Five Things
Mar. 6th, 2010 11:29 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
raeschaeYesterday, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kiwiana posted this:
So, I commented, because I'm kind of curious as to what people think. And she responded with:
Tattoos: My absolute favorite form of self-expression. I love mine, and I love seeing whatever other people have (and especially hearing the stories behind them). They're beautiful, and unique, and yeah . . . I guess my kink for them isn't really a shock, right?
Talent: It's a weird thing, because if you have it and admit it, you sound arrogant. If you have it and you don't admit it, you sound either fake or insecure. *shrugs* I have it, but you probably won't ever hear me talk about it outside of this post.
Passion: In order -
1.) Music - Listening to it, making it, living and breathing it.
2.) People - Family, friends, anybody else that fits into the human category.
3.) Writing - Telling stories that have either never been told before, or just telling them in a way that hasn't been done to death.
Slash: Liberating. I used to kick against it, because it was expected from the bi girl. I gave in, though, and found a whole level of freedom I didn't even know existed in my writing.
Insanity: What I write, what I love, what I'm inexplicably drawn to, and what I will probably be committed for someday. What can I say? I'm a crazy bitch. ;)
So there it is.
And here's the challenge. I'm working on a new fic called Just Talk (Sometimes a Little Dirty) to Me, but it's coming a little slower than some of my other stories do.
In the meantime, I kind of want to challenge myself in a new way. So comment with a one-word prompt, and I will give you a ficlet of 1000 words or less.
kiwiana posted this: Leave a comment saying, "COMMENT" and I will give you five words I associate with you. Then post about what they mean to you, along with this, at your journal.
So, I commented, because I'm kind of curious as to what people think. And she responded with:
Tattoos: My absolute favorite form of self-expression. I love mine, and I love seeing whatever other people have (and especially hearing the stories behind them). They're beautiful, and unique, and yeah . . . I guess my kink for them isn't really a shock, right?
Talent: It's a weird thing, because if you have it and admit it, you sound arrogant. If you have it and you don't admit it, you sound either fake or insecure. *shrugs* I have it, but you probably won't ever hear me talk about it outside of this post.
Passion: In order -
1.) Music - Listening to it, making it, living and breathing it.
2.) People - Family, friends, anybody else that fits into the human category.
3.) Writing - Telling stories that have either never been told before, or just telling them in a way that hasn't been done to death.
Slash: Liberating. I used to kick against it, because it was expected from the bi girl. I gave in, though, and found a whole level of freedom I didn't even know existed in my writing.
Insanity: What I write, what I love, what I'm inexplicably drawn to, and what I will probably be committed for someday. What can I say? I'm a crazy bitch. ;)
So there it is.
And here's the challenge. I'm working on a new fic called Just Talk (Sometimes a Little Dirty) to Me, but it's coming a little slower than some of my other stories do.
In the meantime, I kind of want to challenge myself in a new way. So comment with a one-word prompt, and I will give you a ficlet of 1000 words or less.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2010-03-06 06:02 pm (UTC)heat
no subject
Date: 2010-03-06 06:48 pm (UTC)Heat
Date: 2010-03-09 12:50 am (UTC)Steve rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest, shifting his weight from one food to the other as he considers the spectacle before him. “Because their relationship is completely fucking twisted,” is his explanation.
With a roll of her eyes, Danneel sighs and leans her hip against the kitchen counter and taps her acrylic nails against the granite top. “Why are we here for this again?”
“Because they're actors,” Steve intones. “Validation doesn't count if it's not completely external.”
Chris stands at the corner of the kitchen table, Jensen and Jared seated on either side of him. Each of them have a glass of milk and an empty shot glass. Chris twists the lid on the small bottle in his hand and empties half of it into Jared's glass, and the other into Jensen's.
“Don't worry there, Jay-man. I got the chocolate one for ya,” Chris winks as the pair before him stare hesitantly at the dark liquid in their glasses. “Alright, boys, here's the rules. That's one ounce'a CaJohn's infamous Black Mamba Hot Sauce. I had to sign a liability waiver when I bought it, so this here's the dumbest fuckin' thing either one of y'all have ever attempted. There's a good possibility it'll burn yer taste buds right off. Last chance to bow the fuck out.”
Jared raises an eyebrow in Jensen's direction and wonders just how the hell they got here. The betting, the challenges, started small enough. Now they're about to do a shot whose label guarantees the most heat available in a bottle. Chris is right, it's the dumbest fuckin' thing they've attempted.
With a shrug, Jensen reaches for his glass and Jared knows he can't back down. They've been sleeping together for more than a year, but anybody who thinks they're not still uber-competitive, pain-in-the-ass best friends clearly doesn't know them very well.
“Is this one of those guy things that I'll never understand?” Danneel asks from somewhere behind him and Jared's lip just quirks into a half-grin.
Jensen nods and runs his tongue over his bottom lip like he's playing some kind of mind game. Like Jared doesn't know how to block that out by now. “Ready?” he asks, voice Dean-low and graveled.
Finally, Jared wraps his hand around his own glass and nods his head. No time like the present. This can't actually kill them, can it?
“Bottoms up, boys,” Chris waves his arm like he's waving a flag and Jensen tips his glass like it's nothing.
Heat (Cont.)
Date: 2010-03-09 12:51 am (UTC)Whatever warning they gave this shit is not strong enough. His entire head could very well burst into flames at any minute. Jensen's face is as red as Jared has ever seen it, and he's sure his own is much the same. What the fuck were they thinking? This is, bar none, the worst idea on the planet.
His vision begins to swim, and he can hear Danneel asking if they're okay, if they need anything, but tears are flowing down his cheeks and he can feel his nose running while his throat squeezes shut. He's pretty sure he'll never be able to speak again, and won't that just be a kick in the ass? Sorry, fans of SPN, but your show's been cancelled due to the fact that your lead actors are idiotic frat boys who don't know when to say when, and have now burnt holes in their esophagus.
The worst part? It's Jensen's birthday. They were supposed to go to dinner tonight, and then Jared was going to bring him home, lay him out, and drive him out of his mind. He's pretty sure neither of them are going to be up for that now. It's quite possible, they'll never be up for it again.
While he can't really see Jensen through the tears in his eyes and the ache in his face, Jared feels him brush by on his way to the bathroom. Or, rather, the kitchen sink. Danneel growls out an, “Oh, gross,” and that's the last thing Jared hears before he's rushing in the same direction. No way is he going to make it to the bathroom.
The room reeks and it's nearly a half an hour later when both of them can focus on their friends again, eyes puffy and faces still crimson-tinted.
“Dude,” Chris steps out from between Steve and Danneel and wraps an arm around Jensen's shoulder. “That was fucking awesome.”
Jensen rolls his eyes and Jared would punch his arm on principle alone if it weren't for the fact that his fingers are still tingling and he's not entirely convinced that he should stop leaning all of his weight against the sink.
It's not until their friends are gone that Jensen looks Jared in the eye for the first time since slamming his shot. “You know I totally won that shit, right?”
With his eyes still burning, Jared rolls them. “Dude, whatever. You totally puked yours up first.”
“But I slammed it back first, too!” Jensen argues, hand clutching tightly to his tee shirt at his stomach. “And it's my birthday.”
“Oh, fuck you.”
His stomach roils and Jared shakes his head. “Sorry, man. Not tonight.”
Re: Heat (Cont.)
Date: 2010-03-09 03:24 am (UTC)i think jensen wins. this was great. thanks so much!!
Re: Heat (Cont.)
Date: 2010-03-09 03:28 am (UTC)