If all goes well, sister will be leaving for boot camp on Wednesday. We had kabobs and cheesecake tonight to celebrate. Absolutely non-intresting to most, but STRAWBERRY CHEESECAKE! AND a strawberry torte.
And have I mentioned I bonded with Wal-Mart's Valentine's candy section?
Luna Lunatica by penelope_z
Surreal. That's all I'm saying. Read it a few times. It's just--yeah. Surreal.
A Bed in a Room in a House by dammitcarl. I love Jessica's lovely single-scene, thoughtful fics, and this one is both hot AND sweet. A Nickyverse story, and lovely as ever.
Harvest by Bren Antrim. In which the fandom still works through it's Clark!Rage quite energetically. Lex is bitter. And this hurts. Read.
Sweet Dreams by bexless. Bittersweet Lex POV, covering several different time periods. Beautifully written Lex that I can sink into, and lovely introspection.
Livia's gotten Truckload of Heart, A Clark and Pete link directory. Slash and friendship, should definitely be checked out. And contributed to!
liviapenn's been playing with Premiere and made the COOLEST thing ever. A trailer for Standing in the Common Spaces, Spiderman the Movie/Smallville. Yes, I'm drooling and giggly and DAMN it's so NEAT! The cuts are DAMN cool and I just love watching it and that song rocks. RealPlayer format. *happy sigh*
No, I haven't watched it multiple times in succession, why do you ask? *grins*
Just think, we can get her to VID for the fandom if we just put enough pressure on her--er, the word is 'encourage', rather. I like this idea. Can we start an official campaign? *curious*
Really, I'm cute when I look like this. Anyway, go check it out, it just ROCKS.
I'm labeling again. I like it. It makes me feel as if there's been progress.
So the other night, Koi made me want to try a Five Things fic. Of course, that never works, as if I AU, I tend to want to stay there for an indecent word count and wallow in it instead of skipping blithely off. But. This one came out. After talking it over with liviapenn and pearl_o, I don't really think it works as it is, either as a legit AU or as a good Jonathan characterization. Since I'll never use it, I thought I'd post this version while I work out how it would work better.
And because I sort of LIKE it. *grins* I like creepy!
One Thing That Jonathan Never Would Have Done
Small town pride is the reason, he'll think later.
He steps over meteor rock pieces that glow strangely green in the cloudy light. He left Martha at home, a smile on her face, dreaming of the children she'll never have.
In the distance, Jonathan can see Ethan's car, skidding to an uncertain stop in the middle of the road. Ethan climbs out, the sharp, jerky motions of his body showing grief better than his face ever will. The passenger side door slides open, and a woman's low pump steps onto the dirt road, a puff of green-tinged dust hazing the air. He hadn't expected her, takes a step, ready to ask Ethan what he was thinking to bring a woman to see this, but the tear-streaked face that meets his gaze stops him in his tracks.
"My sister," she says, mouth trembling. A black paste of eyeliner and mascara has drawn deep circles around eyes reddened and dripping black tears down her cheek. He's never seen Nell less than flawless before today, and it hits him all anew, a pain that starts in his chest and radiates outward like spiderwebs, clinging to every inch of his mind.
"God, Nell--" He reaches for her without meaning to, and she's soft and familiar in his arms, smelling of soot and bone-deep grief. The soft dark hair's a tangled mess that shifts against his cheek, and he held her like this once before, a long-ago, dusty barn loft and she'd curled against him and cried out her pain at her mother's death.
Too familiar to be completely comfortable, even how she fits beneath his chin and melts into her body as if she was meant to be there.
"Jonathan." Ethan's mouth is tight, and Jonathan looks over the wave of dark hair, opening his mouth to ask, but he can't quite force the words. Over the soft whisper of the corn, he can hear the sound of cars, and when he looks, he can see them coming. He knows who Ethan called.
Riley's field is a mess of destroyed corn in neat lines. From here, he can see where some kid was hung up for Homecoming--Jonathan vaguely remembers the kid being brought in by paramedics, and there's a flush of shame that cuts across his cheeks when he remembers his own senior year, but the memories brush away like cobwebs with the first figures emerging from cars and trucks--tear-stained faces of men he's never seen weep before, and he swallows hard.
He hadn't lost anyone today.
"Where is it?" Ethan's voice is hard, and Jonathan swallows, freeing himself from Nell before stepping back. Black and red stains criss-cross the soft flannel of his shirt, and her perfume clings to him over the smell of burned corn and fresh earth. He turns toward the truck, feeling a vague sense of unreality.
Behind him, he can hear Ethan draw his gun.
The creature looks up at him with huge dark eyes, uncomprehending, but reaches up with thin arms as Jonathan wraps the blanket close. Something in his chest tightens at the trust in the tiny arms that curve around his neck, but one look at Nell straightens him, and he can feel her eyes on him, dark and hard.
Men form a loose semi-circle around him as Jonathan deposits the bundle of dark hair and warm body on a blanket on the ground. He catches himself straightening it when the little body tilts over, and it gives him a slow, toothy smile, free and innocent.
Jesus. It looks so much like a real child.
"Where did you find him?" Ethan says, and Jonathan straightens, turning around.
"In the field." Even to himself, his voice sounds strangled. "There was a ship."
The low murmurs flow around him like water, and Jonathan takes a step back.
"It looks almost human," he hears Nell say in a low voice. "It--it killed--" Her voice trickles off into silence, and Jonathan finds himself watching how her face crumples again, hands shaking as she clenches them in the tails of her shirt. He's not even sure what he's doing when he wraps an arm around her shoulders, and she leans into him, her bones as thin and fragile as a bird's beneath his hand.
"Dig a hole," Ethan whispers, and men are moving. Mike, one of Jonathan's oldest friends, owner of the Wild Coyote, had lost his wife today, and he's the first, grabbing a shovel from the burlap bundle at his feet, stamping forward without hesitation. The Ross brothers follow after only seconds, and Jonathan feels the air in his lungs seem to thicken. It's desperately fast work, the concentration of men escaping in physical labor, and then they step away and Jonathan watches the darkened sky start to break up, sunlight streaming around them.
This is almost acceptable in the green-grey aftermath of the most horrific day of their lives, but when Ethan raises the gun, Jonathan almost opens his mouth to protest.
"For Laura," Nell murmurs, and the choked grief shuts his teeth. Sunlight reflects off dark hair and the dust-tinged barrel of a gun, before the sharp sound of a bullet penetrates.
It slumps over, and Jonathan feels some kind of shock that it bleeds red onto the blanket, like a boy.
Ethan and Mike wrap it up, depositing it in the hole--only a glimpse of matted dark hair and sightless green eyes before the first shovel of dirt covers his face. Jonathan doesn't look away until it's completely covered.
"Jonathan." Ethan's voice in his ear brings him back to reality, and he turns to see the man watching him with worried eyes. "What will you tell Martha?"
A thousand answers flicker through his mind, but none she'll believe. He knows that. "I'll think of something."
Nodding, Ethan takes Nell's arm. "Come on, Nell. Let me drive you home." The tender croon of his voice jerks Jonathan's head up, but Nell only nods, letting him lead her gently to the car, inserting her inside. Three pairs of feet are stamping down the dry earth, making it look like less like the freshly dug grave it's become. Not that anyone would notice here, with all the damage surrounding them.
He won't say they're dancing on the grave, but if they were, could he blame them?
Turning away, he walks back to the truck and climbs inside, letting every reason run through his head one by one, and starts the truck.
He's the last to leave.