raptureofthemoon: (scream and cry)
I went to bed and to sleep around 10:00.

And what happens?

I pop wide awake at 12:30 and I'm still freaking up...

Attempted to type some NaNo stuff (admittedly, I'm half assing a short story collection with a theme of 'tween places; half assing might even be too generous a term) and found myself more annoyed than usual with the crap!first draft, spurred in part, probably by the frustration of not being able to get back to sleep. (It threw me into one of those "I can't write worth shit" spins, in fact.). So I just let it be.

It's 20 to 4....I'd really like to sleep.
raptureofthemoon: (cheaper than therapy)
Series Shaking the Bough (Vignettes from the Capital Wasteland)
Title: "Keep Calm and Carry On"
Characters/Pairing: Lone Wanderer
Rating: PG to R-ish
Notes: The first in a series of vignettes chronicling the adventures of my LW and the goings on in the D.C. area.

Look around you find the ground
Is not so far from where you are
But don´t be too wise
For down below they never grow
They're always tired and charms are hired
From out of their eyes
Never surprise.
– Nick Drake, “Things Behind the Sun”

Keep Calm and Carry On

Faith imagined this was what the end of the world must have been like.

Hot stinging air rolled over her skin and light, brighter than anything she’d ever seen in the Vault, blotted out the world. Even when she closed her eyes at the pain, the white seared through her lids.

Stumbling, she brought one hand up to shade her closed eyes and smeared something thick and wet and warm across her temple. The smell of gun oil mingled with copper and salt, invaded her nose, settled on the back of her tongue and she gagged.

She was burning from the inside out, stomach twisting. Bile scorched her throat and she fell, hard, to her knees and vomited until dry heaves left her shaking and weak.

Sinking back on her heels, she wiped her mouth with her arm. Her skin was still hot but the light was no longer pulsing against her eyes and, slowly, she opened them.

A tear slipped down her face, followed by another. She sniffed, slapped them away. They were the after effects of light blindness. That was all.

They had nothing to do with the sight of this place stretched out before her. This ripped up and jagged landscape where spires of wood and steel rose out of the ground like strange growths; where small dust devils formed up and down a broken road, spinning half heartedly before dissipating.

This place with no sound.

No movement.

No trail of breadcrumbs for her to follow.


She might very well have sat there on her heels, staring out past the remnants of the pre-war world, waiting for something to happen—for the night to fall and bring out whatever creatures hunted in the dark; for the sun to scorch the flesh from her bones and leave nothing but a bleached skeleton—but for one thing.

Since the appearance of Amata’s face over her bed this morning, Faith’s mind had been flashing little snippets from her life. A lot like an old movie reel—her 10th birthday party, playing sick from Mr. Brotch’s class, fighting with Butch—and now, it froze on the broad face of Wally Mack.

Wally Mack who, several weeks ago had pinned her to the wall down near the Reactor Core. Who’d broken the zipper on her vault suit and shoved his hands down her pants and expected her to go along with. Not to scream. Not to fight.

If she had, that would have been it. She’d have been Mrs. Wally Mack just as soon as he’d gotten word out to his daddy and the Overseer.

And, Faith thought, Mrs. Wally Mack wouldn’t have woken up in the early hours of this morning to sirens and shouts and guards trying to kill her because her dad had some kind of fucked up idea to escape the vault.

Mrs. Wally Mack wouldn’t be in this situation.


But, Mrs. Wally Mack would wake up every morning to see that smug, snub nosed visage as he rolled on top of her to do his civic duty.

It had been that thought that had given her the courage to drag her nails down Wally’s face, to thrust out with the flat of her palm—just like Officer Gomez had shown her—when he jerked away from the pain. To drive her foot into his crotch while he cradled his broken nose.

And it’s those thoughts she uses to pull herself to her feet and move towards the sign advertising a “Scenic Overlook.”

The overlook is scenic. Spread before it is a world torn apart. Grizzled. Decayed.

But there’s something about it—from the skeletal structures of what looks like a burnt out town to that hulk of twisted metal rising in the distance—that makes her tingle, from head to toe, as if nuka cola was fizzing in her veins.

That’s a feeling she so rarely got in the Vault that she can identify the first and last time she felt it: when her dad finally let her sew sutures on Stanley (with the man’s permission, of course; he was always such a good sport…).

It’s the feeling of new opportunity.

And even the acidic shuddering of her stomach as she eyed the path she would walk, and the shaking of her hands as she loaded her only other magazine into the 10mm, couldn’t stamp down that feeling. Or prevent the surge of light headed excitement at the realization that she was fully free to seek it.

raptureofthemoon: (come back for you)
Title/Song: "How Soon Is Now" (TaTu)
Author: [livejournal.com profile] ilcuoreardendo
Pairing/Characters: Sylar/Mohinder
Genre: Somewhere in Season 2

You shut your mouth
How can you say
I go about things the wrong way
I am a human and i need to be loved
Just like everybody else does

One of the things he loves about Mohinder is the man’s incessant surety.

“Do you honestly think this is going to work?” Mohinder spits from his chair. “That I would actually come to you? Willingly?”

“Willingly, Mohinder?” Sylar smiles and the feel of it stretching across his face is strange, as though he hasn’t done it in quite some time; a by-product of spending so much time under faces that are not his own. “Yes. I do think you’ll come to me willingly.”

He presses his fingertips to the mirror. And there appears the image of Molly, sweet Molly, reading alone in her bedroom and growing smaller, like a camera is moving out frame by frame…to the front of the house, the street, the neighborhood, and then the great mass of the continent that Mohinder had hoped would keep Molly hidden.

“Because the alternative?” Sylar says. “Is so much worse.”
raptureofthemoon: (Fear)
The other day, I finally got to watch (as in sit down and pay attention to rather than just have it playing in the background and occasionally look up and admire the pretty scenery) Alice in Wonderland.

I've technically seen it several times; this time, I finally got to enjoy the little details and pick up on dialogue I missed.

And I enjoy it. Very much. Yes, the ending is a little stilted and formulaic with the not-so-epic epic-battle, but the scenery? The characters? The Hatter's characterization (and the brogue)? I love.

And look who I get to carry around in my bag now...

raptureofthemoon: (Default)
Days 5 - 9 )
10. Pick 10 random icons from your userpics and tell me about them.

Emilie Autumn. One of my favorite musicians/poets/artists. She satisfies the dark-Victorian part of my soul.

From Little Women, Jo working on her novel. I mostly have it for the hardware; I love the nib pen she's using and I have a similar one that my step-mother-in-law got me for Xmas.

I love Spock. Zachary Quinto is also awesome. And I tend to raise my eyebrow when someone makes a really stupid argument/misses the point/gives me a hard time.

The Dark Knight turned me into a Joker fangirl, I admit. I always liked the character...but the creation of one who fits in with Nolan's gritty, more realistic and Film Noir-ish take on Batman just threw me head over heels.

Plotphobia is a common experience for me. And sadly, not just with longer works. My Muse also tends to go between being phobic about a plot to giving me something more intricate than the story was meant to handle....

Mohinder Suresh is my favorite geneticist... (And he would fit perfectly into Ravenclaw, though he definitely has his Slytherin moments.)

Scarecrow. Jonathan Crane. Another favorite character from the Batman ensemble. I thought Cillian Murphy was an excellent pick for Crane/Scarecrow. A somewhat different incarnation than comic Scarecrow, but just as chilling in many respects.

Pen. Paper. Coffee. If I'm writing, whether for work or for my own personal satisfaction, there must be coffee nearby. In a pinch, I'll settle for tea (Earl Grey), but coffee is my preference.

Something I tend to quote whenever I encounter the "feminazi" comment from some random (or not so random) jack ass. Yes, my problem with your calling a woman a "bitch" because she told you--in not so coy terms--that she didn't appreciate your catcall, or my umbrage with your thinking people with uteruses should be forced to undergo a specific medical condition that only happens to them.....is just like the invasion of a country and the killing of its citizens. I snort in your general direction.

Vulpes Inculta from Fallout: New Vegas. (I'm sure, by now, you can tell I really like villains...) He's a creepy bastard. Made moreso by his wonderful voice actor (Jason Spisak). I got a bit of a chill when I first encountered him in Nipton, surrounded by fires and crucified people... And I wanted to know more about him. Which probably explains why he seems to be edging into more of my fic Dispatches from New Vegas. (Though, I still don't know if I'll be creating much of his backstory...)
raptureofthemoon: (ahead of the curve)
I've been pondering a type of people. You know... The type that you constantly have to get in contact with if you want to talk with them or see them, because phones/internet/etc. only go one way? (Which, eventually, leads to you doing all of the work in order to maintain the relationship.)

I was thinking of it somewhat in relation to this informal group of friends/acquaintances we've been hanging out with, on Sunday mornings, at the coffee shop, for the last three or four years. We've seen them occasionally outside the coffee shop--had dinner a time or two, gone to a couple people's houses for get-togethers--so it's enough of an acquaintanceship to be considered friendship-lite....I suppose.

And I expect that a few of them will probably be upset that we haven't been back by the coffee shop to say goodbye before we move (next Friday/Saturday). Due in large part, of course, to the business of moving and the fact that Sunday is our day to sleep in, right now, since Saturday tends to be for errands and other things.

Anyway, at the thought of them possibly being upset, my mind immediately shot to: Well, you know where to find me. You have me on Facebook. You have my phone number. And you know, generally, where I live. If a goodbye is important enough that you'll be upset if it doesn't happen in person? You can contact me and we can arrange, even, a fifteen minute slot of time between my packing and cleaning.

I try to give people the benefit of the doubt...because, in adulthood? Life is busy. And once you're done with the daily grind (work, errands, cleaning, cooking, etc.) and finding time for yourself, then you try to find time for others. And it doesn't always work. I know that.

Still it takes two people to maintain some kind of relationship. Occasionally the balance is going to shift, making one person do a little more work...and that's o.k. That's fine; that's how relationships flow; it's not always a perfect 50-50. But when that balance is always shifted to one person? It gets a little old.

I suppose that's why I don't really attempt to make long lasting, one-on-one friendships...most of the time. (Which was always kind of hard to do, anyway, being a military brat and moving around so often. I cherish the friendships I've been able to keep, even if they're down to virtual interactions now due to distance.) Invariably, I seem to end up in the role of doing most of the heavy lifting. And I just don't have the will to do that anymore. I'll try--give it a good faith effort--but I don't keep trying; not like I used to. I can't do that to myself.

I suppose, I do and will take the acquaintanceship, as it comes...

But if people want to truly be in my life as friends rather than mere acquaintances?

They'll need to share the effort.
raptureofthemoon: (Default)
1. Why did you sign up for Dreamwidth?

I signed up not long after Dreamwidth premiered due, in large part, to the Strikethrough kerfluffle over on Livejournal. I'd been keeping journals on other sites as back ups (in the event of deletion), but was never very good about using them due to issues with crossposting. I didn't/don't want to completely give up my Livejournals. My main one is 10 years old this year and I have people on my friend's list who've been there since near the beginning whom I still like to keep up with.

And my fandom one? Fandom is still so much more active on LJ that it's more lucrative to play in that sandbox.

Anyway...Dreamwidth took care of the "fears" of deletion (being fandom friendly) and its cross-posting ability took care of my need to keep my LJ(s).

2. Why did you choose your journal name? What does it mean?

Rapture of the Moon.

I stole it from a flash fiction I wrote 4 or 5 years ago, about a new muse coming into my employ. His name is Keitsuki (loosely translated, that's where my journal name comes from). He's a lot sexual and not just a little vicious; he helps to provide insight and inspiration for some of my darker writing, fanfiction and original.

Continue reading.... )
raptureofthemoon: (filthy victorians)
From (LJ) 4am_Secret

(If you want your own questions, leave a comment and I'll do my best to come up with some. It may take me a bit.)

1. What is your favorite thing about your new place? Least favorite? :)

The 9 foot ceilings, the wide hallway, the open kitchen with marble counter tops, lots of cabinets, and black on black appliances. (I'll have more room to cook! Which could be dangerous....) :) Oh, and I get my own office.

Least favorite thing? The rent. It's about $300 more than what we're paying now, though the new apartment is much nicer (and the 4 cats are no problem). Still makes me kind of grumbly... Also, the French Doors to the balcony are falsely advertised. They look like French Doors, but only one door opens. And the narrow bathtubs. Not good for soaking. And it's irritating because the bathrooms are big enough to hold larger tubs.

2. If something unexpected happened and you couldn't or didn't want to write anymore, where do you think your passions would take you?

Wow. I can't imagine such a scenario, but...

I would probably look into doing more social/political activism and/or outreach stuff. (Planned Parenthood, ACLU, women's organziations, etc.)

(I've actually been thinking about putting my resume in with Emily's List since my job's been kind of iffy over the last year.)

3. What is your favorite book? (I can't believe I don't already know this!)

That's really hard for me to choose... I think I still have to go with Patricia McKillip's Something Rich and Strange. Her writing always flows like poetry and the book combines several of my favorite things: Froud faeries and the ocean.

4. What language would you really like to learn, if any?

Italian - I'd love to be able to read The Divine Comedy in its original language.

Japanese - I've had the base training, of course, with the four semesters in college, and I was fairly decent at the language. But I've lost so much of what I learned, it's pitiful. (The Kanji has completely disappeared from my brain...)

5. What is your average or usual trip to the grocery store like?

Well...an average trip, where I'm not stocking up, consists of my mostly sticking to the outside aisles and the organic foods sections, buying fresh veggies, fruit, the occasional cut of meat (we've cut way back and may be cutting back even further). I've started buying tofu more often, because it's so versatile. And...I tend to linger too much in the deli area, considering the brie and water crackers or baguettes (which I don't let myself buy too often).

Typically, Matt and I go to the store together. We have to split the list when we do, because he hates the way I move through the grocery store (and he also doesn't like tagging along).

I move, of course, like I have a purpose. I know what I need to get, I know where it is, so I get it and move on. And yes, pokey people who stand in the middle of aisles drive me to drink...
raptureofthemoon: (filthy victorians)
I have The Night Flier playing in the background and, instead of doing my next original writing prompt, got sucked into working on the Fallout: New Vegas fic I've been organizing/massaging for the last month or so. Made some decent progress in getting the first chapter/vignette/whatever you want to call it finished.

Now, I can't decide if I should do some packing or try to wind down enough that I can sleep and so wake up early enough to go for a walk before the heat and humidity set in for the day.

Silver, of course, is curled up into a cat loaf and staring at me. That means it's time to go to bed. (Even though she's been sleeping most of the evening...)
raptureofthemoon: (Default)
Led to a power outage of about an hour, which ultimately led to my staying up until 4 a.m. (the power was back on, but after the rush and flow of rain and winds, I couldn't get myself to sleep), which led to my sleeping through all four (count 'em four) alarms this morning.

I woke up by 10:30, fed the cats, flipped on the coffee pot, and went straight to booting up the computer (saved from last night's outage by the UPS, though I had to do a hard shutdown because Windows was pulling it's "ooh shiny" routine), and thankfully didn't have any e-mails from work waiting on me. So, I was able to jump into what I already knew I needed to get done today.

Now it's nearly 4 o'clock, I've done what I can day-job wise, I'm still in my pajamas, I've only had one cup of coffee, I've scribbled a rough draft of something that I may send over to Six Sentences, and I've tinkered around in photoshop...

I think I need another shower to make myself feel like a real person, though. And then some food...because I've forgotten to eat. *sigh* And then, some kind of plan/schedule because otherwise I may end up whittling away the evening hours playing BioShock.

Oh, and: LJ Friends take note, if any of you who don't have one would like a Dreamwidth account, I have more Invite Codes. Just let me know.
raptureofthemoon: (light)
I recently bought Lily Holbrook's Wicked Ways.

And it has been living in my car for the last week. It's absolutely gorgeous. Melodic and haunting. And there's a nostalgic quality to it that I can't really explain.

One of the songs I'm particularly taken with is "Sweet Little Girl," which you can listen to here.

There is evil in these woods
Where she brought you to the edge
Touched your heart and then it bled
Trickling down, down, down

There's a fever in your head
Rising when she calls your name
On your lips, her kiss of death
Takes you down, down, down...

This album is going in my "Soundtracks for Writing" pile.
raptureofthemoon: (cat play)
Where you can't seem to drink anything without it missing your mouth, at least once?
raptureofthemoon: (Vulpes)
Isa’s not far outside Nipton when the wind changes direction.

Her sunglasses and the scarf she’d bought off a trader back at the Outpost give her some protection from the glass-shard sands striking her skin. But the acrid smell of old rubber burning, the scorch of sulfur, and a rancid musk slip right through the thin cotton and settle on the back of her tongue.

Years ago, she’d traveled with her father on one of his many trips from their shop in McDermitt to New Reno. He usually overnighted in Love Lock to resupply and catch up on the trade-route news, but miles outside the town, they were stopped by an NCR blockade. The people in Love Lock had caught a deadly and highly contagious virus. The order was quarantine. And containment.

As her father ushered her to the detour road that wound up a small plateau, she’d caught sight of a masked soldier carrying a long, wrapped package that he tossed on a fire at the edge of town.

Her father’d gone grey in the face when she asked him about it. But then, as always, he was honest with her.

The thick, sickly-sweet stench of bodies on fire had followed Isa for the rest of the trip.

In 16 years, she still hasn't gotten the memory of burning human flesh out of her nose.

And that's what she smells now; faint and lingering like a bad dream.

raptureofthemoon: (cheaper than therapy)
Title: "The Fort" (Working title; will likely change)
Series: Dispatches from New Vegas
Characters: In this snippet: Isabelle (Isa) Reyes, also known as: The Courier.
AN: Just a little sliver of something being (sporadically) worked on.... This comes from a piece that's a bit of an outlier currently, as it doesn't fit in with the other vignettes in terms of POV (and possibly tense; though at this point, it's possible that all the vignettes will vary somewhat in tense).


You’re standing outside of Caesar’s tent, waiting for the escort Caesar is supposed to send once the meeting he called is finished, and watching the to-and-fro of the crowd below: the stooped women and men hauling firewood, hauling water, and several children, just old enough to begin schooling, being run through armed drills and mock battles.

For a moment, you wonder about those children who are just babies when they fall into the Legion’s hand. Are they taken under wing or are they left out on the side of a cliff to die?

You put your back to the camp—the one display of disapproval you aren’t too concerned about making while companionless...weaponless—and glance at the entrance of Caesar’s tent, willing it to open, because the sun is edging toward the horizon and it’s a long barge trip back to Cottonwood Cove and an even longer walk to a hospitable overnight stop.

Your leather armor sticks to your neck, is sucking wet around your breasts and hips, the bends of your knees; your hair keeps escaping the confines of the twist you’d thrown it into as you’d left the arena.

And it feels like someone’s taken a rebar club to your body; there’s not a piece of you that doesn’t ache.

You’re sure your back is bruised from where Benny sent you flying into one of the support beams of the arena and the machete graze on your head—that keeps dribbling blood into your eye—is likely to scar. At least this one will be covered by your hair. But you shouldn’t have gotten hit in the first place.

Still, the “battle” with Benny had been little more than a lead to the slaughter; the Chairman was all fast moving limbs and unfocused charges that were (mostly) easy to avoid and you’d put him down fairly fast. And with only a twinge of guilt…

Long ago, you’d learned to look after your own ass like nobody’s business which is what made the decision between giving Benny over to the Legion or killing him yourself such an easy—well, an easier—one.

That and the fact that you knew he’d abandon you as soon as you gave him room to maneuver…

You’d seen that in his eyes the moment you walked into Caesar’s tent. The way he shifted, the way he looked at the stealth boy on your belt then glanced at the Praetorians; you just knew he was measuring the distance and the obstacles between his location and the door.

But even then, you couldn’t just leave the prick to be tortured; not when you could end it all with a quick blow to his head or slice of his throat.

Even though he was the one who’d shot you, stolen from you, and then run half way across Nevada after you’d found him, dragging you directly into the Legion’s line of sight which, especially after the experience in Nipton, is exactly where you didn’t want to be thank-you-very-much and…fuck it.

He should be damned grateful you just killed his sorry ass.

raptureofthemoon: (come back for you)
Title: Eventualities
Song: “Ring of Fire” – Dear Park Avenue (covering Social Distortion)
Characters/Pairing: Michael, T-Bag
Genre: General
Notes: Another drabble created with the music meme.

He was used to people looking at him, even before he got the tattoo. Used to quick, furtive side-eye glances—that most men wouldn’t catch—from women, the head turns and full body look-overs from men. The appraisal. The consideration. The lust.

Lincoln had always used to tease him about being “pretty as a girl.” (At 15, that was what first prompted him to shave his head. But the absence of glossy curls only seemed to draw people’s attention to his eyes, his lips…and he’d had more than one encounter with women—and men—wanting to touch the fine stubble on his scalp.)

In his last months of freedom, he'd been drowning in a sea of black-ink blue prints... )
raptureofthemoon: (cheaper than therapy)
Title: Any Word Could Be the Last
Song: “We Could Leave Right Now” – The Oysterband
Pairing/Characters: Samuel/Vanessa
Genre: Pre-Series, Gen, Drama
Summary: Drabbled spurred by the music meme, which basically says: write small, write fast. One look at the first rejection…
Word Count 543

Put down the music and talk
Your rumors and regrets
Fading silhouettes
All you need to do is walk away...

She is lying with her head on his lap, reading through a chapter in her Music in Western Civilization text and trying not to doze off as he runs his fingers through her hair, gently untangling the curls and fanning the length out across his thighs.
Read the rest... )
raptureofthemoon: (t-bag lurk)
Title: In the Light of Morning
Song: "Love Remains the Same" - Gavin Rossdale
Characters/Pairing: Lincoln/Veronica
Genre: Pre-series, Gen, Drabble
Author's Notes: Crafted using the music meme.

Half the time the world is ending
Truth is I am done pretending
Too much time, too long defending
You and I are done pretending

Lincoln liked to wake up early whenever she slept over.

It gave him a chance to watch her before she woke, to see her—what was the saying? “warts and all?”—without her noticing his stare and changing her behavior as she often did, so subtly altering the way she sat, took a sip of coffee, bit into a pancake.

Here, she just was.

One hand on her chest, the other flung over her head; fine shadow of dark hair along her underarm where she hadn’t shaved; mouth parted slightly, letting out a soft snore—that she would vehemently deny when she woke up.

And the sunlight came through the broken blinds, the gap in the curtain, and lit up all of the little distinctive features of her face—what she would call imperfections—the soft lines under her eyes; the freckle just under her chin; the pale, downy hair along her jaw line; the ghost of a scar on her lower lip.

He had them all memorized.
raptureofthemoon: (my everything)
Title: "Sea Change"
Characters/Pairing: Davy Jones & Elizabeth Swann
Rating: R-ish
Genre: AU (Touching on all three movies, but veering off to the left.)
Author's Notes: This piece uses the prompts from [livejournal.com profile] 1sentence (though this isn't an official entry). I started this piece over two years ago and finally came back to it and—within a number of months, admittedly—finished the blasted thing. General plot spoilers if you haven't seen all three movies. Comments welcome. Any errors are mine alone.

#19 – Wind

The winds change direction and the Dutchman slows as its sails fill; looking down into the depths of the sea, the captain knows that somewhere, in the warmth of the Caribbean, a longing heart has fallen into the ocean.

#03 – Soft

Jones finds the dress wrapped ‘round the base of the mast when they surface; it is silk and lace, of the finest quality, something he’s not seen nor felt in more years than he cares to count; alone in his cabin, he lifts the sodden cloth to his cold cheek, imagines the smell of lavender clinging to warm skin.

#32 – Confusion

She hears the blistering crack of wood as the Kraken takes the Pearl and feels the longboat being pulled down, down, down into the whirlpool created by the sinking ship, splintering and casting the crew to the depths; she comes up on a piece of drift wood, clinging to it for dear life and looking for Gibbs, for Will, for anyone, but there is no one and nothing until the water a few feet from her bursts open and releases the Dutchman onto the surface of the sea.

Read the rest... )
raptureofthemoon: (solitaire)
Today, I: finished my holiday shopping (which is good, because we're having Xmas at my parents tomorrow), re-supplied the cats with necessities, picked up some minor groceries, made potato soup, and gave a thorough proof and edit--followed by formatting and skill highlighting suggestions--of my aunt's resume. (And it still feels really odd to me to have an older family member coming to me for job seeking advice. It makes me realize my age. Well, not just my age, there are accomplishments in there as well. But, you know. I'm 27. I still feel about 16 on most days... On bad days, I'm about 12.)

And now I'm sitting here, sipping Twining's Yuletide Toddy, catching the replay of the local news, and contemplating the mind whirls of my characters and characters that are not and will never be mine (alas).

Despite all this pondering, I haven't written much of anything lately. A few sentences here. A creepy, obsessive, stalkerish Sylar/Mohinder fanfic there. (God, that was two weeks ago already...)

With work still molasses-slow and my not hearing anything about the proposal for which we were supposed to have a decision this week, I'm thinking we've pretty much sailed into dire straits now...

I may still have a job by the time New Year rolls around. But I don't know for how much longer after that.

And with the miasma this kind of information creates, it's really hard to concentrate much on words. Any words. Though I have slightly better luck when the words are in something for which I can receive pretty quick gratification (hence the creepy fanfic).

I've been sitting here staring at the screen for the last few minutes, writing nothing. That means I've lost whatever train of thought I had and it's time to shut up and move on to indulging my brain with something pretty.
raptureofthemoon: (save the world)
Title/Song:“Get Out Alive”
Characters/Pairing: Claire, Peter
Rating: G
Summary/Spoilers: Very mild, for “.07%”

It's hard to imagine
But one day you'll end up like me

The second time she saw her father, he was holding his dead brother in his arms. )

Song/Title:“Ocean Soul” – Nightwish
Rating: G
Summary/Spoilers: General Season 2 Nathan.

Long hours of loneliness
Between me and the sea

He's not sure how he got here. )

Title/Song:“Cold” – Static X
Characters/Pairing: Sylar, Maya
Rating: PG
Summary/Spoilers: On the way to New York...

Your mouth
These words
It turns

It's been a while. )


raptureofthemoon: (Default)
dreaming through the noise

September 2015

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