Too deep? This is nothing! I'll tell you when I'm getting in too deep.
I'm still alive! Twitter seems to drain me of my many doofy things to say. However, I just wrote a MSPA-based ficlet around a picture I drew (and both are based around my abso-fucking-lutely favorite pairing in the Intermission), so you can have that. Also, here's the link to my Formspring. Go ask me things.
Anyway, fic and art.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
He was huddled up against her, his head resting on her shoulder and his remaining arm draped lazily over her. He mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "Slit their fuckin' throats" in his sleep, shifting himself closer to her.
Apparently the legendary menacing leader of the Midnight Crew, Spades Slick, was a sleep-hugger. If she'd found this out any other time, she'd have laughed herself halfway unconcious, and then laughed herself fully unconcious when he woke up and realised what he was doing. As it was now, it just made her own problem worse.
She had a nasty habit of occasionally waking up in the middle of the night for no reason, and tonight was no exception - although this wasn't the problem, or at least not the problem right now. Apart from the fact that this time it coincided with one of their angry, angry flings, anyway.
Because he had usually left by the time she woke up. And there was something about waking up to him, his breath warm on the back of her neck, that brought her to a conclusion she'd been mentally dancing around for years.
She'd swore to herself she'd have revenge for what he'd done. She'd take away a part of him he valued, as he had done to her (even if he'd repeatedly stated he didn't know what the big deal was - *bullshit*, he knew fine well what he'd done wrong). She'd already taken away his arm, and by extension his piano-playing. She knew that had hurt him, even if he'd outwardly taken it rather well.
But the fact was becoming clearer to her now, being with him without being at each other's throats, or... yeah.
After all he'd done, after all this time...
Snowman still loved him.
"...Fuck."
Also, on another note, I'm planning to move out of the parental residence at some point in the forseeable future. THIS WILL BE AN ADVENTURE 8D
Anyway, fic and art.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
He was huddled up against her, his head resting on her shoulder and his remaining arm draped lazily over her. He mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "Slit their fuckin' throats" in his sleep, shifting himself closer to her.
Apparently the legendary menacing leader of the Midnight Crew, Spades Slick, was a sleep-hugger. If she'd found this out any other time, she'd have laughed herself halfway unconcious, and then laughed herself fully unconcious when he woke up and realised what he was doing. As it was now, it just made her own problem worse.
She had a nasty habit of occasionally waking up in the middle of the night for no reason, and tonight was no exception - although this wasn't the problem, or at least not the problem right now. Apart from the fact that this time it coincided with one of their angry, angry flings, anyway.
Because he had usually left by the time she woke up. And there was something about waking up to him, his breath warm on the back of her neck, that brought her to a conclusion she'd been mentally dancing around for years.
She'd swore to herself she'd have revenge for what he'd done. She'd take away a part of him he valued, as he had done to her (even if he'd repeatedly stated he didn't know what the big deal was - *bullshit*, he knew fine well what he'd done wrong). She'd already taken away his arm, and by extension his piano-playing. She knew that had hurt him, even if he'd outwardly taken it rather well.
But the fact was becoming clearer to her now, being with him without being at each other's throats, or... yeah.
After all he'd done, after all this time...
Snowman still loved him.
"...Fuck."
Also, on another note, I'm planning to move out of the parental residence at some point in the forseeable future. THIS WILL BE AN ADVENTURE 8D