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Things, meme, brain numbness
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Brain all tilted tonight. Was supposed to go out for drinks with the staff lgbt network people but everyone was lame and went home after the meeting. Pfft. And I'd worn a skirt and shaved my legs and everything.
Anyway, I don't have much anything of proper content to post tonight, so have a meme stolen from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
pushkin666 who stole it from one of my old posts where I'd stolen it from somewhere off the interwebs as these things go. Round and round.
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Meme thingy
You leave a comment with the title of a fic I never wrote. (You can also request a particular fandom/pairing, if you'd like.) I will reply with the summary of the story and possibly even a tiny snippet. Excitement for all.
***
Brain all tilted tonight. Was supposed to go out for drinks with the staff lgbt network people but everyone was lame and went home after the meeting. Pfft. And I'd worn a skirt and shaved my legs and everything.
Anyway, I don't have much anything of proper content to post tonight, so have a meme stolen from
pushkin666 who stole it from one of my old posts where I'd stolen it from somewhere off the interwebs as these things go. Round and round.***
Meme thingy
You leave a comment with the title of a fic I never wrote. (You can also request a particular fandom/pairing, if you'd like.) I will reply with the summary of the story and possibly even a tiny snippet. Excitement for all.
***
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Summary: When Spencer was twelve, he got teased at school because he was kind of pudgy and liked to listen to his walkman and wasn't any good at sports. Then one day, the teasing turned ugly and Spencer... Well, Spencer got mad. The resulting storm destroyed the school yard. Nothing's been the same since.
Snippet:
"Spence," Pete says. "For the love that all that is good and holy and dry you have got to make up with Ryan." He's standing at Spencer's door, dripping water from his over-sized yellow raincoat.
"There's nothing to make up," Spencer says. He's still in his pyjamas and sees no reason to change out of them. "We're not fighting."
"Then why has it been raining for a week?" Pete asks.
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Speaking of, Panic still hasn't announced a touring guitarist for this fall -how freakin' awesome would it be if Ryan went out with them?
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Bandom, Pete/Patrick (predictable, I know, lol)
Title: On His Knees
PS Sorry you shaved your legs for no reason, lmao.
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Summary: When God called Pete to his service, he fought it until he couldn't. But ten years later he's the priest of an inner city congregation in Chicago, spreading God's love through youth clubs and human rights campaigns, in soup kitchens and homeless shelters. It's there that he first meets Patrick, a young man with a voice of an angel and capacity to seduce Pete to path of demons. Or so some would have him believe. But surely love can never be wrong?
Snippet:
It was 2 am and the church was quiet, Pete's steps echoing in the empty isles as he slowly made his way toward the altar. He could here the distant sound of sirens, another emergency crew heading toward another tragedy, and maybe tomorrow he would have a weeping mother or a inconsolable fiancée at his doorstep, asking 'why'.
It was the question very much in Pete's mind as well as he eased down onto his knees, crossed hands resting on the baluster and his forehead resting on them. Why wasn't he normal? Why had he met Patrick? Why was it so hard to stay away from him and the temptation he represented? Why was God testing him so? Why, if it was so wrong, had He made Pete like this in the first place?
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Lewis
I loved that story.
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Summary: When James wakes up, he's in the hospital, the cold whiteness of the room and sheets making his eyes ache. There's a touch and he startles, finding his Governor next to the bed, a relieved smile on his face. He says something, lips moving, but there is no sound. James can't hear. Two weeks later, a specialist tells him that he never will again.
Snippet:
When James gets home from the hospital, the first thing he sees is his guitar, leaning against the sofa where he'd carelessly left it when getting the call. He can't hear the noise it makes, smashing against the wall, but he can feel the vibrations all the way to his bones, the splintered wood falling at his feet like kindle.
Lewis comes by next morning with his own keys, not like James can hear the doorbell now. He doesn't say anything, doesn't write a word about it on his ever present notepad (they had tried texting but half the time James couldn't tell what Lewis had tried to type so pen and paper it was for now). He just makes the tea and slaps one of his current files onto the table. James knows that he's breaking at least fifteen rules by showing them to him, but he doesn't care. He'll never work as a police officer again, but at least for now, he can still help.
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Is it mean of me to wish for more thwarted leg shaving for you so you have time to write this?
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