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I have accomplished pretty much nothing of worth today. Have I written cover letters? Nope. Have I studied any? Nuh-uh. Have I replied to comments? A great big zip.

I did, however, manage to write crack, including, but not limited to, 5x04 Castiel angst. And listen to Sarah McLachlan unironically. Seriously, if you listen to McLachlan's 'Building A Mystery' and Jewel's 'Foolish Games' not only will you have the soundtrack to my freshman year of college but you will also have a complete guide to the kind of asshole I was attracted to back in the day and why it is ever such a good thing that I didn't date in college.

I blame you, Fox Mulder!

Oh! I did run the dishwasher. And put away laundry. And eat grilled cheese and tomato sandwiches and racist vegetable soup (tm the Wrestler). It's not that the vegetables are racist, but rather that the woman who made it is (aka our mother). For some reason the phrase 'racist vegetable soup' kind of cracks me up, but maybe it's just one of those 'laugh or I'd cry' situations.

Anyway, here's a little of the crack I wrote today, complete with an unnamed OFC (I told you it was crack). Because that's how I roll.

He sat down in the pew behind her, drawn forward against his will. God, he was tired of the ember of hope that wouldn’t go out, the faith that just wouldn’t die.

“It’s perfect in its one, long eternal whole; the beauty and the destruction,” he said because that’s what he did, he filled up the silence.

She looked over her shoulder, her mouth quirked. “You are so full of shit.”

Castiel threw his head back and laughed. Because she was right, he was full of shit; shit, shit, shit, all the way up to his eyeballs.

When he finally calmed she had turned in the pew and was looking straight at him. Humor glimmered around the edges of her mouth but her eyes were serious and direct. He was way too sober to handle the weight of assessment in her gaze.

“Righteous and steadfast, true and honest. Doing God’s work without question or critique, faith not fear, devotion not doubt.” One side of her mouth lifted in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “You’re not the only person who’s ever felt abandoned by God.”

Anger flared in him. “Don’t presume-” He shut his mouth with a click, biting the end off of the sentence. He pulled a pill bottle out of his pocket and flipped open the cap, downing one of the capsules with reflexive grace. Life was so not worth getting worked up over.

“You’re a lot cuter when you keep your mouth shut,” he said as he slid the bottle back into his coat pocket, the sneer on his face one of the many things he’d learned from Dean.

She grinned a little and shook her head. “Most people think so,” she replied, glib and bitter.

She grabbed her gun and pushed herself out of the pew. “Have fun not praying,” she threw over her shoulder as she walked away, boots only a scuffle over the broken stones.

Castiel remained where he was, the chill seeping into his bones. He didn’t pray.

Date: 2009-10-05 02:09 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] nwhepcat.livejournal.com
Poor Castiel! I love this -- the bitterness hidden beneath smirks and laughter and vice.

And I enjoy seeing one of the women who's NOT in the Gaius Baltar harem.

Date: 2009-10-07 05:32 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] liptonrm.livejournal.com
Poor Castiel, indeed. He's had a bad couple years. No wonder he became the Gaius Baltar of the Croatoan!Apocalypse (and yet still manages to interest me much more than Baltar ever did).

And, well, at least one woman in their little compound had to not be in his harem. Though now I kind of want to write from one of the harem's POV. 'Cause everything pretty much sucks, a lot.

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