challenge numero uno! (?)
Hey-o, there! We'd recently discussed the lack of fic in this community/fandom, as well as a general interest in a challenge or ficathon of some sort to get everyone's creativity revving. As I am not organized enough to set up a proper ficathon (exchanges, e-mailing, and whatnot), I thought I'd make a post pitching the next best thing.
MUSIC ( Read more... )
MUSIC ( Read more... )
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I think I'll go for the undertones' the sin of pride, but I'll have to have a think about who my subject will be. x]
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Crowther
1.Dancing With Myself
Monologues, as far as he was concerned, were the worst part. Crowther blinked slowly at his reflection, resisting the urge to make faces at himself because that would only prove how much this speech was bothering him and he didn't particularly want to admit it. Not even when the only eyes watching him were in the family photo on his desk (the other kind of pictures all being carefully hidden beneath his mattress, because he had no wish to repeat the Incident of '79). He looked at the worn book in his hand, then back at the mirror.
Fuck it.
He switched on the radio instead.
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I will get the others done eventually! :)
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2. Dead on Arrival
He hadn't spoken to Lockwood in seven years when he'd heard. Didn't seem right to go to the funeral. But he had rung Akthar, who'd rung Posner, who hadn't rung anyone, but had bumped into Scripps a few days later and between them arranged a reunion in their old local.
Seven voices toasted Lockwood that night.
Six toasted Timms not enough years later.
It was five when they'd heard about the stabbing at Akthar's school.
Although there were years and lives between them now, he sometimes wondered when the day would come when his would be the only glass raised.
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P.S. Mind if I add you to my filtered group for betas?
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Go right ahead!
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"God knows what you've unleased on the unsuspecting south!" Jimmy shouts. He grins, and they clink their glasses together, mock-posh. Who'd have thought that a bunch of Sheffield boys like them, the sort that had dinner lady mothers, would make it to Oxbridge? Fucking hell, Oxford! Dreaming spires! C.S. Lewis and Oscar Wilde! Floating down the River Cherwell! It's really happening. It's really fucking happening. He's on top of the world right now, and nothing can bring him down. There is a new elation, a recklessness pouring through him. Or maybe it's just the champagne.
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At some point, Stuart realised that he had been born with something that most other people had to work for. When he was younger, he would spend his afternoons playing football in the street with the other neighbourhood children; whenever there were broken windows or ruined flowers, it was his job to present apologies and a winning smile. What had worked on irate housewives now allowed him other privileges. For example, when he saw a pretty girl across a crowded room, he usually ended up flirting with her by methods other than smiling and making eye contact. It was an enviable talent, and one that rarely went unwasted.
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The Undertones - The Sin of Pride.
Akthar [ maybe akthar//someone else later on. x] ]
1. Family Entertainment.
Akthar wasn’t one to stand for something he didn’t believe in. Akthar’s father wasn’t one to encourage this, which was becoming a problem. Infuriatingly, he had taken to pressurizing the boy into accepting the faith over every single meal. Maybe it was the mounting tension, maybe it was lying all day at school and not wanting to do so at home, but tonight Akthar’s tolerance came to an end.
“No, dad, I didn’t pray today. I was far too busy kissing my boyfriend for that,” and with this he made a swift return upstairs, a grin spread across his face.
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