Neo's Home For Words

My vacation time was much needed and buckets of fun, but now I'm back in the full swing of things. To sum it up, work sucks, the weather sucks, politics suck, and Bank of America sucks ($150+ in overdraft fees for one overdraft, srsly?)

BUT I have been typing my little fingers off. Nothing is really finished yet. I just figured I throw out a little taste of what's being done.

Original Stories

Title: Scattered All The Way
Rating: Hard R once said and done
Summary: “Detox,” her manager said. “Stop drinking. Stay away from the parties for a while. Clean up your act and you’ll be back on top in no time.” One week later she was on top alright. On top of every contract killers' hit list.
Snippet: She was wearing that shirt again.

No. It wasn’t as much a shirt as it was a poor excuse for one. Exposing arms, shoulders, stomach and ample bust, the scrap of cloth had a lot of attentive eyes trained on it. Attentive eyes were the last thing they needed. Not that the words “WE GROW ‘EM BIG IN TEXAS,” screen-printed in dark, bold letters were helping much.

Or the fact that the damn shirt that was not had earned him a busted lip. Jude's eyes, despite all his annoyance, strayed to her breasts, keeping vigil as she settled in her seat and ran a hand through her tangled hair.

He could feel her looking at him and knew she noticed where his attention was focused. She took a deep breath, causing the words stenciled across her chest to bend even more around the sides before licking her bottom lip and wrapping one hand around her water...

Fanfiction

Title: Cold Comfort
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: NC-17
A/N: Felt like writing some smut, so I did. Still in the editing stage, but it will be posted soon.
Snippet: This morning he wakes up to warm hands on his bare back and he knows it's Holly because her scent hangs around him like a cloud. It's as sharp and citrusy as the huge magnolia in the front yard and he finds he doesn't mind at all that the couch is damp from sweating on it all night. Her movements are slow as she travels over old scars and familiarizes herself with new ones and he feels the tension that's been ridding his shoulders for days uncoil and finally loosen it's jaws.

"Time?" His voice cracks and the corners of her mouth lift up to reveal dimples.

"Around eight." He sits up and she hands him a glass of water with the ice already melted down. Just the way he likes it. His swallows it all in about three gulps, trying to ignore the way her blue eyes watch him in that hungry way he's familiar with because he often watched her that way too.

She takes the glass from him when he's done, teardrop tips of her fingers brushing against his bruised knuckles as she stands from her crouch. He hears it when her right knee pops, the lingering effect of an old injury that he doesn't like to think about because she almost died that night. He winces with her as she stumbles a little and reaches out to steady her but she shakes her head and shifts her weight to her left side.

"I'm alright. The humidity gets to it a bit." Her Jersey accent is starting to meld with that lazy drawl of the the South and he can't help but like it. It cuts away at her rough edges and adds a little softness.

"Breakfast will be on in thirty." She tells him and he nods, watching as she limps out of the living room into the kitchen...

Title: The Giver & The Reciever
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG-13
A/N: This is a pre-series wee!chester fic I've been working on for awhile now. Still not were I want it to be but it won't let it's hold go so I keep working on it.
Snippet: Don't say it.

Those words had been bordering on a prayer for the past hour or so, because Sam had that look on his face. That look that said he was building up the courage to ask him to confirm a truth he wasn't ready to deal with yet.

Don't, Sammy. Please! Just don't say it.

The room was dark, despite the the artificial yellow light pouring from the overhead and side lamps. He kept the curtains pulled shut, the door locked and chained. Any hint of the outside world was gone. As far as he was concerned they weren't even a part of it. Because, when stuck in a nondescript motel with his little brother who was too curious for his own good, both of them knowing the things they did, nothing out there seemed right. Normal wasn't real. Normal didn't even exist.

Sam shifted on the bed next to him and Dean glanced his way. His eyes were on the alarm clock, more brown in the poor lighting then the normal mesh of color they usually were. His tongue snaked out to poke at the corner of his mouth as he read the harsh red numbers. It was an action that he hoped he'd grow out of soon. Sam made it too easy to read his emotions. Little nuances such as those speaking volumes for whatever was running through that eight year old head of his.

The tongue thing meant he was worried. Dean didn't have it in his heart to tell him not to, to cut it out and watch his damn cartoons. It was the second time that clock had turned over to 10 pm and in another hour he'd have to make The Call. He had a twist in his stomach that was growing worse with every second that ticked by as he waited and hoped and, more then anything, worried. So to tell Sam, who understood more then a kid his age should, not to was aimless...

Title: This Town
Fandom: Newsies
Rating: R for language
A/N: It's been over a year since I updated this story and I really need to get off my lazy bum and finish this chapter.
Snippet: “Ah,” she laughed, “Vous êtes si beau quand vous êtes fâché.”

He shook his head with a frown and took another drink, “Damn goil.” That just sent her into another fit of laughter, which caused Jean Pierre to turn around.

“Soigneux, Rogue,” he said, “Gens pourraient penser que vous aimez Spot.”

“I don't know if you two 'ave noticed, but we speak English in this country.” He said, wondering at the look of outrage on her face.

Jean Pierre shrugged and continued on, a silent indication that he do whatever he damn well pleased and no amount of protest was going to stop him. Spot glared at his back while Rogue starting humming an unfamiliar tune. She sounded terrible. The girl couldn't hold a note to save he life, though it never stopped her from showcasing herself to anyone's unwilling ears.

“Shud up, would ya,” He scowled while looking up at the clouds gathering above them. They hung low in dirty clumps that contrasted drastically with the dark sky. He couldn't really tell if they promised rain, something they were in desperate need of. He only knew of a few people that could accurately predict the weather. Most of them old. His Grams was one. She'd fuss over her knobby knees and twisted fingers for hours, glancing out the kitchen window while she tried to knead dough with her regular vigor.

“Big storm coming,” she'd tell him, “You finish this bread now. Old laddie's gotta rest sometime.”

And sure enough, the sky would flip, the air would be charged, and the storm that worried her bones so would make it's entrance.

He missed those times. Missed her. But that was a lifetime ago. That withered old woman was nothing but earth and bones now. That freckled faced child, almost elbow deep in sticky flower and eggs, had grown up and earned himself an empire. Now he had to fight to keep it. Even if it was just for a little while.

He took another drink to chase away the memories, letting out a deep sigh as the liquid burned it's way down before recapping the flask. Rogue had ignored his almost polite request and was still sharing her off-key song, hands stuffed in her pockets. So he shoved her and watched with satisfaction as both her voice and her feet stumbled.

“Bastard.”

He snorted out a laugh, only because there was no insult there. She righted herself, ignoring him completely as she walked a little faster to match Jean Pierre's steps. They started talking in hushed tones that he could barely make out. Not that it mattered, because it was in that damned French they insisted on speaking in whenever they wanted to leave him out of their conversation. He almost rolled his eyes as he took another mouthful of liquor and reached in his pocket for a smoke he'd rolled before leaving...

Other pieces are in progress and two complete chapters of The Majestic will be added in the next day or so. I'm currently looking into getting a beta because heaven knows I never can catch all my mistakes. That's about it for now. Love, peace, and hair grease. I'm going to bed.

EDIT: Because my computer hates me and my cat keeps sitting on my keyboard.