Oh, tv execs
So now the CBS execs are saying CHAOS is only on-hiatus and will return at a later date. On the one hand, I will cling to that faint beam of hope. On the other, I'm not going to hold my breath. I just hope if/when it does come back there will be actual promotion. Also, note to self: must write the rick/billy fic for dancinbutterfly's birthday.
In other news:
Just realized this morning I am working an 8 hr shift on Easter Sunday. Boo.
It took seven hours, three soaks and four hours with a band-aid over neosporin to get a horrible splinter completely out of my hand yesterday. This is why I avoid outdoor things in warm weather. It never ends well.
I am going on a mid-late-90s alt/modern rock binge. Ah, memories. And seriously, Jakob Dylan/The Wallflowers, why do you not get more love?
I am still writing the Runner/Chuckler fic of neverending words for the modern au, but I shall now share a bit of it that got cut out, just b/c it was getting beyond horribly cheesey/going no where:
Leckie was about thirty sheets to the wind, full of whiskey and a bad tempter, when he decided now was the time to pry into Runner and Chuckler’s love life.
“Do you two have a song?” he asked, from his place on their guest bathroom floor. “You should have a song. Vera and I had a song. It was by *N SYNC.”
“How did she not know you liked to take it up the ass,” Hoosier said from his place in the tub.
“Fuck you, Bill, I’m versatile,” Leckie said. “Still, you two should have a song.”
Runner sighed from his place on the floor, trapped by Leckie’s head in his lap, and looked up at Lew. “Why’d we bring them here again?”
“Because I didn’t want you to reinjure yourself by dragging them up the stairs to Hoosier’s apartment,” Lew said. He sat down beside Runner, freshly showered after Hoosier puked all over him. “I think the better question is why we were stupid enough to go pick them up.”
“Because Person would’ve taken advantage of them and sold them as sex slaves or something,” Runner said. “And because we agreed to be the responsible adults this month.”
“Why did we do that again?” Lew asked.
“Something about Brotherhood,” Runner muttered into Lew’s shoulder.
“Song,” Leckie interrupted, “what is it?”
“Why haven’t you passed out yet?” Runner asked.
“I am of Ireland, and her people who shall never truly succumb to the whiskey devil.”
“I could’ve sworn you were of Jersey,” Lew said, “and your family’s alcoholic tendencies.”
“Just answer his damn question so I can sleep in peace,” Hoosier said.
“You always sleep in bathtubs?” Runner asked.
“They’re cold and soothing,” Hoosier said. “Just tell him the truth.”
“We don’t have a song,” Lew said.
“Everyone has a song,” Leckie argued, “you have too. A rite of passage for the fair and blessed life of lovers.”
“You are aware people with the amount of whiskey you have in your stomach aren’t supposed to be able to string together sentences,” Hoosier said.
“My vocabulary is limited,” Leckie argued. “I could compose a sonnet.”
“Why?” Runner asked.
“You don’t have a song, so I shall compose a sonnet,” Leckie explained. “Or tell you a sonnet to pick. Most people go with Shakespeare, but I think you two would better fit Donne.”
“Oh god,” Lew said, “can we just tell him our song is the Marine Corps Hymn?”
“Doesn’t count,” Hoosier said. “It has to be after you two started swapping blowjobs on a daily basis.”
“I’m flattered you think it’s daily,” Runner said.
“Hey,” Lew protested. He pinched Runner’s thigh. “It’s not my fault that occasionally my job leaves me tired and yours cracks your ribs.”
“It’s okay, honey, I still love you even when you have a headache,” Runner said with a pat to his head.
“Don’t mock the man you sleep with,” Lew said.
“Or I could write you a soliloquy,” Leckie said.
“Wouldn’t you need a whole play for that?” Runner asked.
“Hell, don’t you know Leckie wants to be the next Sondheim,” Hoosier said.
“And you told me you didn’t know shit about show tunes,” Lew said as he threw a roll of toilet paper at Hoosier’s head. “I feel like our whole friendship is a lie.”
“I could try an ode,” Leckie said.
“God, Leckie,” Runner said, backing up and letting his head drop to the throw rug. “Fucking fine, on our first date, as Chuckler counts it--”
“Wait, you don’t know when your first date was,” Leckie interrupted.
“I say it was our first dinner together, but Will says it wasn’t until we made actual dinner plans and met at Smokey Joe’s in our nice clothes,” Lew explained.
“You two are so fucked up,” Hoosier said. He stretched his legs out. “And still I’m not surprised you managed to last this long.”
“Fuck you very much,” Runner said. “Anyway, on our first date according to the calendar of Lew Juergens, It Ends Tonight by the All-American Rejects played, so if you insist we need a song, there you go.”
“That’s an atrocious song choice,” Leckie said.
“Your other choice is Van Morrison’s Moondance, that played during the Smokey Joe’s date,” Runner said.
“Much better choice,” Leckie said, “but still not clichéd enough.”
“How about you stop fixating on things that don’t matter and try to get some rest, Lucky,” Runner said.
“Try not to choke on your own vomit,” Lew said. He stood up and held a hand out to Runner. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said, “you just got cleared from your shoulder dislocation.”
Runner nodded and took his hand.
“Either you two are fucked up or Queers As Folk lied to me about gay men living together as partners,” Leckie said.
“God, Lucky, stop talking,” Hoosier said. “They already got enough shit on you tonight to last a decade.”
In other news:
Just realized this morning I am working an 8 hr shift on Easter Sunday. Boo.
It took seven hours, three soaks and four hours with a band-aid over neosporin to get a horrible splinter completely out of my hand yesterday. This is why I avoid outdoor things in warm weather. It never ends well.
I am going on a mid-late-90s alt/modern rock binge. Ah, memories. And seriously, Jakob Dylan/The Wallflowers, why do you not get more love?
I am still writing the Runner/Chuckler fic of neverending words for the modern au, but I shall now share a bit of it that got cut out, just b/c it was getting beyond horribly cheesey/going no where:
Leckie was about thirty sheets to the wind, full of whiskey and a bad tempter, when he decided now was the time to pry into Runner and Chuckler’s love life.
“Do you two have a song?” he asked, from his place on their guest bathroom floor. “You should have a song. Vera and I had a song. It was by *N SYNC.”
“How did she not know you liked to take it up the ass,” Hoosier said from his place in the tub.
“Fuck you, Bill, I’m versatile,” Leckie said. “Still, you two should have a song.”
Runner sighed from his place on the floor, trapped by Leckie’s head in his lap, and looked up at Lew. “Why’d we bring them here again?”
“Because I didn’t want you to reinjure yourself by dragging them up the stairs to Hoosier’s apartment,” Lew said. He sat down beside Runner, freshly showered after Hoosier puked all over him. “I think the better question is why we were stupid enough to go pick them up.”
“Because Person would’ve taken advantage of them and sold them as sex slaves or something,” Runner said. “And because we agreed to be the responsible adults this month.”
“Why did we do that again?” Lew asked.
“Something about Brotherhood,” Runner muttered into Lew’s shoulder.
“Song,” Leckie interrupted, “what is it?”
“Why haven’t you passed out yet?” Runner asked.
“I am of Ireland, and her people who shall never truly succumb to the whiskey devil.”
“I could’ve sworn you were of Jersey,” Lew said, “and your family’s alcoholic tendencies.”
“Just answer his damn question so I can sleep in peace,” Hoosier said.
“You always sleep in bathtubs?” Runner asked.
“They’re cold and soothing,” Hoosier said. “Just tell him the truth.”
“We don’t have a song,” Lew said.
“Everyone has a song,” Leckie argued, “you have too. A rite of passage for the fair and blessed life of lovers.”
“You are aware people with the amount of whiskey you have in your stomach aren’t supposed to be able to string together sentences,” Hoosier said.
“My vocabulary is limited,” Leckie argued. “I could compose a sonnet.”
“Why?” Runner asked.
“You don’t have a song, so I shall compose a sonnet,” Leckie explained. “Or tell you a sonnet to pick. Most people go with Shakespeare, but I think you two would better fit Donne.”
“Oh god,” Lew said, “can we just tell him our song is the Marine Corps Hymn?”
“Doesn’t count,” Hoosier said. “It has to be after you two started swapping blowjobs on a daily basis.”
“I’m flattered you think it’s daily,” Runner said.
“Hey,” Lew protested. He pinched Runner’s thigh. “It’s not my fault that occasionally my job leaves me tired and yours cracks your ribs.”
“It’s okay, honey, I still love you even when you have a headache,” Runner said with a pat to his head.
“Don’t mock the man you sleep with,” Lew said.
“Or I could write you a soliloquy,” Leckie said.
“Wouldn’t you need a whole play for that?” Runner asked.
“Hell, don’t you know Leckie wants to be the next Sondheim,” Hoosier said.
“And you told me you didn’t know shit about show tunes,” Lew said as he threw a roll of toilet paper at Hoosier’s head. “I feel like our whole friendship is a lie.”
“I could try an ode,” Leckie said.
“God, Leckie,” Runner said, backing up and letting his head drop to the throw rug. “Fucking fine, on our first date, as Chuckler counts it--”
“Wait, you don’t know when your first date was,” Leckie interrupted.
“I say it was our first dinner together, but Will says it wasn’t until we made actual dinner plans and met at Smokey Joe’s in our nice clothes,” Lew explained.
“You two are so fucked up,” Hoosier said. He stretched his legs out. “And still I’m not surprised you managed to last this long.”
“Fuck you very much,” Runner said. “Anyway, on our first date according to the calendar of Lew Juergens, It Ends Tonight by the All-American Rejects played, so if you insist we need a song, there you go.”
“That’s an atrocious song choice,” Leckie said.
“Your other choice is Van Morrison’s Moondance, that played during the Smokey Joe’s date,” Runner said.
“Much better choice,” Leckie said, “but still not clichéd enough.”
“How about you stop fixating on things that don’t matter and try to get some rest, Lucky,” Runner said.
“Try not to choke on your own vomit,” Lew said. He stood up and held a hand out to Runner. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said, “you just got cleared from your shoulder dislocation.”
Runner nodded and took his hand.
“Either you two are fucked up or Queers As Folk lied to me about gay men living together as partners,” Leckie said.
“God, Lucky, stop talking,” Hoosier said. “They already got enough shit on you tonight to last a decade.”