we follow darkness like a dream

so i just posted a reply, not two seconds ago, about this author's journal. she gets really personal and whines so so so so much that it's disgusting. totally unprofessional. considering the books, i guess i shouldn't expect more. but still. ugh. really. and it hurts that i'm gonna complain now.



( on the bad notes: )

oh, i could scream.


( on the good notes: )

i'm blaming that on the season.


the day they make me gorgeous? i'd like to just hang around. like a ceiling fan mounted upside down. i'd have three settings that would all seem to suck air out of the room. gorgeous. gorgeouser. gorgeousest. i say that in which i mean to say that if i ever get down to a 16, you will see me wearing only pencil skirts and high heels, clingy blouses and v-neck sweaters. my hair will be tossed over a shoulder in a lazy ponytail and i'll be the sexiest girl you've never met. at that point, i will own thigh-high boots and wear funky colored socks and would mess with everyone's brain cause they won't know what to make of me.


i'm in a ridiculous baking mood at the moment. there's two bottles of guinness in my fridge that will eventually become beer soup or voerlimpa (beer bread). i'm entering some cupcakes i made into a contesty type thing-- cupcake hero. they're gingersnap cupcakes, with white chocolate pumpkin cheesecake filling. and this week i'm baking a 7up cake or two, as well as a big red cake (should i find a proper recipe...), maybe some more cupcakes... i don't particularly care that most folks in the family don't care for cupcakes.

i've got work in 5 hours? and i'm tired. but can't go to sleep. :( remind me next time i decide to let my brain run off that i should take a chill pill and sleep.

(no subject)

so. ridiculously. hungry.

just a vignette. not gonna finish it. 325 words

The knock sounds on his door shortly after 3 am, when he’s just been able to really get into whatever dream he was having about Brad Pitt and Ben Affleck and a tube of sunblock. It doesn’t stop, even when he tries to ignore it. He grumbles curses as he gets up, pulling on glasses and riding that fine line between asleep and awake.

“Yeah?” he asks, peering through one eye to the dark suited man with the dark glasses standing at his door.

“Jensen Ackles?”

He quirks an eyebrow, ready to slam his door shut if whoever this is doesn’t get to the point. “Yes, I’m Jensen. What?”

“The President requests your presence on his daily run.” The monotone of the man in front of him is laughable and Jensen can’t hide his snort. “You have 20 minutes to get prepared. He does not have a long window for this exercise.”

Jensen’s jaw drops as he realizes the Secret Service agent is serious. He closes his eyes briefly, rubbing at the beginning of a headache. There’s no way it’s possible. All he did was work on the guy’s website during his campaign.


Jensen grinned and pulled his sweater down. January hadn’t been the warmest month in Texas, but that didn’t stop him from being glad at coming to work today. He’d been working on Tristan Padalecki’s bid for the presidency from the moment a friend of a friend had talked about his webmastering skills. Padalecki had signed him on, sight unseen, based on the caliber of work in his online profile. Sometimes, Jensen was glad he handed out hundreds of those business cards with his resume website on it.

Today, Padalecki was supposed to be taking time out to meet with him about some new features he’d like to implement and Jensen wanted to put his best foot forward. It’s not everyday that you get to meet the future President of the United States.

352 words, commentfic for rejeneration

after all the side-of-the-road outpourings and the long car rides where dean refuses to 'talk about it', sam puts his foot down. ( cut here for motel room shenanigans. )