hackthis_archive ([personal profile] hackthis_archive) wrote2009-05-01 10:11 am

[vent]

The last day or so has been very emotionally draining on me, so you know, I AM NOT AT MY BEST.

I do not have a Dreamwidth account. I do not plan on opening one any time in the forseeable future. If there is a hackthis over there, it is not me. DO NOT ACCEPT ANY SUBSTITUTES! ;)

Also, I don't want to talk about Southland last night as the whole thing just drained the hell out of me.

We had to go through all the emotional horror AND THERE WAS NO COOPER?! The hell, people? You cannot upset the hell out of me right before I'm supposed to go to bed and THEN NOT GIVE ME ANY COOPER. I'd been waiting a whole fucking week and then you ripped my guts out, while reinforcing that:

A) REGINA KING FOR THE MOTHER FUCKING WIN
b) Her partner is a douchebag
c) Shawn Hatosy is a... what the hell is the problem there? Excuse me, what ISN'T the problem there. I do not understand why he's married to that woman. She's a nut job. I assume this is all about the sex whammy, which let me tell you, when you come out of the fog? WORST THING EVER.
d) PLEASE TO SEE 'A'
E) And what the fuck is up with Adams' partner, he's clearly a serial cheat, his wife is clearly tired of his shit. Ever heard of a divorce people? They made me miserable just looking at them

I RESENT GOING THROUGH ALL THAT AND NOT GETTING ANY COOPER. I'm just saying.



I need Cooper hugs. And Walsh hugs. And Ray-Ray hugs.

Can a girl just get a hug, already? Or something happy? Fuck. Tell me a joke. Sing me a song. Show me something amusing. I needs it. Man, do I need it.

[identity profile] thorne-scratch.livejournal.com 2009-05-01 08:36 pm (UTC)(link)
(Or silly writing excerpts)

Nate took stock of his situation: he had a free day and the weather was beautiful. He was also dangerously undercaffeinated, and being stalked by a six and a half foot porn star with apparent Norse god ancestry in his direct genetic heritage.

Huh. Sometimes, it was hard to evaluate where his life was on the difficulty scale.

At least one of those things was easy to fix. He made an about-face and headed directly for the green and white awning down the street. Thank God for giant corporate coffee chains with cafes situated every fifty feet. Brad followed him like a duckling. An oversized, smirking duckling prone to sexual suggestions and seemingly bent on giving Nate an aneurysm or a nervous breakdown, whichever came first.

The warm smell of coffee and the less appealing sound of pop masquerading as jazz washed over him as he stepped inside. The shop was empty, without the usual sprinkle of people reading newspapers or pecking at laptops, and Nate wove through the tables and chairs up to the counter.

The cashier was young, had six different piercings on his face, and didn't appear much more awake than Nate felt.

"Grande cappuccino, please."

"Grande cap," the cashier mumbled, in a tone that wouldn't have been out of place in the zombie movie that Nate vaguely remembered falling asleep to last night. He wondered if he sounded the same way.

"How many shots go in a grande?" he asked.

"Two. It's a double," the cashier said.

Nate tried to do some quick calculations in his head, figuring amount of caffeine necessary to get him feeling human (a lot), factor what he already had in his stomach (not much), and if he had actually any cash on him (unknown variant.) The answer came up red and blinking, error, try again later. Goddamn philosophy degree.

Brad leaned around him. "He really wants a grande JFK cap," he said, smiling.

Nate nearly swallowed his own tongue. The cashier just looked confused. "I don't know if we sell that."

"Three shots," Brad clarified.

"Yeah, okay." The cashier scribbled something on the cup and slid it over to the barista. "That'll be three fifty five. Back and to the left, dude."

After successfully excavating out a few crumpled bills from the pocket of his jeans, Nate dropped his change in the tip jar and headed towards the barista's end of the counter, Brad barely a foot behind him as he went. "That was terrible," he said.

"An American tragedy," Brad said solemnly. "Possibly also a shameful reflection of our public school system. I assume such a thing would never happen back in the prestigious halls of the Ivy League."

Nate rolled his eyes. "Yes, Brad. All of us East Coast Ivy League liberals have giant gold statues of Kennedy in our basements. Every night I light candles and incense, dance naked, and throw money at mine."

"Kinky, sir." Brad looked interested. "Sounds worthy of observation. Perhaps a documentary feature on the Discovery Channel."

"Sorry," Nate said, doing his best to match Brad's smile and return it with interest. "Sacred ritual. No outsiders."

Finally, God, coffee. The heat through the thin paper sides of the cup burned him and he didn't even care, lifting it by his fingertips for a long, scalding swig. The second sip was even better. Brad intercepted the cup on its way up for the third time and slipped a cardboard sleeve on it before handing it back, and Nate didn't even bother to protest beyond a few, urgent coffee-back-now noises.

"It deeply hurts my ego that a gay ass, watered down, mass-produced cup of over-sweetened beverage masquerading as coffee can also put that look on your face, sir."

"You'll live," Nate said.

[identity profile] hackthis.livejournal.com 2009-05-01 10:17 pm (UTC)(link)
wibble

DUDE.

OH MY FUCKING GOD!

YOU'VE BEEN HOLDING OUT ON ME LIKE CRAZY. I WANT MORE OF THIS STAT. NOW I WILL NOT STOP SHOUTING UNTIL THERE IS MORE? WHY HAVE YOU BEEN HIDING YOUR MAD GK SKILLZ? I DEMAND YOU SHARE THEM WITH THE WORLD -- OKAY, ME -- AT ONCE.

In short. Dude. Sweetie. This. This was the motherfucking business. Kennedy shrines where you dance naked and throw money, Brad following him like a duckling. Would it help if I gave you a baby? Had your baby? Stole a baby for you? They taste like bacon! Crispy sweet bacony goodness!

Ilu Nate. And Brad. And you. *draws sparkly hearts*

[identity profile] thorne-scratch.livejournal.com 2009-05-02 06:19 am (UTC)(link)
Dude, it is a really freaking dumb-ass AU. (And yet it seems to gain a page every time I'm not looking. This is karmic paypack for all the pestering for the high school AU, because when I outline it, it is very obviously going to be one of those freaking 50k word ones instead of a quickie behind the humvee.)

See, one of the things I both love and despair about the GK fandom is that it is tiny but on the whole, very good. So, shoving a retarded AU where they're all working for a porn studio (see re: dumb-assness) out there is kind of scary.

Anyway, man, I'll finish it and it will show up one of these days, and you're going to be the very first one blamed and thanked in the header notes because it is really all because of you. ^^

[identity profile] bijoux.livejournal.com 2009-05-02 12:36 pm (UTC)(link)
So, shoving a retarded AU where they're all working for a porn studio (see re: dumb-assness) out there is kind of scary.

No, no, don't be scared. I'm just going to speak on behalf of everyone in GK fandom and say that any sort of cracktastic AU, no matter how random or weird, is greatly appreciated. We're open to everything.

In conclusion, that whole thing you just wrote was excellent and if it's any indication what the rest of your epic fic is like, you needn't be worried.

ETA: Do I sound too eager? I'm trying not to, lol :)
Edited 2009-05-02 12:37 (UTC)

[identity profile] mydocuments.livejournal.com 2009-05-01 10:37 pm (UTC)(link)
"He really wants a grande JFK cap"

...

......

.........

ILU.

[identity profile] thorne-scratch.livejournal.com 2009-05-02 06:05 am (UTC)(link)
("Is this too tasteless?" I thought, and then decided, "nah.")

Actually, it originated out of a similar conversation I overheard in Starbucks once, and I've been hoarding it for the perfect fandom since. :D

[identity profile] mydocuments.livejournal.com 2009-05-02 06:15 am (UTC)(link)
"Is this too tasteless?" In GK, there is no such thing. =D

[identity profile] thorne-scratch.livejournal.com 2009-05-02 06:21 am (UTC)(link)
I know! It's like, "oh wait, there's Ray."