well damn.
...Apparently I go to college in eight days? No, I don't know either. I have one box packed. My attention span is failing me, as usual.
But I have been writing. I want to finish my epic break-up Brencer fic within the next week. So here's a teaser, I guess? This fic is pretty much 40,000 words of angst. I'm convinced everybody's going to hate it. If the teaser makes you feel anything beyond utter repulsion and despair, please comment and tell me? I'm so, so nervous to post this.
They decide on the backyard as the best location, leaning against a tree. Brendon lights up the bowl first, holding in the smoke until he coughs, and it's not long before he feels like he's swimming through his skin, lying flat on his back and watching the light through the leaves. It makes fascinating patterns.
"Ryan's being...weird." Spencer says it slowly, but it's still more coherent than Brendon can manage right now. He suspects Spencer isn't stoned enough. He debates the merits of handing over the bowl so Spencer can smoke more, but then he decides it's too much effort and turns back to what Spencer actually said.
"Like a puzzle piece," Brendon muses.
"No. Like a Ryan-piece. A weird Ryan."
There's a bug crawling across Brendon's stomach. He doesn't want it there, so he tugs clumsily at his shirt until it comes off and tosses it across the yard. "Fucking bugs. No, like a puzzle piece. He fit." Brendon laces his fingers together over his head to demonstrate. "With us. Like a puzzle. Fitting together. And then he...one of his little...the outline. One of his little lumps got cut off. Or folded off, puzzles fold. And now he doesn't fit." He shakes his hands a little for emphasis.
"Oh yeah," Spencer mumbles, and he lays down next to Brendon. "Why's your shirt gone?"
"Bug."
"There are a lot of bugs."
"There was one on me. On my-" Brendon blinks for a second. He can't think of a good word for stomach. Belly sounds weird. Tummy sounds weirder. He just hits himself there a few times instead.
"Oh."
"I miss yours, Spencer. Spencer, where'd your soft go?" Brendon asks cheekily, and rubs a hand over Spencer's- fuck, now he can't even think the word.
Spencer stiffens slightly, grabs Brendon by the wrist and forcibly removes his hand. Brendon trails the hand up and down his own skin instead, closing his eyes and feeling the grass against his back.
"Stop," Spencer mutters. Brendon is confused. He slits one eye open to watch Spencer roll onto his stomach.
"I can't stop, I'm high," Brendon says eventually, and he giggles.
So. Go. Comment. Give me con-crit? Give me inspiration? Give me recs for your all-time favorite fics? Talk about how sad the Blink tribute to DJ AM was? Whatever.
But I have been writing. I want to finish my epic break-up Brencer fic within the next week. So here's a teaser, I guess? This fic is pretty much 40,000 words of angst. I'm convinced everybody's going to hate it. If the teaser makes you feel anything beyond utter repulsion and despair, please comment and tell me? I'm so, so nervous to post this.
They decide on the backyard as the best location, leaning against a tree. Brendon lights up the bowl first, holding in the smoke until he coughs, and it's not long before he feels like he's swimming through his skin, lying flat on his back and watching the light through the leaves. It makes fascinating patterns.
"Ryan's being...weird." Spencer says it slowly, but it's still more coherent than Brendon can manage right now. He suspects Spencer isn't stoned enough. He debates the merits of handing over the bowl so Spencer can smoke more, but then he decides it's too much effort and turns back to what Spencer actually said.
"Like a puzzle piece," Brendon muses.
"No. Like a Ryan-piece. A weird Ryan."
There's a bug crawling across Brendon's stomach. He doesn't want it there, so he tugs clumsily at his shirt until it comes off and tosses it across the yard. "Fucking bugs. No, like a puzzle piece. He fit." Brendon laces his fingers together over his head to demonstrate. "With us. Like a puzzle. Fitting together. And then he...one of his little...the outline. One of his little lumps got cut off. Or folded off, puzzles fold. And now he doesn't fit." He shakes his hands a little for emphasis.
"Oh yeah," Spencer mumbles, and he lays down next to Brendon. "Why's your shirt gone?"
"Bug."
"There are a lot of bugs."
"There was one on me. On my-" Brendon blinks for a second. He can't think of a good word for stomach. Belly sounds weird. Tummy sounds weirder. He just hits himself there a few times instead.
"Oh."
"I miss yours, Spencer. Spencer, where'd your soft go?" Brendon asks cheekily, and rubs a hand over Spencer's- fuck, now he can't even think the word.
Spencer stiffens slightly, grabs Brendon by the wrist and forcibly removes his hand. Brendon trails the hand up and down his own skin instead, closing his eyes and feeling the grass against his back.
"Stop," Spencer mutters. Brendon is confused. He slits one eye open to watch Spencer roll onto his stomach.
"I can't stop, I'm high," Brendon says eventually, and he giggles.
So. Go. Comment. Give me con-crit? Give me inspiration? Give me recs for your all-time favorite fics? Talk about how sad the Blink tribute to DJ AM was? Whatever.