It's not winter any more in Wisconsin, which means it's spider season. While I love my semi-rural adopted state with all its corn fields and lakes and cranberries, I could do without the daily spider patrol. Of course, the cat helps out, but then I have to be worried that she'll eat something poisonous, and overall it's not so fun.

I feel like it would go faster if I could kill them instead of having to do a patented catch-and-release routine that returns them to their natural habitat, but I am incapable of killing anything that isn't a house centipede.

This is beside the point.

The point is that I am in love with this whole Castiel-centric commentfic festival right now, to the point where I have written one 1000-word thing one 1500-word thing (that is TOTALLY NOT RPF about Castiel protecting Misha Collins-one-of-the-66-seals) because why write a short thing when I could instead write 2500 words of UNREPENTANT CRACK?

Yeah, I thought so.

Also, [livejournal.com profile] lassiterfics posted a prompt that was four words long (to wit: "Intrepid investigative journalist AU!") and has spawned a rather long, rather serious, and still-developing story about Dean the reporter, Castiel his best friend/also reporter, Sam his brother who is a lawyer working a pro bono case on behalf of some residents of a housing development who are determined to reveal a coverup, and Uriel the Landlord. There's angst! There's drama! There's dashing romance! There's probably a very Bullitt car chase!

Someday, anyway.

--

I am reposting both commentfics here in the interests of having everything I've written under my spn fic tag, but really you should not read them. Instead, you should go join the party and write more so I can read it and squee and abuse capslock.

Chaos; Dean, Sam, Castiel (gen); PG-13 (language and gore); no spoilers )

Gotta Break a Few Eggs; Misha, Castiel (gen); PG; no spoilers )
I'm a massive freaking nerd. I mean, this really shouldn't come as a surprise, but sometimes I surprise even myself.

I've been working on my Enochian.

This involves reading lots of rather dry and irritating pseudo-linguistics, like Towards an Enochian Grammar, and An Essay on the Pronunciation of Enochian, as well as deciding whether or not the alphabet consists of 21 or 24 characters, and interpreting the idea that it's "usually" written left-to-right as meaning that it doesn't have to be (which seems to be the case if you're writing in geometric shapes, like when you're seeking the Abyss Experience, and I am not making this shit up.) Also, the only linguist who seems to have worked on this is named Donald Laycock. I am not making this up, either. I think he probably became a linguist to understand how he got saddled with such an unfortunate name, which still reduces me to 12-year-old giggles every time I read it. Basically, he says that Enochian isn't a language, and shares traits with more run-of-the-mill glossolalia, but that's not nearly as much fun as a secret angelic script. Plus, what does he know, his last name is Laycock.

In a moment of caffeine-fueled insanity last night, I even stumbled across Enochian Sudoku, proving, as Terry Pratchett would say, that there's nothing really damn stupid humans won't do.

(I know that I should instead be working on learning more Spanish than I need to understand basic dirty jokes from the guys in the kitchen. However, Spanish is useful and real and therefore not nearly as appealing.)

Even more caffeine later, I had decided that since Castiel was an Angel of Thursday and also of November, he was the Angel of Thanksgiving, which got me thinking all sorts of things about how he would speak sternly against the genocide of Native people and push Indigenous People's Day. Also, I am customarily hungover on Thursdays, since they are my Saturdays in the wonderful world of working at a bar and the day that I usually don't train. So when I'm lying there muttering to myself Never again will I combine four shots of whiskey with that many vodka tonics and I really shouldn't have picked that fight by playing "Legs" three times in a row on the jukebox and then beating the annoyed gentleman in question at darts, Castiel is listening!

Anyway. Time to go for a run, and then sit down and puzzle out some calls. Onward and upward.

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May 2010

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