Dreamed a little dream

You are not allowed to laugh.

Tue, 10 Apr 2007 03:06:31 GMT

NEEDLE & THREAD

Sammy hadn’t said a word since we’d got in the car. It wasn’t that I particularly wanted to have some deep, touchy feely heart-to-heart with him, I just needed something to concentrate on. I was this close to actually switching on the radio and suffering Aretha Franklin, which said something.

Like you’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.

I clicked my fingers in front of Sam’s face to see if I could bug him into a response. He continued staring out of the window like the dark asphalt night was the most absorbing thing he’d even seen.

Maybe if I followed the yellow brick road I’d find a map of Sammy’s head in the wizard’s big black bag.

Then again, he’d turned out to be a fake. I’d probably have better luck if I asked the green chick running the al fresco opium diner if she knew what to do. I had a feeling that if I spent all my time eating poppies I’d understand my little brother better.

I returned my hand to the wheel, grunting as the movement jarred my shoulder. Nose, chin, ribs were bruised, not broken. But the bullet wound, hell, that sucked.

To be honest, it was getting old. Demon comes, demon hurts, demon leaves.

Usually, demon leaves.

These days I was never sure when it was here and when it was elsewhere, causing famine and suffering and the death of the first born. It was getting to the point where I was considering carrying around a cooler of holy water and accidentally pouring it all over everyone I met. Or maybe I could just pretend I had some psyche issues and shout ‘Christo!’ loudly at regular time intervals.

The Demon in Dad had come as a bit of a shock. Of all the people in the world I’d never have thought of as likely to get head-jacked, Dad was pretty much top of the list. Maybe just after God. Maybe just before.

I had to hand it to old yellow-eyes, it was inspired. Fuck with Daddy, kill two birds with one stone. Or just, fuck with the heads of the two birds enough so they drive themselves and their Daddy into a ten-ton truck.

Demon one, Dean nil.

I got it.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Sam look over at me, brows knotted in that ridiculous kicked puppy look of his, before turning away and biting his thumb.

Screw Aretha, what I really needed was some Nugent. Loud enough to drown out Sam’s sorrow and my nervous system and the rest of the world and its plans. Loud enough to fill my head with some hick in a bar singing about his chick’s strangle hold and to fend off this feeling of oncoming, inevitable fate. Nugent, really fucking loud.

Screw Aretha, screw the silence, and screw the pounding headache that wouldn’t let me do either.

II.
The second time it happened, I was surprised. And not just that Sam’d managed to get a girl.

It was funny, the way our innocent Sam always seemed to fall in with the wrong crowd. Funny in the same way as a war veteran who survives the battles and the bullets and the murder and then chokes to death on his complimentary peanuts on the plane home is funny.

I guess that made it pretty fucking miserable.

He’d been pissed that Meg’d turned out to be the Demon’s kid. He thought he’d finally met someone who understood where he was with the whole family thing, who he could talk to about me and Dad and his mom up there on the ceiling without her actually becoming a part of it. Not for the first time I wished he’d met someone who really was who they said they were, who really cared about what they said they did and didn’t turn around and spit in your face when you were down and bleeding and broken on the floor. Innocence lost was the one part of the job that I’d never reconciled myself to.

Don’t get me wrong, an older, wiser, more jaded Sam had his perks. Sometimes he went overboard and knocked the ‘please’ off his, sorry for the inconvenience but I’m going to have to ask you to leave now exorcism ritual. That really showed the legions of Hell where to hang their coats.

I certainly hadn’t had any ties to her. All Sammy’d done was peep at her from the street outside her house, which for him was probably as good as a band of gold but didn’t mean a thing for anyone else. Still, Meg was our first human, aside from those sick hillbillies, and it felt wrong.

So, it was getting old.

Demon rocks up, breaks a few bones, heads, hearts. For the third time.

I get shot by my brother, for the second.

These days nothing happened for the first.

III.
Sammy wasn’t speaking to me. Not if he could help it. And for once, not because I’d insulted his hair.

I knew I looked like hell. Sammy had said as much, and I knew as much, because hey, I felt a thousands times worse than what the mirror told. All I wanted to do was go to sleep, but if Sammy was gonna sit up all night like the emo bitch he was, I couldn’t exactly pass out on him.

It was up to me to fix things, then.

So we were hella screwed.

‘Hey, Sammy,’ I began. Lamely.

He coughed, reaching for his coffee. I could tell this was going to be painful.

‘You finished that cup a half hour ago. OD’ing on caffeine’s a sad way to go, even for you.’

The words jarred even as they tumbled past my teeth, and I winced.

He sighed.

‘Dean, I...’

He trailed off and looked away from me. The silence passed, and I fought down the urge to sock him one. I’d already done that once today, and damned if I was getting as unoriginal as the Demon.

But I’m really not a patient man.

‘Jesus, Dean, you look awful.’

‘You say the sweetest things.’

A strained chuckle fought its way out of his throat, balanced only by the look of sheer misery in the twitch of his lips.

It faded when he looked down to fidget with his pen. His desperation flashed off its shiny metal clip, riding on a sunbeam.

‘If it comes back, I can’t control myself.' A pause, when his tongue flicked out to trace his lips. 'I hurt Jo. I hurt everyone around me. Man, I killed that hunter, and…’ his voice hitched and the rush of words petered off into the hum of the laptop’s battery. ‘I’m dangerous, Dean, and I shot you. I could have killed you!’

I looked at him blankly. If that was the kind of anticlimactic stating of the obvious that got you a full ride to Yale, lawyer-hood and hot college chicks, hey, maybe I ought to apply. Sammy, the disturbingly sensitive telekinetipath that some bitch of a demon spends his days obsessing about suddenly comes over all vulnerable to demonic possession. A six-foot-four-inch Winchester, trained by Dad himself to fillet whatever comes too near and with the ability to move closets with his mind goes dark-side and he tells me he’s dangerous. I have to watch out for him, or he could kill me.

Well, duh.

‘Dean?’

I zoned back into the world in time to catch an anxious Sam clicking his fingers in front of my face.

I pushed the hand away with a frown.

‘Don’t give me that bull. I know you. The person who killed Wandell wasn’t you, just like the guy who got off torturing pretty girls back in St. Louis wasn’t me. You’re not responsible for what that thing made you do back there, Sammy, you’ve got to realise that.’

‘How do you know, Dean? How do you know? We both know I've got some series destiny issues that we have no idea about, who knows if it wasn't really me doing it all? Maybe I meant to hurt those people, and the demon just let me do it. Not knowing when it’s really me, or who I’m going to hurt next, it's screwed up, man! Demon or no, it was my body. It was my hands. It was me.’

His eyes limped across the carpet for a moment, and he looked a little like a drowning man. So I dived in.

I only remembered I couldn't swim as I hit the water.

‘I know it must be hard, not knowing what’s going to happen.’ I could practically feel the pain in my toes as I stumbled along, trying to comfort and console. I looked down at my feet, half expecting to see blood soaking through the ends of my socks. 'But you gotta hang on. We'll get through this, you know, you can't let yourself go just 'cause some demon chick got ahold of you by the cajones. I understand it sucks, but - '

A derisive snort cut short the pep talk.

I looked up. It wasn’t often I tried to make Sam feel better and he usually responded pretty quick, so what I wasn’t expecting was to see his brows creased and his sharp feral teeth coaxing blood from his lip. That meant he was holding back something he knew he shouldn’t say when he knew that I should hear it, and was classic pissed-off Sam.

'Jesus, Dean, that wasn't what I meant.' His voice had that strained laughter to it, the kind that comes free with your special-offer anger and your six-pack of despair. 'For God's sake. I wasn't. That wasn't what I meant at all!'

Running a hand through his hair, he hesitated for the slightest of moments. Then with a growl he grabbed the jacket on the chair next to him and was out the door in two stupidly long strides, banging it shut behind him.

So, on a scale of one to shitsville? My grief counselling was a definite eleven.

I considered going out after him but something warned me that he needed space. Maybe the inner prepubescent schoolgirl in Sam was starting to get to me (or it could have been the way he stalked out and slammed the door), but I had the feeling that if I went chasing after him we wouldn’t end up braiding each other’s hair.

So I’d give him time.

The fact that I didn't think the ache in my body would let me catch him had nothing to do with it at all.

Sammy came back late into the night, to a darkened room with two beds and a broken T.V. and a laptop lamp and a brother hiding in its shadows. I pretended to be asleep as he lay down and pretended too.

If there really is something up there - which, as Sam will tell you, has yet to be established - then I have a suggestion for you. Go crazy and give us a stroke of good luck, just this once, and see what happens. I don’t believe the Winchester karma’s so bad that we don’t deserve some good fortune once in a while.

Not my dad, damned to an eternity of fire and brimstone.

Not my brother, destined to be some mandroid soldier in a demon’s puppet war.

Not my family, ripped to shreds, inside and out.

IV.
I really missed the old days.

Chasing Dad, before he died. Chasing Dad in the Impala, before he died and it got KO’d by Bobby’s truck. Chasing Dad in the Impala with my brother, before he died and it got KO’d and Sammy found something I couldn’t protect him from just to make a point.

Credit-card scams and bikini inspectors. Hustling pool and picking up waitresses. Saving people, hunting things, the family business...

Fuck it. Even that fabric-softener teddy bear.

I was only thinking of the good stuff, I knew. I remembered lollipops and candy canes in a world I understood where a family worked together like the well-oiled machine it always meant to be since the night the firemen came. And I had to laugh at myself. It was like remembering when you were four and you dropped your ice cream on the floor, and you went running to your momma crying like it was the end of the world and not just the end of your double-chocolate dessert.

Except I couldn’t remember running to my momma. And it wasn’t an ice cream I’d dropped, it was one of Caleb’s flash bombs.

I hadn’t been able to see for two hours.

I woke up to a dark room stained orange by streetlamps outside. My skin prickled, and I wondered just how raw Sam’s laptop had to be to pump this much electricity into the air.

The small, rational part of me warned that the room couldn’t be as hot as it felt. The other part of me asked why the walls had transformed into waves of rolling black and green that rippled unsettlingly across my vision. And in between trying to justify why I felt like I was lying inside the world’s biggest Jell-O mould, rationality answered, infection.

The miserable icing on the bad karma cake.

My stomach churned, and lying in bed felt more like lying on frozen iron filings. I was cold and the room was hot and the sheets beneath me were sharp and uncomfortable.

Frowning into the gloom, I tested my shoulder to see how bad it was.

Which turned out to be one of my less brilliant ideas.

A few minutes later I curled back from the basin, folding in on myself as I sagged against the wall. The pain in my shoulder was dying away now, being slowly but surely usurped by a chilly nausea in the pit of my stomach.

It hadn’t always been this bad.

Had it?

I remembered the thrill of the hunt, before I really understood what it meant to stalk and kill and chalk one more tally up against my name in the netherworld’s most wanted. Before I worried about what was waiting on the other side of the coffin lid and not just the other side of the door. Before I realised why Dad kept reminding me to check on Sammy, and why I deserved whatever I got if I didn’t.

I remembered a dad who wasn’t always away, who didn’t always go out smelling of gun oil and come back covered in blood. I remembered looking after Sammy and Sammy looking after me, if he’d had too many late nights studying or I’d just had too many. Our line of work had its cons, sure, but it had its pros too. We saw the world. Learned new skills. Met some interesting people. Killed some interesting things.

It hadn’t always been this bad, but the lines around Sammy’s too-young mouth argued it had, it had, it always fucking had.

I gripped at my shoulder with an unstable hand and tried not to look down. I wasn’t a hundred per cent to begin with, and M&M’s looked a whole lot better when they weren’t floating half-digested in a toilet.

Ice cream and mothers, or flash bombs and monsters. It just depended on the way you looked at it.

Salt, burn, move on out.

I tried not to look at all.

V.
I don’t know how long I was out for. The next thing I knew was a hand under my neck, cradling me into a warmth the coldness of linoleum had long made me forget. A second hand touched my arm, probing with a gentleness that could never belong to a monster, no matter how much it cared about its hair.

It called my name, from a long way away.

Light fingers pulled opened my eye a crack, and I winced into the too-white bathroom.

Sammy’s voice sounded again, distant and indistinct. The warmth shifted underneath me as he slipped an arm behind my back, and I cursed myself for not leaping up and telling him to stop being the overprotective soccer mom he always was.

He was still apologizing for the crap the world threw at him.

I was still fumbling around in the dark, trying to find the switch.

In the distant land of coloured lights and senselessness, I wondered if Aretha wouldn't mind pitching in and praying that being Winchesters would be enough. I wanted to tell Sam that it was, I wanted it so bad that it burned my bones and shocked my nerves and churned me up inside. I wanted to say what was right for him to hear, to dredge the words up that would make it all right again, even though they were so lost on me that I didn't even know if they were actually there or just some sugar-coated ideal that a desperate man imagined, the glimpse of an oasis in the distant desert sands.

The best I could manage was a coughing fit that left me shaking all over, barely able to hear the quiet words mumbled into my ear.

Through glued lids I pictured Sammy kneeling next to me with swabs and antiseptic and fear and patching me up. And it was wrong, oh so wrong - Dean's the driver, Sammy's shotgun, the alliteration's there for a reason.

I shouldn't have been the one on the floor because he's the one who'd just been posessed and killed a man and I'm just someone who happened to get in the way. But it fits the pattern, the broken inverse pyramid of a family that's been upended to top-heavy and unstable, balancing the weight of the world on a tiny pointed base that can't possibly stand much longer.

A laugh bubbled up from somewhere at the image of the human Winchester triangle lolling on its head, and it’s then that I realised I was really losing it. So I swallowed down something hot and bitter in my throat and tried to focus on the voice overhead that was shaking only slightly, and the quiet cold tinkle of glass.

No rubber bullets now

Fri, 19 Jan 2007 09:02:51 GMT

Add me, if you like. ♥

Now I know how Joan of Arc felt

Wed, 13 Dec 2006 22:54:01 GMT

CONGRATULATIONS! You have attained the rank of: not a terrorist! Woo-hoo! I succesfully navigated the American customs obstacle course of doom. Have been reminded that everyone in Havard is really, really hot. Have also been reminded of how beautiful we're all sure Jo will look with her new wonderful hair and how good she apparently is with her new decks, o how glad I am that she is going to be a famous beautiful chic London DJ. This is the point where I add a big appendix to my Why Kant Had Better Be Right About That Bloody Afterlife Thing and prove the non-existence of God.

Go me.

Spending the night with my grandparents was fun. Grandpa was old, mad and completely blind drunk the whole time, and Grandma was old, mad and had the flu. I now suddenly and unaccountably thirsty. Little Miss Sunshine was on the plane. It's amazing. Well, it was until my TV died. Stupid inflight entertainment systems of USELESSNESS.

Feeling particularly graphicsy today. Wooh! Check out some random Dean header that Trisha's already laughed at me for doing when I should have been packing:

More soon, I hope. There's also a wallpaper, but it's basically me going AWOL with my bloodbrushes and it doesn't look that good. Jensen's just far too pretty to waste.

And Iz, you know I'm making you a mix CD for Christmas? Do you want just a 'Lottie Thinks These Songs Are Cool And You Should Listen To Them' or do you want an FST-y themed one? Like about you, or something you like, or whatever? I'm so up for that.

Psst- I think I really like The Smiths. Don't tell anyone!

Maybelline

Tue, 24 Oct 2006 22:56:22 GMT

Everybody! Check out Datarock now! I Used To Dance With My Daddy and Fa Fa Fa are the best, because I say so. And I have decided that House 9's anthem is tuly Pendulum's Blood Sugar.

Icons, icons, icons. Go me! Check out my new icon, which is teh smexx. I made some Supernatural icons too (some of them are even of Sammy! Shock). I call them The Colourful Bases and Dotted Text Batch because I am original. And I'm pretty proud of the colouring, considering most of my screencaps look like this.

Plus, I get triple points for typing in mittens.

See I'm standing in the foothill

Sun, 22 Oct 2006 20:47:42 GMT

America is cold. America is pumpkin central. America is the only place in the world you can find signs with the words HUNGRY HUNGRY GAGAMOOS written on them for no apparent reason.

And I have Internet. What a novelty.

Bought a cool issue of NME at the airport. Has Panic! on the front. Has lots of cool bands I've never heard of that I am having great fun investigating. Radiohead is cool, BOC too, but I need something new. Corey Taylor from Slipknot is amsuingly normal. We Are The Physics is awesome. But Peaches is a ho.

Practically broke down at Customs, though. Stupid Feds. And their stupid paranoia. And their stupid forms which nobody tells you anything about until you get to the desk and they're all, what is the purpose of your visit, did you bring any moths, did you bring any meat, did you bring any armed nuclear warheads or letters from Bin Laden?

HEAVEN FORBID THAT YOU BRING ANY SNAILS. GASTROPODS OF THE GRAVE. FOUR HERMAPHRODITES OF THE APOCALYPSE. THEY WILL MOLLUSC YOU TO DEATH.

But lots of Dean angst. So much Dangst, in fact, that I'm beginning to think that the Impala scene could spawn a whole new series on its own titled Assurances of the Previously Known, subtitle, Dean Winchester Is A Little Fucked Up.

I wish I could write good Dean fic. But it always just starts off with Dean wanting to kick the shit out of something, and then disintegrates into a rant about how awesome he is.

Oh well.

Something ugly this way comes

Thu, 31 Aug 2006 04:31:26 GMT

OMG! I've just been brainstorming over the best idea, ever! EVAR!!!

Boring laptop, huh. At first I thought, hey, let's just get a colourful decal from DecalGirl or Shtickers or something, but then,

this.

WHITE MOONBASE ALPHA LAPTOP IT IS WHITE AND SPACE AGE AND HAS GREEK LETTERS IN IT SO IT MUST BE HI-TECH AND NERDY. So, so, that's a bit much, a bit too 3D, a bit more show than use, but the space station idea's awesome. And I. Just. Love. The. Keyboard.

SO LET'S MAKE ONE OURSELVES, AND EVEN BETTER, WOOO!

So first I was thinking, huh, how about a white top and an industrial, textured sticker in the middle to spice it up a bit. Then saw this and was inspired. ROCK ON THE STENCILS. Spent like, four hours trying to find some good ones, failed miserably as all stencils are apparently of bluebells or horrible Victorian acanthus leaves, and decided to make one myself. Think I'm going with the Star Trek logo, simple, chic, retro, right? Mum wrinkled her nose at the idea of the Great Luke Ski on my computer, had to rethink that, but I still think the stencil's awesome, and it took me long enough, too.

Lovely long-legged Luke, WHO'S THE DADDY??? Maybe I'll make a t-shirt out of it or something. Or put it on my Physics file. We learnt about spray paint for GCSE, so I suppose it would be half relevant.

I'll take off the keys, couple, triple coats of white spray paint, done, right? 'Cept, the paint'll cover up the letters, so I was looking all over the place for some keytop stickers, found some yellow and black, found some Spongebob Squarepants, found some transparent, found these. Flipping SPACE AGE. STAR TREK ITSELF. OMG, HOW MUCH COOLER COULD IT GET. Picture's of white, I'm getting black, it'll look amazing.

...Probably.

So, iPod's pretty much bust, but I'm too psyched about this idea to be too bothered. Gonna see SOAP with Dad tomorrow, see if I can drag him to the craft shop too to get the stuff I need, thinking of buying roller skates, things are just fine, fine, fine. Slightly over the top because of not sleeping as much as I should, but dude. I hope this customisation works out okay and I don't screw up and the laptop doesn't work anymore. That would kinda suck.

But if I do pull it off, I'm totally pimping it to people in school and insinuating that if they wanted theirs customised, someone's happy to oblige, well, for a price.

Oh yeah, in my dream last night, a reaper gave me a piece of frayed green string in my grandparent's house and told me I was gonna die painfully, eaten by huge lizards with sharp pointy teeth. Spent the rest of the night trying to figure out how to save myself from said terrible fate. And then there was something about infiltrating a spa, some wizard chick and climbing up a wooden elevator shaft.

Whatever.

ART AND CREATIVITY! :D

Sic transit gloria mundi

Mon, 28 Aug 2006 21:48:43 GMT

Having issues with miPod again. Well, actually this time it's not the iPod but the computer connection - first I thought it was a USB 1.1 versus 2.0 fault, then after extensive Internet surfage I realised it was a FireWire versus USB anything-point-anything that's the problem.

I get a tremendous satisfaction knowing that my iPod is now mechanically obsolete.

Point is, I stick my the thing into the laptop and it's recognised fine but the system leeches battery from the iPod and within, say, three and a half minutes the iPod shuts up shop. Charges perfectly well in the dock, though, so I know it's not just being an Apple product and therefore being rubbish. So tomorrow Dad and I are going downtown to see if we can get a FireWire PCI adator card in the well-informed hopes of answering my sync-and-charge problems.

So obviously, the only thing to do while I'm pining for said card is to indulge in mindless memes stolen from snowmadder and rec fic.

the Helper
You chose CX - your Enneagram type is TWO.
"I must help others." - Helpers are warm, concerned, nurturing, and sensitive to other people's needs.

How to Get Along with Me
- tell me that you appreciate me. Be specific.
- share fun times with me.
- take an interest in my problems, though I will probably try to focus on yours.
- let me know that I am important and special to you.
- be gentle if you decide to criticize me.

In Intimate Relationships
- reassure me that I am interesting to you.
- assure me often that you love me.
- tell me I'm attractive and that you're glad to be seen with me.

What I Like About Being a Two
- being able to relate easily to people and to make friends
- knowing what people need and being able to make their lives better
- being generous, caring, and warm
- being sensitive to and perceptive about others' feelings
- being enthusiastic and fun-loving, and having a good sense of humor

What's Hard About Being a Two
- not being able to say no
- having low self-esteem
- feeling drained from overdoing for others
- not doing things I really like to do for myself for fear of being selfish
- criticizing myself for not feeling as loving as I think I should
- being upset that others don't tune in to me as much as I tume in to them
- working so hard to be tactful and considerate that I suppress my real feelings

Twos as Children Often
- are very sensitive to disapproval and criticism
- try hard to please their parents by being helpful and understanding
- are outwardly compliant
- are popular or try to be popular with other children
- act coy, precocious, or dramatic in order to get attention
- are clowns and jokers (the more extroverted Twos), or quiet and shy (the more introverted Twos)

Twos as Parents
- are good listeners, love their children unconditionally, and are warm and encouraging (or suffer guilt if they aren't)
- are often playful with their children
- wonder: "Am I doing it right?" "Am I giving enough?" "Have I caused irreparable damage?"
- can become fiercely protective

Link: The Quick & Painless ENNEAGRAM Test.

Fic-wise, well, most of the stuff I've bookmarked is done for idea-sparking, not for great writing. Thus I shall only share a few pieces which I think are absolutely tip-top stuff, boys.

Busted
My concession to the greatness of Ray Kowalski. This is a bit of a marathon to read and so it's probably not that great a choice for someone who's never watch dS. But the characterisation of Ray is unbelievable, so I guess freakish_geek, this one's for you.

I'm AWOL, MIA, on the lam, and my skin feels itchy, like there are people after me. Far as I know, though, Canada doesn't have any kind of medical extradition treaty with rehab hospitals, so that's just paranoia kicking in, and when the guy with the bomber jacket comes over to me, I reach down and grab the duffel bag.

Ain't Scared of Lightning (The Life and Times of Dean Winchester)
Probably my all-time favourite Dean fic. Because of the lettuce analogy. And because of the Luke fucking Skywalker conversation. And because of Dean's inability to understand why exploding fireball bullets don't interest his brother. I love this thing.

Dean thinks he's the lettuce. If his father's the bacon, all tough and brittle and burnt around the edges, and Sam's the tomato, sort of squishy except for that one part of skin that can't be cut no matter which knife you pull from the drawer, then that makes Dean the lettuce, there to keep the bacon and the tomato apart, because, really, who wants to eat squishy, brittle bacon and pig-flavored tomato?

Sic Transit Gloria
I have read this stupid fic like, way too many times. It is the second most-depressing Dean fic I have, from the title alluding to the prase nothing on Earth is permanent to the super cheerupemokid angst of Dean, did I mention the emo. It even gives a fairly sympathetic portrayal of Sammy.

"Yeah, of course," he said softly. "Do... do you want anything?"
I want a lot of things, I wanted to say.
"No," is what I did.

I love hurt!fic. And I would totally rec you all Spirk, because it is sweet and innocent and retro, but I'd probably get a shoe thrown at me. As far as Supernatural is concerned, all I need to do now is find one titled Sam the American Ungulate and I'm sorted.

Mooooose.

For the world is hollow and I have touched the sky

Sun, 27 Aug 2006 06:49:25 GMT

PS, the colour is so much nicer on my computer. Obviously ImageShack has issues with .jpg files and wants me to use .png from now on, or something. It's only, like, the most commonly used file format for pictures. Anyway, check out the Winchester music love and the hot journal the layout pixies gave to me. NOTE TO PIXIES: I wish it to be known that I kept up the layout for as long as possible, but that it was slightly impairing my ability to read anything. But your HTML is impressive, and it is lovely, so I have saved it regardless of practicality.

And I have joined the Mages and Fighters Guild, as well as having been invited to the Dark Brotherhood, and am ten levels better than Dad. Har har.

Totally getting better at the hair.
Second black and white is nice.

I have been watching too much Star Trek. We were discussing the parallels of The Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet a few days ago and I was paying little enough attention to what I was saying to remark, oh yeah, that's just like those two feuding families, the Capulets and the Romulans.

Never did like the stupid Montagues anyway.

The upside is that I've been more eager to finish The Physics of Star Trek, which is an absolutely fascinating breakdown of all the technology aboard all Federation starships, even if it's only mentioned Captain Kirk once so far. Thus preceedeth physics ramblings that need to be written down somewhere but you are perfectly exempt from reading, except maybe Shosto, because we're cool like that. Everytime I try to enthuse about it to my parents they give me this weird maybe-we-should-DNA-test-for-parenthood look which is decidedly undeserved.

Wormholes are likened to a piece of bent MDF and connect points A and B when formed, making them very close together. All well and good, you say, until you realise that before the wormhole existed A and B were very very far away from one another and it was only the wormhole, a sudden addendum to the fabric of the universe, that made them close together - and, of course, that the moment the hole closes (as all wormholes are unstable), the points will once again be very far apart.

Blackholes are also a particularly mind-boggling subject to touch upon - did you know we could be living inside a black hole right now, slowing spiralling towards a quantum singularity where the undulation of spacetime becomes infinitely sharp and we will all be crushed into nothingness? To boot, to an outside observer such as God it would appear that anything within said black hole is frozen in time due to a blackhole's bending light, altering the rate at which clocks tick and thereby stopping time (all thanks to Einstein's special relativity).

The optimistic prediction that by the twenty-third century (assuming that extrapolating the data from the advance of the common PC over the few decades will be an accurate prediction as to the advance of technology until that time) Scotty's transporter may indeed by possible is an awesome prospect. Even if the energy required to break down the body into its constituent atoms is equivalent to 100 1-megatonne hydrogen bombs and that's just for one human's data. And that, should the transporter ever actually work, it would be the ultimate proof of the nonexistence of a soul and thus the death-blow to many well-established religions.

Oh yeah. And warp drive. Think of spacetime, and then think... of a trampoline. A trampoline that, by contracting and expanding various different parts of the universe by way of gigantic magnetic fields, could almost instantaneously move a starship many many lightyears whilst avoiding both the issue of near-light-speed travel and the impossibility of rocket-propelled motion in order to reach such speed. And it's a physical possibility. How. Cool. Is. That.

I haven't even got onto dilithiam crystals yet. If you're nice to me, maybe I'll draw you a diagram. X)

Holiday! First few days spent at Indian Head Resort in the mountains, where we met some sweet Ukrainian waiter who accidentally started speaking in an English accent after serving us and pulled weird Ukrainian faces in response to the awful country singer next door. Yadda yadda yadda, Something to do with nature - I kinda zoned out on that one - and a pedalo or two. Then we drove down to Bar Harbor in Maine where lobster was consumed and we went to the secret island in the sea which is only accessible for a few hours each day, and should by all rights be the home of blood-thirsty zombies and hot teenagers in various stages of undress, but wasn't. Again with the nature thing, but I wouldn't know.

Tired. But in a good way, I guess. ♥

The Killing Time

Fri, 18 Aug 2006 06:22:35 GMT

We now have a reliable Internet connection, complete with telephone and working TV. So to celebrate our reconnection to the world, we're going camping.

...

Have spent most of my Internetless-time trying to forget about the angry man on eBay and saving the world of Cyrodiil from the impending Daedric invasion in Oblivion. Well done Dad for buying it. Though I still can't find any of that damn brandy, not even in the mages guild. >[

Supernatural was on at nine, which is eleven shades of awesome. Even though I had to miss most of it to finish watching Harry Potter with Rosie, 'cause it would've given her nightmares and she had to go to bed. I feel sullied and unusual (despite the fact that the HP movies are actually quite good, shh).

Plus, Jared's practically porning with the Woman-in-White, hah hah, but just what the fuck. Is Jensen doing. With Bloody Mary. Rage.

September 28th.

Ye gods.

Now get the hell away from him.

Cyrillic Brandy

Thu, 17 Aug 2006 20:22:46 GMT

By now, the exams all pan out with the same numbing inevitability as they do every year. At least in the circles we move in.

Blah blah exams blah, Internet blah, lack of, blah blah, congrats on everyone who knows they did well/is denying they did well and I had to get up at some godforsaken time in the morning to get my results (Boston blah), so I think I should get an extra pat on the back. For being great. And conscious. 'N stuff.

And well done Trisha, for getting full marks in English and/or RS, and if I hear you bemoan your appalling performance in either subject's exam again, strange luck-bringing ritual or no, I swear I'm gonna kill yer.

Clap clap. Etc.

The son and air

Wed, 26 Jul 2006 09:58:54 GMT

So, off to WOMAD tomorrow. At dawn, apparently. My parents are so full of good ideas these days.

Oh! But, due to the fact that I have, like, nothing in this country anymore - we've been living with three spoons between us for the past two days - I've got better at guitar. That is, I've learned more songs, is that the same thing? Incubus' Southern Girl, The Bluetones' Last of the Great Navigators, Blue Oyster Cult's Don't Fear (The Reaper), Elliot Smith's Memory Lane and most of Oasis, because I swear they only use, like, three chords in all their songs ever.

Yeah. Cappos ROCKASSMON. And I got an invite to join a members-only Clex community where artists illustrate scenes from fanfiction, which is cool. And speaking of art (notice my seamless transmission from one topic to another):

Awhn, I've been feeling so arty these days, but not only do we have NO PENCILS or anything, but we've also sent our printer/scanner somewhere so even if I did draw something, I couldn't mess about with it afterwards. :( BUT OMG LOTTIE DREW JING? AGAIN? Sorry everyone, it looks like I have some psychological link with this guy which means every 12 months or so I have to rehash him or, er, face the consequences. So yeah. Hair is a bitch to colour, I hate it I hate it I hate it so much that I didn't bother with it, did I mention the extra pint of HATE for the weekend which I'm going to have with my poHATEo chips. :D

But my clothes and skin colouring is getting better, I think. And I really like the black and white, anyway. :3

Also, because I'm really cool, I made Dean's EMF/Walkman from scratch for an FST cover. Using only reference and this lame excuse for a Supernatural cap, I'm proud of it, and it's not finished so when it is it'll have the playlist of the FST and the lights will flicker sequentially like the thing's reacting to some supernatural goings-on because IN NO WAY AM I A SAD FRIENDLESS NERD. It looks like the real thing! Well, if Dean's EMF really does look like a Walkman TCD-D3 with police sirens stuck on the top. :D

But yeah. I'll have no Internet for a while. Try to hold back your tears.

Married with children

Sun, 23 Jul 2006 19:22:31 GMT

I had an altercation with a moth last night. A big, black, meaty mofo. It was like Moths in da Hood, I swear, if I'd looked closer I bet he'd have been covered in spray paint and tattoos. Of machetes. In bandanas. 'N stuff.

eBay made me £120, though, which is cool. Plus, messing 'round with e-cards is incredible.

And I have S3 of due South, which always makes me happy. Kowalski is amazing, shake bad guys shake, and Fraser's practically badass compared to earlier series. And Spy vs. Spy is like, one of the funniest episodes I've seen. Not least because Nero Wolfe is the road-raging secret agent driver who kept kicking Benny and Ray out onto some poor guy's stereo and I frickin' love it when my fandoms collide.

The 'Mountie at the Opera' thing, with gratuitous ballet. Aha. Ha. Ha.

But yeah. That moth. Son of a bitch.

Maverick

Wed, 12 Jul 2006 21:19:48 GMT

Sammy, just for you an' those CDs.

225MB, though, so make sure your laptop can handle it.

Get me out

Mon, 10 Jul 2006 16:05:50 GMT

OK, so life sucks hard. BUT WE HAVE TRANSCRIPTS, OH YES WE DO. And this is, like, a spoiler fest, so watch out. I love Dean.

In My Time Of Dying, begin page 22 of script (pages 22-28). “In My Time of Dying” Studio Draft, episode 2.01.
CLOSE ON DEAN. Watching this bizarre scene. Disturbed.

WOUNDED MAN: Don’t let me die –

Then Dean has a surprised reaction – to what, we don’t know. Until we gaze at the hospital bed again – it’s EMPTY. Clean. Spotless. We didn’t see it, but the man VANISHED. Dean backs up. Digests this. Tries to make sense of it. When he hears a voice behind him. Coming from down the hall. The voice is panicked –

WOMAN’S VOICE: Can’t you see me?! Why won’t you look at me?
DEAN (he pivots): Now what?

Dean moves toward the voice.

INT. AROUND THE CORNER – Afternoon
A stunning, raven-haired YOUNG WOMAN, 20’s. TESSA. People pass by. Scared, Tessa turns to them, desperate for help. But they ignore her … which only frightens her further.

TESSA: Somebody talk to me. Just something! Please!

Dean approaches. Walks right up to her. He takes her arms.

DEAN: Whoa. Take it easy.
TESSA: You can see me?
DEAN: I can see you fine, okay? Just… calm down. What’s your name?
TESSA: …Tessa.
DEAN: Okay, good. Tessa, I’m Dean.
TESSA: What’s happening to me? Am I … am I dead?
DEAN: Um. That sorta depends.

INT. Hallway – outside Tessa’s Room – Afternoon
We notice the number beside the door: 4747. Dean and Tessa stand just outside, looking into –

INT. Tessa’s Room – Afternoon
The mood is dim, intimate. Tessa’s body, in bed. Comatose; on life support. Heart monitor beeps. Flowers, cards, gift-store bought stuffed animals littered about. And sitting beside the bed: Tessa’s Mother, 50. Holding her daughter’s hand.

INT. Hallway – just outside Tessa’s room – Afternoon
TESSA: Mom? Mom?
DEAN: Well. You’re not dead… but you’re not exactly jumping jacks, either.
TESSA: I don’t understand. I just came in for an appendectomy.
DEAN: Hate to bear bad news… but I think there were some complications.
TESSA: I’m dreaming. That’s all. This is just a very weird… unbelievably vivid… dream.
DEAN: Tessa. You ever hear of out-of-body experiences?
TESSA (still shaken): What are you, some New Age-y guy?
DEAN: You see me dickin’ with crystals and Yanni? It’s actually a really old idea. Basically, we’re spirits – of people close to death. Kinda like a lay-over between life and death.
TESSA: So we’re gonna die?
DEAN (comforting): No. Not if you hold on. Our bodies can get better, we can snap right back in there and wake up.
TESSA: How do you know this stuff?
DEAN: It’s sorta my job.
TESSA: Your job?
DEAN: My family and me … we hunt down spirits and things.
TESSA (you’re crazy): You’re joking.
DEAN: Really? Odd time for skepticism, don’t you think?
TESSA (after a beat): Good point.

INT. John’s Hospital Room – Afternoon
John in bed. Sam stands before him.

JOHN: What do you mean, you felt something?
SAM: I mean it felt like… Dean. Like he was there, just out of eyeshot. I don’t know, maybe it’s my psychic thing?

CLOSE ON JOHN. He has a veiled reaction to this. There’s more here than he’s letting on.

JOHN: Maybe.
SAM: Well, there’s one way to find out.

Sam heads for the door.

JOHN: Where are you going?
SAM: I’ll be back. I gotta pick up something.
JOHN: Sam. Wait.

Sam stops. Turns.

JOHN: … I … I know you don’t believe me … but you boys really are the most important things in my life. (beat) And I swear. I won’t hunt the Demon. Not until we figure out how to help Dean.

A beat. Then Sam gives his father a grateful nod.

INT. ANOTHER HOSPITAL HALLWAY – THAT NIGHT
Dean and Tessa walk the halls. Dean is back on the hunt. Eyes everywhere. Searching for this Black Phantom –

TESSA: … so this thing you’re looking for … what is it?
DEAN: I don’t know for sure. But it killed a nurse, it tried to kill me. And that pisses me off.
TESSA (a shiver): It could come for me, too, couldn’t it?

Dean throws her a come hither look. In his best action-hero impression.

DEAN: Don’t worry. I won’t let it.
TESSA (bemused): What was that?
DEAN: What was what?
TESSA: Are you … trying to flirt?
DEAN: No. Of course not.

They both walk the hall in silence. A long beat. Then –

DEAN: It’s just … you know … we might be dead tomorrow.
TESSA: I can’t believe you’re stooping to the “mortality” pitch. So you’re saying … even though I don’t know you from Adam, we should go find ourselves an empty bed…
DEAN: I wouldn’t put it like that, I mean…
TESSA: Not a bad idea, actually. If you play your cards right.
DEAN: Really?

Tessa gives him a charming smile. Walks ahead. Dean takes a moment – he digs this girl. Then he catches up.

DEAN: I gotta tell you. I’m pretty impressed.
TESSA: With what?
DEAN: You. Most people in your spot… they’d be Jell-O by now. But you’re taking this okay. Hell, maybe a little better than me.

Tessa takes a thoughtful beat.

TESSA: Don’t get me wrong. I was pretty freaked at first. But now, I dunno…maybe I’m…dealing.
DEAN: You’re okay with dying?
TESSA: No, of course not. But…you ever been in AA?
DEAN: Um. Kind of a non-sequiter, but no, I haven’t.
TESSA: I was once. Long story. But they have this prayer: “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I can’t change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference.” I just think… whatever’s gonna happen’s gonna happen. It’s out of my control. It’s just…fate.

Long beat. Dean takes this in –

DEAN: That’s crap. There’s always a choice. You can roll over and die… or you can keep fighting. No matter –

Just then… another group of nurses race past Dean and Tessa. Sprinting down the hall. This can’t be good news. Alarmed, Dean begins to follow. Leaving Tessa behind.

TESSA: Dean…? Where you going?

Dean breaks into a run. Chasing the nurses –

DEAN: Just wait here!

INT. HALLWAY – AROUND THE CORNER – NIGHT
Dean sprints around the corner…races up the hall. He looks around for the nurses… doesn’t see them at first… then spots a doctor racing into a particular room – Dean scrambles for the room, too. As he steps inside…

INT. GIRL’S HOSPITAL ROOM – NIGHT
… we suddenly see the condensation in Dean’s breath. As he takes in the sight of … a little girl, 10. Unconscious. Flat-Lining. Doctors, nurses. They’ve been performing CPR, but now they remove the black AMBU BAG from the girl’s face, and pause –

Doctor # 2: Give me another amp of epi!

Then…the Black Swirling Phantom. It suddenly materializes over the little girl’s bed. Out of thin air. Off Dean’s fear –
(Blackout) Ending script page 28. Begin page 33 of studio script (pages 33-34)

SAM: But, I got the journal, maybe there’s something in here.

Sam sets the journal on the table, leans over it, begins to flip pages. He lands on a scribbled entry – “REAPERS.” Sam begins to read, silent. Dean watches his brother. Takes a warm, grateful beat.

DEAN: Thanks for not giving up on me, Sammy.

Dean steps over, peers over Sam’s shoulder. After a beat or two… Dean reads something. A light bulb moment.

DEAN: Sonofabitch.

INT. HALLWAY – JUST OUTSIDE TESSA’S ROOM – NIGHT – LATER
Dean heads past the number written beside the door. 4747. He continues to the open doorway. Looking into –

INT. TESSA’S ROOM – NIGHT
The room is empty. No cards. No flowers. No Mother. Just an empty bed – and Tessa. Sitting on it. She gives Dean a soft, gentle smile. And, indeed, her demeanor’s changed; gone is the “real world” young woman. Replaced with someone somehow…different. Almost alien, in a way. Someone with great wisdom. Compassion. Honesty.

TESSA: Hi, Dean.
DEAN: I’ll tell you, you learn something new every day. For instance… did you know Reapers can alter human perception? I sure didn’t. Basically, they can make themselves appear however they want. Like, say, a pretty girl. And you are much prettier than the last Reaper I met.
TESSA: I was wondering when you’d figure it out.
DEAN: I should’ve known. That whole “accepting fate” rap of yours. Way too laid back for a dead chick. And you Mother? That body I saw?
TESSA (with a shrug): It’s my sandbox. I can make you see whatever I want.
DEAN: So, what, this a turn on for you? Playing games? Conning me?
TESSA: You didn’t give me much choice. You saw my true form and you flipped out. Which kind of hurts a girl’s feelings. This was the only way I could get you to talk to me.
DEAN: Okay. Fine. We’re talking. What the hell do you wanna talk about?
TESSA: How Death is nothing to fear.

Tessa rises. Approaches Dean. Brushes his cheek with her hand. Gentle. Warm. It’s almost seductive.

TESSA: And how it’s your time to go.

INT. HOSPITAL – BASEMENT BOILER ROOM – NIGHT
CLOSE ON: a small, metallic bowl, filled with a strange sulfuric powder. Then a glob of crimson blood splashes into the bowl. Then another.

JOHN: **speaks in Latin for a couple or so sentences**

End studio script page 34. Begin script page 37. (pages 37-39)

INT. DEAN’S HOSPITAL ROOM – NIGHT
The Ouija Board, abandoned on the floor. Sam stands over Dean’s body. Distraught. He looks to the room –

SAM: Dean… are you here? (beat) I couldn’t find anything in the book. I … I don’t know how to help you. But, I’ll keep trying, if you keep fighting. (an attempt at humor) I mean, come on, you can’t leave me here, alone with Dad. We’ll kill each other. (with emotion) Dean. You gotta hold on. You can’t go. Not now. We were just getting to be brothers again. (beat) Can you hear me?

WIDE ON THE ROOM: Dean isn’t there. Dean can’t hear him.

INT. TESSA’S ROOM – NIGHT
DEAN: Look. I’m sure you get this a lot. But you gotta make an exception, cut me a break.
TESSA: Stage three. Bargaining.
DEAN: I’m serious. My family’s in danger. We’re kind of in the middle of this … war. They need me.
TESSA: The fight is over.
DEAN: No, it isn’t –
TESSA: It is for you. Dean, you’re not the first soldier I’ve plucked from the field. They all feel the same – they can’t go; they’re indispensable; victory hangs in the balance. But they’re wrong. The battle goes on. The world keeps spinning without ‘em.

With pleading, raw, heartfelt emotion –

DEAN: Please. My brother could die without me.
TESSA: Maybe he will. Maybe he won’t. Nothing you can do about it.

Dean turns away. Tessa takes a step to him.

TESSA: It’s a warrior’s death. Honorable, one of the best you can have.
DEAN: I’ll pass on my 72 virgins, thanks. I’m not really into prude chicks, anyway.

She gives him a warm smile.

TESSA: That’s funny. You’re very cute.
DEAN (temperature rising): There’s no such thing as an honorable death. Okay? I’m just gonna rot in the ground, and my family’s gonna die. (with resolve) No. I’m not going. I don’t care what you do.
TESSA: Well. Like you said before. There’s always a choice. I can’t make you come with me. (then) Actually, you met someone who chose the same thing.

Dean thinks, then puts it together –

DEAN: … that guy with the bloody chest? The bullet wounds?
TESSA: Look. You’re not getting back in your body, that’s just the facts. So, yes, you can be like him. You’ll stay here for years. Disembodied. Scared. Confused. Eventually, you’ll grow angry. Then enraged. Over decades, it’ll probably drive you drive you mad. Maybe you’ll even get violent.
DEAN: What are you saying?
TESSA: Dean. How do you think angry spirits are born? They can’t let go and they can’t move on. And you’re about to become one. The very thing you hunt.

Off Dean –

INT. HOSPITAL – BASEMENT BOILER ROOM – NIGHT
JANITOR: It’s very unseemly. Making deals with devils. (then) How do I know this isn’t another trick?
JOHN: This is no trick. I’ll give you the Colt and the bullet. But you gotta help Dean. You gotta bring him back.
JANITOR: Why, John. You’re a sentimentalist. If your boys knew how much Daddy loved them.
JOHN: This is a good trade. You care a lot more about that gun than Dean.

End Studio Script page 39. Begin script page 41 (pages 41-42)

JANITOR: No. Not yet. You still need to sweeten the pot.
JOHN: With what?
JANITOR: There’s something else I want. As much as the gun. Maybe more.

INT. TESSA’S ROOM – NIGHT
Dean sits on the edge of the bed. Tessa approaches from behind. Pets his head. It’s tender and tempting, sweet and sexual, all at the same time.

TESSA: You don’t think I can see it?
DEAN: See what?
TESSA: Beneath the bravado? All that pain and hurt and suffering? You’re tired, Dean. You’ve had to bear so much… more than almost anyone. (beat) It’s time to rest. It’s time to put the pain behind you.
DEAN: And go where?
TESSA (with a warm smile): You think I’m giving away the big punch line?

Dean sits. Thinking.

TESSA: Moment of truth. You only get one shot at this. No changing your mind later. So what’s it gonna be?

CLOSE ON DEAN. Conflicted emotions flicker across his face. We have no idea what choice he’s going to make. Then… he looks up… ready to give an answer … when – the room lights flicker with buzzing static snaps. Dean notices. Tessa, too. Both equally confused –

DEAN: What are you doing that for?
TESSA: I’m not doing it.

Suddenly, from the floor vent – a Viscous Black Smoke darts into the room. Fast. Tendrils swirling and criss-crossing through the air.

DEAN: What the hell?

The black smoke attacks Tessa – surging around her. She backs away, shouts out, in terrible pain!

TESSA: You can’t do this! Get away!
DEAN: What’s happening?!

The black smoke forces itself inside Tessa’s open, screaming mouth. Invading her body. (pretty much the opposite of Meg’s exorcism in “Devil’s Trap.”) After the last of it flutters inside … Tessa abruptly stops screaming. She looks at Dean. With a slight, sly smile. And glowing yellow eyes. With an entirely different demeanor –

TESSA: Today’s your lucky day, kid.

Tessa plants her palm against Dean’s forehead –

INT. DEAN’S HOSPITAL ROOM – NIGHT
Sam stands over Dean’s body. When Dean suddenly wakes with a sudden, scary, violent heaving gasp!

SAM: Dean!

Dean’s choking. Gripping the tube that’s wedged halfway down his throat.
(Continued.) End script page 42.

Thank goodness they decided to forego all the getting-them-back-alive crap. I hate arcs like that.

Dear Dean

Fri, 07 Jul 2006 22:51:48 GMT

I have a new phone and it is hot. And not, like, crafted in the stoneage by cavemen. I was thinking, maybe I could allot a song to all of you on my caller list so when you rang me it'd be like, oh, this is so-and-so's and my song, let's pick it up and see how she is. I don't know, I just thought it would be cool. So, do you have any suggestions as to what song I should give you or give someone else?

Charlotte: I have no idea. Unless you want me to put w-inds. on my phone for you. XP
Dad: Young Guns by Wham!, because we have this thing. And he's just really gay like a really gay thing.
Elisha: Now what sums up Elisha? X))))
Izzy: XTC's The Man Who Murdered Love, because you would just not shut up about it for ages and it makes me laugh. Go you! :D
Shosto: Breaking the Habit by Linkin Park? We must have a few songs we feel are 'ours', I've just forgotten them. Help me out?
Jo: Uhh...
Laura: This Love by Maroon 5, because they are one of the very very few bands we agree on. Or can you think of more?
Mumu: Friday I'm In Love by The Cure, because it's one of mum's favourite songs.
Slaine: ~~Why am I thinking Placebo? What do you listen to, girl?~~ THE TIMEWARP OMG YESSS.
Tasha: Rollercoaster by Everything But The Girl? Or Duvet by Boa, perhaps? Or even Remy Zero's Yellow Light, or Freezepop's Emotions and Photons for Roswell's sake? Breathe Me by Sia? Or maybe something by Muse?
Trisha: Back in Black by ACDC, because it has a better opening riff than Highway to Hell and screams Supernatural? Or OK Go's Get Over It, or P!@TD's I Write Sins Not Tragedies.

Please throw suggestions at me, and for those of you not on this list, by all means add my number to your phone. X) I want songs that have good beginnings rather than choruses or whatever, because I'm not going to be waiting around for that amazing key change in the third verse before I pick up the phone.

So tell me - what should my ring tone be? What is the song that epitomises me? This should be good. If nothing else, please answer this.

I was thinking: Local God by Everclear? Mr. Scruff's Spandex Man? Barry Gray's Thunderbirds? The Bluetones' Blood Bubble? Temposharks' Neon?? Rammstein's (yes, the Nazis) Engel? Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea by Frank Sinatra? Butterfly Wings by Machines of Loving Grace? Miyavi's Girls, Be Ambitious? Scritti Politti's Die Alone or Philosophy Now? Pearl Jam's Evenflow? Maybe Heat's The Heat Is On, because that roxxasss. Or Shitasaki 3-Pun Size, Yuganda Kagami, A.I.NO.KA.WA.KI, Mama ga..., Kill Kill Maim, Digitable NiuNiu, Wazurai, Tenpu, Mad Man Dance, Muchi Naru Dark, Pop Group, or Jyuunkan no Neiro by Cali Gari, because they are just the most awesome band evar.

So yeah. I have a new number, which is: 07795-006246. Add me, or you suck.

The beast has come to steal your heart

Tue, 04 Jul 2006 00:46:57 GMT

Shh, don't tell anyone (because somebody's very behind on her requests) but here's Laura's Dresdon Dolls layout. Using their Glass Slipper lyrics. Cut and paste it into your overrides and set your font color to black and you're ready to go. Hope it's what you wanted, I vaguely remember something about the DDs and it having to be lighter, but it wouldn't be the first time I got something wrong.

FRIENDS_HEAD<=
<style type="text/css">
<!--
table table tr.caption td.index{
visibility:hidden
}

table table tr.caption td.caption{
visibility:visible
}
-->
</style>

body {
overflow-x: hidden;
margin-top: 1;
}

body {
background-color:white;
background-repeat: no-repeat;
}

table {
width: 396px;
margin-left: 300px;
margin-right: 100%;
}
table table {
width: 100%;
margin:0;
}
table table table {
width: auto;
}

.shadowed td div{
visibility: hidden;
position: absolute;
top: 1px
}
-->
</style>
<style type="text/css">

</style>
<=FRIENDS_HEAD

FRIENDS_WEBSITE<=
<tr> <td class="meta" colspan="9">  <table><tr> <td class="meta" align="center"></font></table>

table {
margin-left: 310px;
}
.shadowed td div {
position: absolute;
top: 1px
}
-->
</style>

<div style="position:absolute; top:312; left: 230; width:400; height:60; visibility: visible; text-align: right; z-index: 10;">
<a href="http://superblynothing.livejournal.com/profile/">information</a> × <a href="http://superblynothing.livejournal.com/">entries</a> × <a href="http://superblynothing.livejournal.com/friends/">friends</a> × <a href="http://superblynothing.livejournal.com/calendar/">calendar</a> × <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=superblynothing">memories</a>
</font></div>

table {
margin-left: 310px;
}
.shadowed td div {
position: absolute;
top: 1px
}
-->
</style>
<=FRIENDS_WEBSITE

LASTN_HEAD<=
<style type="text/css">
<!--
table table tr.caption td.index{
visibility:hidden
}

table table tr.caption td.caption{
visibility:visible
}
-->
</style>

body {
overflow-x: hidden;
margin-top: 1;
}

body {
background-color:white;
background-repeat: no-repeat;
}

table {
width: 396px;
margin-left: 300px;
margin-right: 100%;
}
table table {
width: 100%;
margin:0;
}
table table table {
width: auto;
}

.shadowed td div{
visibility: hidden;
position: absolute;
top: 1px
}
-->
</style>
<style type="text/css">

</style>
<=LASTN_HEAD

CALENDAR_HEAD<=
<style type="text/css">
<!--
table table tr.caption td.index{
visibility:hidden
}

table table tr.caption td.caption{
visibility:visible
}
-->
</style>

body {
overflow-x: hidden;
margin-top: 1;
}

body {
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The computer's going tomorrow morning, along with my CDs and stereo and DVDs and other reasons to go on living. So if you don't hear from me in a while, don't get all worked up and send out search parties because I will already be dead. Goodnight and good luck and good God there had better still be Internet or I'm gonna go and kick some ass, Winchester style.

There's no other love.

Mon, 03 Jul 2006 09:41:03 GMT

I have hot Dean layout. I have hot Dean (and a tiny little bit of Sam) icons. I even have a frickin' hot Dean mood theme which took me all of yesterday to do.

But I do not have Dean. ;___;

ENTER RPS, STAGE LEFT!! ♥ ♥ And STFU Smallville, nobody asked you to leave me in the lurch like that. My heart is elsewhere, whole-heartedly cheating on you. I hope your soul weeps.

Whap!

Sat, 01 Jul 2006 09:59:48 GMT

Let me just begin by saying, mascara is bloody annoying.

So spent all my money on piratey things that I'm never going to wear ever again, but what the hell. Mascara and kohl fell through some portal to hell and hit me in the eye. Elisha picked me up at six, we listened to the fuzboll on the radio in the car, got lost but finally found our way to Harry's hugely incredibly massively rich country house and I swear to God there were Titians on those walls. Met by servants, shown to rooms. Went down through the gardens (he has a lake. A lake, Miss Bennett) to the pool and stood around awkwardly while nobody talked to us.

The first thing Slaine said to us was that she felt like a whore. X) Well, Slaine, that outfit of yours was perhaps daring but I wouldn't use the word 'whore' in particular. We love you, bustier girl!

So I drank Pimms. Which isn't that great, but whatever, it was the sociable thing to do. When more people arrived we went and sat down at our designated tables by the side of the pool, and it became apparent that I was to be Lotty Devon for the night. I sat next to Hugo Gye, Alice Gye's older brother who was sporting an attractive white t-shirt with the words 'I Am Not A Pirate' scribbled on it in black pen. I liked him immediately. He's pretty cool, and asked me to dance, and got exceedingly drunk and mopey. And I can't help but think that this was half my fault, because after he'd remarked that I was being pretty abstemious in the alcohol department I told him about Trisha asking Slaine to get me drunk, and he wanted me to get drunk, too. He said that he considered it rude that I wasn't drinking much of the red wine he'd poured for me, and I said I considered it rude that he texted Alice to ask if I were worth the bother of talking to, hem hem. I suggested, flippantly, that I would drink more if he cried (he told me he was very proud of his record of not crying for four years), at which point he put his head in his hands and was very, very quiet for a while. o_O; Aha. Ha.

The boy on my left was called Tom and was quite amusing too, and as I had Waldo on my table (who kept giving speeches about being a gentleman and pouring the ladies wine) and a guy who was apparently a neo-Nazi (but you weren't ever sure if he were joking or no), I reckon I got the best placing. Tom played Cecily in The Importance of Being Earnest and had been taught how to be a lady and give loving, demure smiles to everyone. When I asked him to show me it was a truly terrifying transformation. He was the lady.

I was assured by a guy on Elisha's table that someone sitting next to me was gay. I just wasn't sure which one it was.

After dinner there was music and dancing, and I danced - I wasn't tipsy, exactly, but slightly invigorated - with Elisha until some thirty-year-old guy in a sailor's costume asked me if I'd like to, and, innocently, I accepted. It was only when he said loosen your wrist and your shoulder and always try to find my hand that I knew something was not right, and just as my mind was getting into aw, crap mode he started throwing me about like something, well, that really should not be thrown but is. Swing dancing is amazing, but goodness me, he was strong. I'm not fat but I'm no feather either, and wow. It was great, but tiring, embarrassing, completely malco but still great great great. :D They were playing Take The A Train, and all.

Momentarily talked to a very attractive American intellectual called Max whilst Hugo was off, erm, being drunk, who advised me that when anybody started wandering aimlessly about and gravitating towards nature he was probably very, very drunk. I liked him, he was cool. But he kinda disappeared after a while. :( Still! Danced with Hugo twice and sang Crazy Little Thing Called Love with him, because he is funny. And Elisha was asked to dance by Tom and some other guy with his pyjamas on his head, who she totally rinsed. Ah, l'amour.

And there was some drunk guy in a regency costume who was cool. He heard me loudly say alas! when the power suddenly cut and the music crashed, and he turned and said, excellent word, that! Then he tried to get me to jump in the pool with him and said he'd call me Charlotte for short. X)

So yeah. The first part of the party I was thinking, now I remember why I don't go to these things anyway. But it was worth it, and however bad I was that swing dancing was the most exhilerating thing, I just wish I were a bit more elegant on my feet. Then Elisha and I said goodbye to Harry, who obviously had no clue who we were, and we hit the road back home.

I think everyone had a good time. Cami had an argument with her mother which meant she was being picked up at eleven, but that obviously didn't happen. She was rather popular amongst the men. Sophie knew some Chinese guy from before and despite being unable to get home as soon as she wanted appeared to be enjoying herself. As far as Slaine is concerned, well, she and Paul were being their typical selves and she seemed happy enough when we left her. There was some paparrazzi woman dancing around with a camera for the whole party, so hopefully Slaine'll be able to get a hold of some pictures soon.

And you know, that effing mascara still won't come off. ♥

Birthday like woah.

Sun, 25 Jun 2006 08:28:17 GMT

So, everyone up for dinner on ~~Friday 30th~~ Tuesday 27th?

Hey, Nostradamus.

Wed, 07 Jun 2006 17:17:29 GMT

OMG exams XD. But this is kind of physics-y. YAY FEAR MY FONT SKILLS. ♥ ♥ ♥

☆ SUPERMASSIVE BLACK HOLE ☆
Oh baby, don't you know I suffer? Oh baby, can you hear me moan?
You caught me under false pretences, how long before you let me go?

You set my soul alight.

Glaciers melting in the dead of night
And the superstars sucked into the supermassive
Glaciers melting in the dead of night
And the superstars sucked into the supermassive -

I thought I was a fool for no-one, oh baby, I'm a fool for you
You're the queen of the superficial and how long before you tell the truth?

You set my soul alight.

Glaciers melting in the dead of night
And the superstars sucked into the supermassive
Glaciers melting in the dead of night
And the superstars sucked into the supermassive -

Supermassive black hole.
Get the song, you know you want to. It's so hot I made a really random layout during it. ♥MUSE.

As good as mine.

Fri, 02 Jun 2006 13:51:27 GMT

Oh dear oh dear I've just finished Smallville Season 4 and I think I'm going to cry because Season 5 hasn't been released yet and OMG.

LEX IS LIKE THE COOLEST PERSON EVAR AND NOW CLARK IS IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE WITH LIONEL AND LANA'S JUST FOUND A SPACESHIP COMPLETE WITH GRATUITOUS ALIEN AND JOHNATHAN AND MARTHA HAVE BEEN SHOT AND EXPLODED AND JASON'S GONE ALL PSYCHO WITH A SHOTGUN AND HIS MOTHER'S BEEN MURDERED BY LANA AND LOUIS SURVIVED THE METEORS BUT IS GETTING SUSPICIOUS AND CHLOE'S NOT ACTUALLY THAT BAD AFTER ALL, EVEN THOUGH SHE BANGED LEX'S HEAD AGAINST A WALL.

I think I've forgotten how to breathe.

Oh, and because people have been asking - if anybody is stuck for what to get my for my birthday...

The Wonderful CDs of Dreams


ALANIS MORISSETTE so-called chaos	ALANIS MORISSETTE under rug swept	HOOVERPHONIC a new stereophonic sound spectacular	HOOVERPHONIC blue wonder power milk	HOOVERPHONIC hooverphonic presents jackie cane	HOOVERPHONIC no more sweet music

HOOVERPHONIC sit down and listen to	HOOVERPHONIC the magnificent tree	INCUBUS make yourself	JAMIE CULLUM pointless nostalgic	JAMIE CULLUM twentysomething	LINKIN PARK hybrid theory

LINKIN PARK meteora	MACHINES OF LOVING GRACE concentration	MACHINES OF LOVING GRACE gilt	METRIC live it out	METRIC old world underground, where are you now?	MOIST mercedes five and dime

POETS OF THE FALL carnival of rust	REVIS places for breathing	TORI AMOS boys for pele	TORI AMOS from the choirgirl hotel	TORI AMOS little earthquakes	TORI AMOS the beekeeper

TORI AMOS under the pink	ZERO 7 simple things	ZERO 7 when it falls	POE haunted	POE hello	SNEAKER PIMPS becoming x

SNEAKER PIMPS bloodsport	SNEAKER PIMPS splinter	MUSE black holes and revelations	MUSE black holes and revelations	MUSE black holes and revelations	MUSE black holes and revelations

An Alternative Solution for the Monetarily Impaired

+ SPLASHDOWN + = :D	Simply burn me Splashdown's albums onto CDs and there you are, a dirt cheap solution which will still make me a very happy birthday girl. I need them burnt because their albums are unobtainable (!) due to copyright issues and both our CD burners have lay down and died. Huzzah! :DDDD

PS- Trisha, I just bought Supernatural S1. You owe me £5.49, please. :)

BUT GOODNESS ME SMALLVILLE IS GOOD.

Where are they now?

Mon, 29 May 2006 23:45:50 GMT

Good lord, what's this? Lottie finished an FST? Who'd've thunk? I made up my mind about the songs once, then listened to it and hated it all and had to start from scratch. And the track order for it was a super vixen bitch from hell which is why I was up 'til four last night, because I'm really cool. :/

And wow! It's uploaded in half term, when all you guys can download it. What a coincidence.

( My Days Are Sacrosanct: an Interview With The Vampire FST )

Did I mention gay vampire films with Pitt and Cruise make me happy? Despite the goddamn deleted scene of hotness. Just you wait 'til Iz gets me the DVD for my birthday... 8DDD

Yay Eric :D

Wed, 24 May 2006 21:46:30 GMT

I would complain that I don't know what the hell to write in my HoA tomorrow, but I'm too uplifted by the great responses and interest people have had to scudelia to be down. cafeconleche has offered to buy me a year's worth of Paid Account status for a layout and icons, and I've asked if I can just have the $25 instead. X) I hope that wasn't rude of me, he seems really nice.

And generous. ♥

Yes, Trisha, this is me revelling in the beauty of humanity. Enjoy it whilst you may.

The Metamorphosis of Narcissus

Sun, 21 May 2006 11:40:30 GMT

He described this illusionistic technique as ‘instantaneous and hand-done colour photography of the super-fine, extravagant, extra-plastic, extra-pictoral, super-plastic, deceptive, hyper-normal and sickly images of concrete irrationality’.

I love Dali. But WTF is the 'paronaic critical method'?

PS- 'There is also a dog in the bottom right eating flesh.' Brilliant. ♥

That's the end of it.

Mon, 15 May 2006 17:32:50 GMT

Jane Austen's book, Persuasion, was just meant to be made into a musical. And what more fitting tune could you think of than The Little Mermaid's Under the Sea...?

You have to know the tune (download it!), and you'd better sing along. In a Jamaican accent.

IN PERSUASION
The novel begins at Kellynch, where Anne is moping about
She's pining for Captain Wentworth who left her and bailed out
It all was Lady Russell's fault, she told Anne to reject him
Now Anne's all alone and ugly and bows to anyone's whim

At Kellynch Hall, at Kellynch Hall
Anne is unhappy 'cause of her pappy, she feels so small
Whilst Elizabeth swans around, Anne feels as low as the low ground
Russell's a crusader out to persuade her
At Kellynch Hall

But then Admiral Croft rents it, allowing the navy's birth
This is a dramatic device to bring back good old Wentworth
And Anne gets all a-fluster when he likes Louisa
She thinks he no longer loves her 'cause he hardly sees her

Uh-oh!

At Uppercross, at Uppercross
Mrs. Clay's got Walter up in a halter, now she's the boss
They've all gone to Bath to get away leaving Anne to stay and obey
She's finally free of her family
At Uppercross

Staying at Lyme, staying at Lyme
William fancies Anne but she loves one man, he's wasting his time
Henrietta gets with Charles Hayter - who cares? She's a minor character
Anne gets in a whirl but it's never too late, girl
Staying at Lyme

Keep turning the page as I set the stage
You will find that Anne is really a man
Sir Walter is vain, his daughter the same
And Wentworth's unimpressed (yeah!)
Croft has gone soft and Clay's in dismay
'Cause William's hot and probably gay
Louisa's a pain but now she's no brain
And Benwick's still depressed!

(MUSICAL INTERLUDE, DURING WHICH TIME THE MAJORITY OF THE PLOT IS TOLD THROUGH THE MEDIUM OF THE XYLAPHONE.)

Under the Cobb, under the Cobb
Louisa is lying as she is dying, watch Wentworth sob
And our Anne has to take control, she is the only competent soul
No need for concern this is an Austen
Under the Cobb

There may be some sadness but really there's gladness in Persuasion

Anne and Wentworth were destined from birth
There's been stormy weather but now they're together
Worth all the heart-achin' they've had to partake in
That's Persuasion!

Thank you, thank you. I'm here 'til Tuesday. Pay me and I'll perform it to you. ;)