Misery has no smell--that would be the stopping-upedness of it all. Nausea, sore throat, and coughing and sneezing and runniness. And angst.
But no pain comes close to my horror in seeing my poor nose bright red and soon to be peeling. Not to mention the blood spots. Tha's just plain gross. But moisturizer has been applied, so everyone can breathe again. There will be no permanent disfiguring of my nose. And Nyquil, cherry, and tylenol cold and sinus overdoses should take care of the rest.
This is my favorite. Thing. Ever.
I finished my first re-read of all eight, so I'm still in that place where I squee. They. Are. So. Cute.
I want to bring them home for cuddling. Even Yuki. Well, maybe I'd just give him a cigarette and stand at a safe distance. A really safe distance. But you know, I'd cuddle Shuichi. I'd also explain to him about how to wear clothes that don't show half your stomach and weird, weird *weird* sleeves. The sad part is, manga can totally carry off clothes that would require duct tape to hold on a real person. I point you to Mika's leather hotpants, appropriate for work. Dearest God. And the long coat. She's inspiring me to do wrong, indecent things to my wardrobe. Wrong things.
Toma scares me. He is so serial killer material. Doesn't help that I keep thinking, ooh, pretty girl--no, wait, guy, recheck that. Emotional love only for Yuki my non-ambiguous ass.
I'm still in hysterics over Shuichi's loss of virginity. That was just--unreal.
Okay, I have heard that I should be scared of Gravitation fic recs. But I will be brave and ask. Please? Besides Pru's?
I'm scared of what my amazon searches are bringing up. If it wasn't so close to Christmas, I'd have a really expensive new hobby here.
Volume 9, I *need*. Stupid December.
WiP Line Meme
Okay, just for fun. All my active WiPs. I can't do single lines--I'm not that good of a writer to encompass anything that makes sense in a single line. But short bits are okay, right? Really short? I can totally turn these into comma-stuffed single lines if necessary.
"You can't save everyone," he'd said, and Clark had just laid him down and touched his face, like they were kids in Smallville playing at grown-up manipulation, playing rivals that become enemies, playing at everything that they'd never wanted to be.
"But I can save you."
"I'm *fine*. I'm just maimed." The bitterness was sharp, and Lex would have pulled away if the wall hadn't stopped him. "I lost a hand, not my life."
Clark struggled for something to say--something to bring Lex back to him, bring him back in the room, get that horrible, distant look off his face. "Uh--I. I guess it's a good thing that you're left handed."
Warm , real, *alive*, the way his imagination hadn't been able to get quite right, like the solid weight of the tiny boy with tightly shut eyes, like his dad when he doesn't want to wake up. Tiny fists tremble against the blankets, and Justin makes more promises, parks and swings and long car rides and crayons, non-toxic, and never to yell when he draws on the walls.
--Stumble and Fall
It couldn't be an insane wife, girlfriend, or former nemesis stalking them. Not a disgruntled employee, a new vigilant superhero with something to prove, or even Lex's father, come back from the grave for the *third* time to wreck havoc (and why didn't anyone think to remove that damn ring he wore anyway? At least after the second time?). No. It was goo. Goo that slithered and, yes, a check out the windshield shows it's doing something ripply that could be waving.
Frantic (working title)
My nose hurts. I think I could be developing fine lines. It's quite distressing.