilities? Describe them, and if there's nothing major to speak of, tell us a few smaller ones.
29. How often do you think about writing? Ever come across something IRL that reminds you of your story/characters?
30. Final question! Tag someone! And tell us what you like about that person as a writer and/or about one of his/her characters!

DAY ONE: Tell us about your favorite writing project/universe that you've worked with and why.

This question is hard. :|

I've really enjoyed writing my Original Big Bang; the writing process was pretty similar to the first time I did NaNo. (Read: I didn't have a shade of a plot beyond "ROADTRIP! ZOMBIES!". Which, admittedly, should be enough for anyone.) Basically, there are zombies. And a road trip. The only way I could like this plot more would be if one of them worked in a bakery and there was time travel involved. (The quality of the first draft is so incredibly dubious, lmao, but it was really, insanely fun writing it; hopefully the editing process will be equally interesting.)

so lonnng, etc.

aibari — Mon, 12 Jul 2010 22:00:11 GMT

GOING TO ITALY FOR TWO WEEKS

SEE YOU ON THE ~OTHER SIDE~

and it makes me want to kick the writers in the crotch

aibari — Sun, 27 Jun 2010 23:22:49 GMT

Can we please stop making gay films where everything ends terribly?

At this point, I can think of exactly ... none where two gay people meet and end up Overcoming Hardship together. While I appreciate realism in movies*, how about dividing it evenly? I could do with a few romcoms ending in heartbreak.

*sometimes.**

** I appreciate Big Fiery Explosions more.

oh dear

aibari — Sun, 20 Jun 2010 00:04:53 GMT

anonymous meme

it's eurovision season, turn the telly off

aibari — Tue, 25 May 2010 19:51:48 GMT

I should study, but I can't concentrate on anything - inconvenient head cold fuck yeah - so I'm pretty much intermittently sleeping on the couch and reading Hanif Kureishi's The Buddah of Suburbia. (It's the first book I've come across with a self-professed bisexual protagonist, which is making me kind of absurdly happy, because bisexuals! They exist!)

also, hey, memes:

WHAT'S MY THEME SONG?

and, stealthily ganked from ambiguous_opal:

Make up a title for a story I didn't write, and I will respond with details of those non-written stories. You may, if you like, include details, such as pairings or fandom or whatnot.

SPN: Practicing Parenthood

aibari — Thu, 20 May 2010 21:38:31 GMT

Title: Practicing Parenthood
Author: aibari
Pairing: Dean, Castiel, Ben
Rating: PG-13-ish
Word Count: 813
Spoilers: N...o?
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: Not in any way mine.
Summary: "Is that a unicorn?"
Notes: Written for oceansex's prompt "parenting practice". I'm, uhh. Not sure how much sense this makes. It assumes that Dean did have a beer with Lisa after 99 Problems, and then stayed the night. Also I'm probably writing Ben wrong, as I'm using Dylan Moran's comedy routine as writing advice: Children are basically mean, tiny drunks.

Practicing Parenthood

Dean opens a can of beer and tries not to stare too incredulously at what Ben is drawing. "Is that a unicorn?"

"Dude, I'm eleven," Ben says. He hunches protectively over the paper, like maybe he thinks Dean is going to laugh. (And, okay, if it were anyone else, Dean would have.) "It's a warhorse killing machine."

"Nice horn," Dean says.

"Thanks," Ben says, adding eager, slightly violent pencil strokes to the tail of it. "Mom thought it was better for me to spend my pent up aggression on imani - inami - something that wouldn't hit back."

The last part comes out in a monotone, like he's reciting it. Dean leans up against the kitchen table.

"Your mom is a smart woman," he says, grinning, and then the front door slams open with all the force and moral judgment of a religious zealot reborn as a steamroller. It's a lot of emoting for a door.

"Crap," Dean says. He puts the beer down just in time to be pushed up against the wall by his friendly neighborhood angel.

"Cas, hey," he says. Castiel's hands feel dangerously close to his windpipe where they are fisted in his t-shirt, and the uneven texture of the wall is going to start digging into his back in a kind of unpleasant way if this goes on for much longer, which, knowing Cas, it probably will.

"Dean," Castiel says. His voice has gone through what can pass for "gravelly" and reached the realm of "chronic bronchitis". His face is inches from Dean's, and his eyes are filled with something that looks a lot like righteous, fiery rage. "Do you think you're the only one hurting here?"

Dean can't remember wanting to punch him quite this much before.

"Maybe I just think this is the better option," he says tightly. "It's starting to look pretty fucking inevitable, isn't it?"

Castiel pushes him harder up against the wall. "Are you going to undo everything we've worked for because you feel unloved?"

"Like how you're still out looking for God?" Dean snaps. Castiel gives him the stoniest look Dean has ever seen outside of inanimate objects.

"Listen, you asshole," he hisses, and wow, that one is new, "I have sacrificed everything for you."

He lets go of Dean's shirt - probably to punch him in the gut or something - when Ben appears somewhere around his elbow.

"I think I saw a movie like this once."

"Did it end with someone getting their holy ass kicked?" Dean asks, but it's half-hearted; the tension deflates like a malfunctioning airbag, leaving behind something awkward and strange. Ben pulls a face at him, like it's the dumbest question he has ever heard. Dean sends Castiel a helpless look - part "kids, what can you do?" and part "how do I make this kid think I'm cool?". Castiel stares back, blankly, but because this is Cas, Dean should probably have known that that was a dead end from the start.

The silence stretches out, embarrassed of itself. Ben makes a face.

"Are you gonna kiss?" he asks. "Because gross."

"No," Castiel says. Dean is suddenly uncomfortably aware of how close they're standing. They're practically sharing air.

"Cas, man, personal space?"

"Right," Castiel says, and takes a tiny, incremental, almost-two-thirds of a step back. It doesn't make any difference, and Dean tries not to fidget.

"Look," he says, and his voice comes out grey and worn, like jeans that are threadbare to the point of falling apart from hunting and being thrown into walls all the time, and isn't that a fitting analogy for his entire fucking life?

Castiel is watching him with his head tilted to the side, curious, and Dean tries very hard not to think about baby animals in a Disney movie.

"Look," he tries again, swallows, laughs, tries not to flinch at how it sounds hollow in his ears, "I just need ... just let me have this, Cas."

He's almost begging, and it makes him feel a bit like throwing up, but it's been a while since the ifs in his head started turning into whens, and it's not like he can shout some shit in Latin and wave a shotgun full of rock salt when the enemy is him. He needs something to remind him why, something like hope that he can cling to when things get worse and he feels like it's a choice between saying yes and saying yes too late.

"We don't have much time," Castiel says, voice low and rough. It's as close to an okay Dean figures he'll get.

"Promised I'd watch the kid until Lisa came home, anyway," he says.

Ben, who's been watching them talk like it's prime-time television, scowls. "I'm not a kid, 'm eleven."

Dean ruffles his hair. "Sure, brat," he says, grinning. "Want to show Uncle Cas your artwork?"

fic: watch the bed burn

aibari — Sun, 16 May 2010 00:17:49 GMT

Title: watch the bed burn
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 646
Summary: The first time Lucky Fountaine sits down with the Devil, she punches him in the face.
Warnings: Uh. A really unhealthy sort-of-relationship?
Notes: I need to stop hanging out at the Gaia WF. (This particular contest: Your Seductive Nightmare. You know that scene in SPN where Becky is writing fanfic? It's pretty much exactly like that.) Also, the title is taken from Florence + the Machine's Kiss With a Fist, but I wrote this listening to the acoustic Glee version of Poker Face.

watch the bed burn

The first time Lucky Fountaine sits down with the Devil, she punches him in the face.

There is a supremely awkward pause, and then she wakes up in a dumpster with a bruise the size of her own fist blooming across her cheek like an angry violet. When she tries to move, one of the plastic bags under her hands bursts like an overripe fruit, spilling out its contents like the entrails of a dead animal. The smell is unbearable.

She climbs out of the dumpster, the edges of it digging sharply into her palms, and when her feet hit the asphalt, she laughs and laughs and laughs.

-

The second time Lucky Fountaine sits down with the Devil, she buys him a drink.

"Hello, Lucy," she says, and her smile is all edges. The Devil's mouth creases into something that, while it technically has the same shape as a grin, definitely isn't.

"Why," he says, with a calm that would be better suited for a philosophy debate, "are you still here?"

Lucky watches his pointed, perfectly manicured nails as they caress the drink she bought him. He won't drink it, but then, that was never the point.

"I assaulted you," she says, like she is telling him a joke or an anecdote about someone's great-aunt, "and I was very surprised when I woke up this morning and found myself, well, waking up this morning."

The Devil's eyes are beautiful; they speak of honesty and kindness and harborage. They are his greatest lies, of course, but Lucky appreciates them; it makes it so much more gratifying whenever she can manage to catch him off-guard.

"Tell me," the Devil says, sounding almost curious, "do you have a death wish?"

"No," she says, grinning fire and blinding light, "but I've been told Danger is my middle name,"

-

The third time Lucky Fountaine sits down with the Devil, she challenges him to a game.

"And what would you offer me?" the Devil asks, and though his voice is smoother than ice, Lucky sees the the darkness behind it, so devoid of light it seems depthless. It sends a pleasurable chill down her spine.

"Is this where I offer up my immortal soul?" she asks, leaning back in her chair. The Devil smiles, friendly like a pit viper.

"If you like," he says.

"I could," she says, pretending to consider it for a brief moment, "but I won't."

"Then what?" he asks, and Lucky sees something not quite like impatience in the twist of his mouth.

"I'll tell you my real name," she says, sweet like diabetes. "And if I win," - she very carefully does not say when - "you'll tell me why you haven't killed me yet."

The Devil says nothing for a very long time, watching her like he wants to see what she is going to do. Lucky smiles into her drink, and does nothing as loudly as possible.

"All right," the Devil says, like he is making a sacrifice, a great concession she should be grateful for, "I trust you brought your own deck of cards."

"Of course," she says, reaching into the folds of her jacket. It's cherry red and worn to the point of exhaustion, and from its pockets she produces a deck of cards. They are just as worn as the jacket, and their backs gleam blackly in the dim light of the room.

"No cheating," the Devil says, smiling like it's their own, private joke.

"Of course," she says.

She cheats, of course. She always does.

-

Lucky Fountaine makes a habit of waking up in dumpsters, covered in bruises of her own design.

The blood in her mouth tastes like victory, metallic and triumphant. She lies there, staring at the sky, and laughs and laughs and laughs.

end.

UPON MY WORD I AM NOT A VIOLENT MAN

aibari — Fri, 14 May 2010 23:40:22 GMT

So a lot of things have been happening. Also I am lazy, but you knew that already. <___<

- I'm a russ this year, so this month has been spent doing things like fishing in drains using a stick and a shoelace and having lunch dates with lit candles in the cafeteria. Among other things. Err. I've got a lot of russ cards left, so if anyone wants one, just comment and I'll send you one.

- Kids are terrifying when you are russ. It's like every zombie movie ever, except the zombies are midgets and also really fixated on getting in your pants. (I'm not exaggerating - I heard about a guy who ran into a school yard with his russ pants on and ended up getting them pretty much torn to pieces.)

- I had my first exam of the year on Tuesday. I read more than three quarters of the textbook on Monday and by some miracle still managed to get an A.

- Because of the way the exam system is set up over here, I've been scheduled for two written exams on one day. They're five hours long. Each. There's no way of changing one of them, and I paid to take the other one - I don't think I can graduate without taking it, either, but of course getting clear information in this place is a bit like walking backwards up a mountain during a snowstorm while wearing nothing but a coconut bra and a pair of flip-flops - so basically, this .gif:

- The only relationships I care about in Glee at the moment is Kurt and his dad and, for some reason, Quinn and Mercedes? idek.

- Also, Supernatural. I DON'T EVEN& KNOW HOW TO FEEL ABOUT 5.22 YET, GUYS. I just. Cas. Impala. Bobby. Cas. Chuck. The end was a bit ... whelming, though. ~~WHERE WAS CROWLEY, GODDAM.~~ I genuinely like most the women on this show, for some reason, but Lisa? OH HONEY NO. I think it's partly the fact that she's so ... motherly around Dean - what is it with this show and incest, Jesus God - and partly the fact that, as far as I can tell, they don't exactly have a lot in common beyond enjoying sex and beer. (To be fair, it's been a while since I watched The Kids Are Alright - I'm probably missing some context.)

Also, IS IT BAD THAT I LOL'D ALL THROUGH THE SAMIFER AND MIRROR-scene? Because holy crap I did.

I like to imagine that when Dean and Cas left Bobby, Crowley showed up and they got this weird pseudo-Arrangement going. I WANT IT, OKAY.