astro_noms: (Default)
yes brain, you can has

April 2015

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The Blogger's Prayer

Lo, there do I see my posts.
Lo, there do I see my tweets.
Lo, there do I see my gifsets and my picspams.
Lo, there do I see the line of my blog, back to the beginning.
Lo, they do call to me.
They bid me take my place among them on the Internets,
Where the geek may live forever.

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astro_noms: (external brain cells)

Your dream job.

I've said this for a long time, and I think that no matter what, I'll keep saying for a long time. I'd love to be a writer, the kind who actually makes a living from what they write. I don't know whether I'll actually ever get to do that, but hey, it's a dream.

Mirrored from Tangents and Digressions.

astro_noms: (take my heart and cage it)

Or, you know, an early Friday morning, but let's not get too picky...

I haven't had much time or energy or brain power to work on actual book writing lately, so both Book Wolves and Game of Choice (and oh lord, I need to find a better working title for that second one, or else I'm going to start calling it Married with Mercs) have been backburnered for a long time. And I don't know if it's because it's spring (ha!) or just the fact that my stay in Wales is over and I'm almost done with the BA and I'm starting to get slowly sucked into the yawning pit of ohgodohgodwhatdoyoumeanIhavetochooseaschoolandaprogramandwritearesearchprojectproposal? pre-MA application anxiety, but my brain's creative bits have started stirring again, and I kindasortareally want to start working on the novels again (and possibly actually carry on with the work to some point other than that nebulous "I'm working on a novel" that so many people are at.

It's not that I haven't been writing, because I have! And it's original fiction, too, since I don't really write fanfic. But all those stories are of the pisanie do szuflady (Polish, literally "writing to the drawer," meaning not for publication or for anyone else) variety. Well, they get posted on the internet sometimes, but I write them for the pure fun of them, and I don't really have any interest in trying to turn them into something publishable.

Anyway. I started writing this post for a totally different reason, and as usual got distracted (but then again, tangents and digressions, hello): the always-awesome Chuck Wendig, whose writing posts always provide inspiration and some much-needed laughs, wrote a post about plotting: Fuck The Straight Line: How Story Rebels Against Expectation. It's a post about writing, but it really resonates as a post about living, too. And I think that's what makes it even more profound. Knowing that it's not just our characters who get to escape the straight line, that we can do it, too, that's a hell of an inspiration.

Writing advice is always tricky, because not everything works for everyone, and what works for me may make someone else dig in their heels because that's not how their process works. But the important thing is that through reading (notice I'm not saying "following") things like this, we can actually figure out what our process is. Because otherwise? We're really just flailing about and shouting into the void, rather than getting our shit together and doing something to actually achieve our goals.

astro_noms: (goodnight everybody)
So the weekend started out mostly all right, and I was remaining sane, and everything was going fine. And then I left the room for FIVE GODDAMN MINUTES and there was double fail. I'm not going to go into it because I'd like to maintain some semblance of sanity and optimism for the next two days. Suffice it to say there is not enough alcohol in the world for this, and leave it at that. I will probably write a bit more about this at a later point, because I need to talk about it, and it's either this or unloading on someone in chat or IRL and god knows I've been doing that too much lately - thank you, [personal profile] scarimonious and [ profile] upupa_epops, and sorry about that.

I had an idea for a story yesterday as I was walking to church, and I'm kind of flaily and wibbly over it. I'd like to flesh it out and possibly turn it into a story for wave one of [community profile] originalbigbang but for the moment all I have is an idea that's kind of a modern retelling of The Little Mermaid, with the girl giving up her voice in exchange for something, only she's not a mermaid. I haven't decided whether the bit about every feeling like she's walking on knives will stay in, though. And I just realized, if I go with the original Hans Christian Andersen story, she's going to die at the end. Shit. Um. Need to think about this.

We're turning the clocks forward tonight, and we're going to church early tomorrow morning, so I'm going to bed now. Here's hoping things look a little better tomorrow.
astro_noms: (secrets about secrets)
obligatory facebook photo

Caerphilly was lovely! The castle is amazing and I seriously envy the people who live in a town with a freaking castle in the middle. We climbed up into some towers and onto the walls and took a bunch of photos I need to run through Lightroom because my camera apparently can't balance between "bright sky" and "dark stone" and most of the pictures are really dark. Someday, I'll figure out how to make the damned thing work properly. We didn't get to see the Great Hall, where apparently scenes from Doctor Who's "Vampires of Venice" were filmed, but the rest of it was still pretty awesome.

It was actually really cold and windy, but at least it didn't rain, so at least that's something? IDK. It's below freezing and snowing in Poland, so that's not going to be pleasant. :\

I guess now I should stop slacking off and try to finish as much packing as I can today. The landlord is coming tomorrow at 3pm to check the rooms, get the keys back from us, and give us back our deposits - well, part of them, because he's taking out a bunch of money for the heating bill. Even though there were days when there was no fucking heat in the house. But apparently we've exceeded the "reasonable" 5GPB/week allotment, so he's taking it out of our deposits. *sigh* I'm just hoping he doesn't try to pick on anything else in our rooms, because seriously, the only reason we've put up with as much of the bullshit in this house as we have - mold growing on the walls, cold drafts everywhere, the fucking dog that barks for eight hours a day, etc. - is that we were only here for a few months, so it wasn't worth it. But I really don't want to get into an argument in the last hours we're here, so keep your fingers crossed that everything goes smoothly tomorrow.

And I posted fic! Another short fic, another Batwoman AU story. This thing is going to be HUEG if we ever finish writing it. But anyway, creepy babymaking porn! The Price of Anything (1,000 words, f/f/m, explicit) - here at [community profile] atomicvaudeville.
astro_noms: (sing it out)
I haven't finished packing, my room is a mess, I feel horrible, but we're leaving the house today and going to visit Caerphilly Castle. Because it's not raining right now and we're not going to get another chance to go.

I ficced again last night, and finished this morning. 1,000 words again exactly, although that's a raw, barely edited text, so that could change. It was supposed to be porny babymaking, and instead turned out creepy porny babymaking. I'm perfectly OK with the creepy, though, as it's rather appropriate. I'll probably post it later tonight and link.

Woke up this morning to the news that MCR broke up. I've never really been *in the fandom, didn't write fic or go to concerts (mostly because there weren't any nearby, and I couldn't afford those farther out), but this was the first band that I was really... emotional about. I remember resisting bandom in general, because loool RPF is silly, but then I fell head over heels, in equal measures for the music, the people in the band, and the fandom itself. I don't know whether they saved my life, per se, but they definitely changed it for the better. *clings to all the bandom people*

I firmly believe we'll be OK in the end, though. And if we're not OK, then it's not the end, to misquote a movie. And as a consolation, have some new music: Depeche Mode's Delta Machine is out now, so right-click and save, and enjoy. (Give it a few minutes to finish uploading, I just want to get this posted before we go.
astro_noms: (arrow: green)
School stuff. )

In better news, I accidentally ficc'ed last night! I had just bits and pieces in my head, not even whole sentences running through my head, so I figured I'd try and write it, but it ended up turning out as completely different. So, it's a short thing from the Batwoman AU, in which Alex gets sprung from prison, à la Bruce Wayne getting sprung from prison in Batman Begins. It goes a bit differently than the movie, but it sets things up for later. Theatricality and Deception (1,000 words, gen, teen) at [community profile] atomicvaudeville, which is where I'll be posting AV-related stuff now.
astro_noms: (OFBB2013 mod)
The sign-ups for the reversebang are still open until March 22, and the regular big bang sign-ups open on March 16. This year, we have two waves of fic writing, divided by length. You can check out previous year's master lists: 2010, 2011, 2012.

Please pimp this out to your flists if you could, we're kinda low on the reversebang sign-ups this year, and we'd love to get more people in on it. The RB fics have a 1,000 word minimum, and the regular fics are 5K and 10K for the two waves.

[community profile] originalbigbang :: [ profile] originalbigbang :: [ profile] originalbigbang
An Original Fiction Big Bang (and reversebang)
2013 info post :: FAQ

astro_noms: (dear doctor)
Sunday Six: Each Sunday, post six sentences from a writing project-published, submitted, in progress, for your cat—whatever.
"Ava, who's this?"

"It's Conner, mama," Ava says, giving Alex a long-suffering look that's a non-verbal equivalent of a "duh."

"Guess we're going to have to rename the cat, hunh?" Alex eyes the boy, who must have been among the last wave of people to arrive, judging by his appearance.

"No, mama. This *is Conner," Ava says, laughing. "He was a cat, and now he's a boy."

"Of course he is," Alex mutters to herself, backing away from the children. She glances at the wall clock and wonders if it's too early to start drinking.
I haven't had a chance to pick at this too much yet, mostly because I've been stressing out over essays and my inability to sit down and actually start writing them. Bleah.

I'm reading (well, listening to the audiobook) The Sign of Four for class, and while I get a certain glee from picking up bits and pieces that have become recognizable as Sherlock Holmes-specific things, it's a little... disappointing, I guess? I've read some other ACD works - A Scandal in Bohemia, The Hound of the Baskervilles, etc., and I don't know if it's because I'm listening with a more critical ear or what, but it's kind of like getting a look behind the scenes at a magic act and knowing how it's all done. I guess it's always been like that - it seems that the whole plot is built around what ACD wants *Holmes to be able to do and say, and then the mystery is built around it, rather than the mystery coming first and then Holmes' investigation being built around that. I don't know if that's really explaining my issues with it very well, but it's *too archetypal, I guess? Obviously, the Holmes stories are basically casefile stories, and it feels like there's no sense to mystery to the actual mystery, and we (with Watson at the fore) are just poor dumb schlubs waiting for the Magnificent Sherlock Holmes to enlighten us. Watson comes off as a bumbling idiot, Holmes comes across as a smug asshole, and the whole thing reads like a really substandard fanfiction written by someone without a lot of skill. I guess part of that is Watson's narration, which in this particular instance is so awkward it's painful..

IDEK. *hands*
astro_noms: (external brain cells)
Sunday Six: Each Sunday, post six sentences from a writing project-published, submitted, in progress, for your cat—whatever.

Sexytiems woo! This one may have been inspired by the Mike/Rachel scene from the season finale of Suits. This is actually five sentences, because that's how long this paragraph is.
Alex grabs onto the shelf above her, holding on as Belial hitches her up a bit higher, driving up into her. She braces herself with a foot on the shelf behind him, wrapping her other leg around him as she wraps a hand around the back of his neck and pulling him in for a kiss. His mouth still tastes like blood and smoke, and Alex shudders as it spills over her tongue, bringing back the memory of the taste of sins. She pulls back and gasps for air, but Belial closes the distance between them almost immediately, driving into her with a twist of his hips that has her clutching at him, nails digging into his shoulder through his shirt. She's rewarded with a hand in her hair, yanking her head back to expose her neck and Belial's teeth grazing the spot she knows he's already left a mark
For all the agonizing I do over the sex scenes lately, they turn out surprisingly tame. Next up, Ava makes a boy out of a cat! That should be fun, because not enough traumatizing shit has already happened to all of the people in the story. /o\

astro_noms: (a light to guide you)
Each Sunday, post six sentences from a writing project — published, submitted, in progress, for your cat — whatever.

Yay, the sex scene that would not actually get to the sex is finished! I could have moved on to different scenes, but I really wanted to get it done, because it was kinda crucial to the relationships in the rest of the story. And then I got to move on to the next scene which required watching The Order for research purposes. *cough* And then I babbled at [personal profile] scarimonious for a while, to get some of the details straight.

Anyway. I still haven't quite finished the part this bit comes from, but it's going quite well so I'm not complaining.
Belial moves to stand behind her, wrapping himself around her, and takes her hands in his. He guides her movements, placing her hand over the girl's forehead. Alex feels a tingling sensation in her fingertips and cranes her neck to look at Belial. He nods and gives her a reassuring smile, and she turns back to the girl. Belial moves her hand down to the girl's chest, splaying their fingers flat over the clammy skin. Before Alex can say or do anything, Belial presses down, and she feels her fingers sinking down into the girl's body. It's a sensation like nothing she's ever experiences, but the jolt of power coursing through her is practically orgasmic. Alex's body arches against Belial's involuntarily, and she can feel his hard-on pressing against her.

They're almost wrist-deep in the girl's body when Belial speaks, his breath ticking Alex's skin and sending shivers through her.

"Feel that?" He cups his hand around Alex's, which is cupped around something that feels almost solid. "That's what you want. Get a good hold on that and draw it out. Carefully, slowly, you want to get it all on the first try. Makes a bit of a mess if you have to go back in."

Alex cups her hand around the lump, and it pulses against her fingers.

"Is it supposed to do that?"

"It's different every time." Belial's face is right next to hers, and Alex has a sudden urge to turn her head and kiss him, but she stifles it and focuses on the task at hand.
astro_noms: (bandom: color of danger)
Hanging on the Edge of Destruction (2,479 words)
Fandom: Atomic Vaudeville
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Mentions of slavery.
Characters: Alex Porter, Titus Casey
Summary: Dustverse AU. Titus really needs to do a better job of staying out of trouble.

Title from Tina Turner's "One of the Living." Cut text from Mad Max Beyond the Thunderdome. For the "slavery" square of my really old [community profile] origfic_bingo card. I have two cards, and I'm not going to request any new ones until I get at least the most basic bingo on both of them. *resolve face* Many thanks to [personal profile] scarimonious for looking it over.

Atomic Vaudeville master post

Perhaps you've got something to trade after all. )

Feedback is awesome and always appreciated!
astro_noms: (goodnight everybody)
Even getting distracted by the Superbowl tweets (lol, Beyonce broke the stadium!) and everything else, I managed to finish! I still need to fill in some names and give it a going over, but yay, I finished a thing! And I think it is a thing that is not bad! Almost 2,500 words, which may or may not grow during the edit. Whatever the case may be, I haven't finished anything in a long time, and I am excited.

And now it's almost 3am, so I am going to bed, because holy crap, SO TIRED all of a sudden.
astro_noms: (rainbow umbrella)
Each Sunday, post six sentences from a writing project — published, submitted, in progress, for your cat — whatever.

Woo, writing! This one just kinda popped into my head in the shower a few days back, and I wrote about 1,500 words longhand, because that was the only way I could focus long enough to write. Now that I've got it typed up, I may continue working with a notepad and pencil, or I may just finish it on the computer. This bit is from the Dustverse-ish Atomic Vaudeville AU that "'Til You Feel the Daylight" comes from as well, and it's also for the "slavery" square of an [community profile] origfic_bingo card I claimed a very long time ago. *facepalm*
Titus draws curious glances from people, and he can't really say he's surprised. It's not his lack of clothes drawing their attention—mostly naked people are hardly a rarity in the compound. What's got them curious is the collar around his neck. He's seen his share of them—used his share of them in his days of working for eLUCIDate. Back in the city, they were common use on prisoners, but he'd been under the impression that people in the zones regarded them as a torture device and abhorred their use. Now that he's felt the effects of one on himself, he understands the terrified reactions of the prisoners from his past, and is inclined to agree with them completely.
Today Marta and I went to Cardiff and sat in the Starbucks near Cardiff Bay for a bit. Marta did some reading for a class, and I did some translation work. It was good to get out of the house and get some work done, as well as walking around a bit. It was a cloudy day, but by the time we left the Starbucks it was dark, and we got to see the Millennium Centre all lit up. It wasn't the color we were expecting, but still pretty.

Roald Dahl Plass is all fenced off in the middle, but there's no sign as to what they're actually doing there, so Marta and I decided that they're rebuilding Torchwood Three. And that the portable toilet standing near the fountain is standing on the spot where the invisible lift down into the Hub is, which makes the port-a-potty invisible as well.


Tomorrow night, there's a showing of Die Hard in Cardiff, and I got myself a ticket. The movie starts at 8:30pm, and the last train home leaves at 11:15pm, so I hope I'll be able to make it. Push comes to shove I'll leave a few minutes early, because I don't really want to get stuck in Cardiff with no way to get back home.

A few nights ago, I had a dream that I summed up on Twitter as "plains, trains, and genderswap." There was something about a train trip with my classmates and teachers from Poland, something about a single car of the train getting separated from the rest and then ending up on some really desolate route that went through a bunch of fields full of flowers, and then suddenly I was at an airport, totally confused with no idea of where I was. I asked a passing-by pilot where the hell I was, and he said "you're home." So I pressed for more details, "what city?" and he was all "O_O Cardiff." because how could I not know? And then I was really angry at him, because something bad had happened with the plane? Possibly cabin decompression? And then suddenly I was Jensen Ackles, sunning myself on the wing of a ruined plane, with a veritable feast of fish and fruit laid out next to me. AND THEN I WOKE UP.

And then a couple of nights ago, I dreamt that Ben Whishaw played Lizzie Bennet in Pride and Prejudice. I told Marta about it, and this is all her fault.
astro_noms: ('tis but the truth in a masquerade)
I've made some progress on the sex scene, but apparently it's hard to write filthy porn when your grandparents keep interrupting you. Who knew? /o\ And by the time I make it upstairs at the end of the day, I'm usually too tired to try and think sexy thoughts to write. Part of it is also that it's been a while since I've written anything, much less an elaborate sex scene, so I'm having trouble getting back into it. It's not even the plotting of the scene that's giving me trouble—I've got a pretty good idea how the whole thing plays out, but when I try to write it out, it all comes out rather wooden. Although I am getting some characterization figured out as I try to write, so at least there's that.

Why can't I just hook a cable up to my brain and have the whole scene, beautifully plotted out and blocked and choreographed, appear on the screen?
astro_noms: (gabriel the fallen)
So the "and then they have sex" bit I'm writing right now keeps getting derailed because there's conversations to be had and they keep getting distracted. I keep putting in notes like "[bring this up later]" and "[possibly pillow talk?]" but seriously, why won't you bone? I even threw in some priest kink and kinky wallsex for you, what the hell more do you need?

The soundtrack for this is apparently made up of Depeche Mode, and Duran Duran, with some Pet Shop Boys and Placebo mixed in. I'm not quite sure what that says about my musical tastes for writing sex scenes.

Sunday Six

Dec. 24th, 2012 02:13 am
astro_noms: (space jesus is batman)
Each Sunday, post six sentences from a writing project -- published, submitted, in progress, for your cat -- whatever.
"My whole life is so weird," she starts, resolutely keeping her eyes away from his face. "There was Izzy, and being the mother of the Antichrist, and the apocalypse, and I thought OK, things are fucked up now, but I'm alive, and I've got Ava, and we've made a good start at making a life for ourselves here. And I figured sure, Izzy's going to take Ava away at some point, but that's still years away, I'll have time to get used to the idea. And then you come along, and you're all wings and fire and I still don't know what you are, exactly, and then I saw you eat a bunch of bodies in the morgue, and that wasn't enough to make me run screaming. And then you go and save me and my daughter from Hellhounds, so I can't just write you off as some weirdo, and and I don't know what's more fucked up, the fact that that's not the strangest thing that's happened to me in a while or the fact that I just don't care, and—" She pauses to catch her breath and looks up, her eyes moving from his face to the stark whiteness of the Roman collar, and back up to his mouth.
Oh man, it's 2am and I should have been asleep at least two hours ago. Damn you, ill-timed creative bursts!
astro_noms: (vote plague)
I missed Sunday Six last week because of reasons. I haven't actually written much lately, also because of reasons. Still, have a few more than six sentences:
"Hi," he says, reaching up to wipe the blood from his mouth, and only making things worse since his hands are covered with blood, too. He makes a face and walks to the sink to wash his hands, scrubbing at his fingernails.

Alex can only stare at him, and at the blood-soaked sheet covering on the floor behind him.

"What... what did you do?"

"There are some injuries conventional medicine just can't fix," he says, drying his hands. "A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do, you understand."

"You're not a man," Alex blurts out, and he raises an eyebrow at her.

"Caught on to that, did you?" He crosses the room toward her and she backs away until her back hits the wall. He comes in close, until they're standing flush against each other, and leans in to sniff at her neck. "Izzy's taught you some tricks, I see," he says, his breath brushing Alex's cheek. "What else has he taught you?"

Alex puts a hand on his chest, and pushes him away rom her, moving away from the wall and out into the open. "How do you know about Izzy? What the hell are you?"

"Well, you're on the right track with Hell," he gives her a predatory smile again, and there's a groaning noise from behind him. He glances over his shoulder and frowns. "Excuse me a moment, will you?" He presses a finger to her lips. "You should probably be very quiet right now."
And then there are Dead Space-style monsters and FEELINGS.

Ugh, &them; *waves Alex/B 4EVA flag*

In other news, I am sick! Not completely, but there's sniffles and sneezing and stuffed up sinuses and ugh, someone come over and put me out of my misery. Tomorrow, I am going to Strzegom to visit Grandma S and family, and then Tuesday, I will be in Wrocław, and then back home. I'd stay longer in WRO, but Gran was all "you're going to be gone how long?!" because she doesn't understand how I can come home for Christmas and still have hoomework to take care of and, apparently, want to see family other than Gran and Grandpa. *sigh*

After Christmas is over, it should be easier to get out of here even for a couple of days, so hopefully I'll get to see other people. Until then, it's CLEANING! (even though the house gets thoroughly cleaned every week) and PANIC! because there's so much food to be made, etc., and no amount of me trying to be reasonable and point out that there are three of us, so maybe a metric fuckton of food isn't really necessary is going to get through. Also, I volunteered to make a Black Forest chocolate cake, so that should be fun. Of course, I fully expect Gran to decide to make her usual walnut cake anyway, but I'm making that fucking cake if it kills me, so there. :P
astro_noms: (we all float down here)
I play this game sometimes. You know the one. The "if I was a published author" one. And I've always thought, even when I was little, writing long and involved stories about princesses and their adventures, that I wouldn't actually publish under my real name. When I was little, I decided my pen name would be "Paula Cattani," which was the name of the daughter of the police inspector from La Piovra ("The Octopus," it's an Italian series about the Mafia) (oh my god, Wikipedia, why do you call it a "miniseries," IT HAD TEN SEASONS WTF). And OK, her name was actually "Paola," by my grandfather calls me that sometimes, so it works, too. IDK about it now, though, there are a lot of people with that name (although there don't seem to be any writers by that name, in either variation), and I want something ~~~unique.

This probably works better for people with non-English names, but basically, I ended up taking family names and Anglicizing them.

  • From the root of my mom's maiden name, I got "cart," which makes the last name the rather obvious Carter.

  • From the room of my maternal grandmother's maiden name I got "yew" (as in the tree). I was a little lost as to what to do with that, until through some lucky clicking on Tumblr, I discovered that, in some backwards etymology, "yew" is related to Eboracum, which is the Latinized name for York, so that works out pretty well. (see the Wikipedia entry for more, if you want)

  • My last name means anything from "pagan god" to "idol" to other things along those lines, and, well, IDK what I'd do with that.

  • The root of my paternal grandmother's maiden name is the name of a town, which I'm gonna say derives from the word for the fava bean, so I guess I could dig into that and get something like Fabia/Fabian, if I go with the ancient Roman family name. Or I can just go with Lecter?

Shut up, I totally have different a name planned for when I want to write torrid paranormal romances.


Nov. 22nd, 2012 06:07 pm
astro_noms: (i'm not antisocial i just don't like you)
So I'm sitting in the school library and working on my antichrist!bb story (because if I'm at home, lounging on my bed, I'm eleventy thousand percent more likely to spend all my time fucking around on Tumblr and not getting any work done - surrounded by people doing actual schoolwork makes me feel guilty and gets me to actually write - AT LEAST I'M NOT WRITING PORN LIKE SOME PEOPLE I COULD NAME *COUGH*), and I'm googling the name the antichrist baby will have when she's born, which is Ava Kara Valeria. And I got curious about the meaning of Ava, so off to I went.
Ava: Its source is Chava, a Hebrew name meaning "Life." Chava could also be interpreted to mean ''living being.'' (A correspondent points out its linguistic connection to the joyful Jewish blessing le Chaim -- ''To life!'')

However, some scholars cite an alternate source -- another Hebrew expression meaning ''serpent.''

That second meaning reminds us of the Book of Genesis in the Jewish scriptures. Chava (translated as Eve, Eva or Ava) is the first woman, mother to all humanity. Tempted by the advice of an evil serpent, she disobeys God by eating of the Tree of Knowledge. She convinces her husband Adam to follow suit, and God banishes them from the Garden of Eden.

Due to that ancient story, this name can evoke a complex of images -- ranging from revered mother to temptress to seeker of knowledge.
astro_noms: (sanctuary: tesla is better than you)
By which of course I mean "Sunday," because I totally forgot about Sunday Six:

Each Sunday, post six sentences from a writing project — published, submitted, in progress, for your cat — whatever.
"Maybe it's caffeine withdrawal," a voice calls out from the side. Alex turns to Titus, who's coming out from the back with a tray of freshly baked cookies. When he sets the tray on the counter, Alex gasps. There are chains wrapped around Titus' midsection, glowing red and burning their way into his skin. There is one wrapped around his neck, the skin underneath it blistered and blackened. She shakes her head and looks away, trying to ignore the cold sweat she feels herself breaking out in.
From the Antichrist Baby AU, which was going to be my Angelic Big Bang story.

Also, I'm still cold, despite having been home from the ice cold library for over three hours. And my boobs hurt. Bleah.
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