(no subject)

[asimplechord]

J sent me this link about ink before I even had a chance to check my newsfeed.

It's interesting, as social commentary about the acceptance of body mods, and I have thoughts about it relative to my own ink (I still get comments from the ppl I work with, esp the older administrative staff and profs) but I have to skedaddle to get to work for my 9am meeting, so they'll have to wait.

In the meantime:

give me a prompt, a photo, a line of lyrics, some poetry, with fandom and pairing. I'll see if I can write a sentence, a drabble or a ficlet.

♥

Comments

[shutyourface.livejournal.com]

0:D <-- me and my halo

Edited for html fail.

[asimplechord.livejournal.com]

It is ungodly early, and Spencer really just wants to be back in his bunk. Or anywhere, really, other than in this over-crowded, under air-conditioned radio station ante room. Spencer's rolling stomach was bad enough when Zack prodded them out of bed and into the van; the DJ's overpowering perfume hasn't improved matters. The buzz of work around him echoes to the beat of the kick-drum pounding in his temples, and it kicks that little bit louder when the door opens. It takes all the energy Spencer has to lift his head from its resting spot on his palm and watch as Brendon bounces in.

Fucker. He is entirely too energetic and cheerful, considering that he's the one who persuaded Spencer that it wouldn't hurt to stay out a little bit longer, have one more beer, one more shot last night.

But. He has a venti Starbucks cup in his hand.

"That better be plain black coffee. And it better be for me."