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Canticle by Nic (PG)
Fandom: POPSLASH
Pairing: Brian/AJ
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
xoverau
Author Website: n/a
Why this must be read: Because it's an intense and powerful story about Fae and mortals, creativity and music, love and death, in a world that for all its mundane trappings is stark and beautiful and strange. Because the language is beautiful and haunting and grips you by the throat from the first line and won't let you go even at the end.
Excerpt: "And whom do we dance to his death today?"
Brian looked up from twisting down the mesh of his microphone. His curls were scratched with the last of the sun that streamed through the rippled glass of the practice space they'd rented above Dooley's Second Chance. "Nobody. Maybe. Have some faith."
Nick sat beside him crosslegged, hands folded over his knees. He'd ripped the denim over them artistically, three diagonal slashes like the bite of a very old dog, and tucked the cuffs into his sneakers. Starsky and Hutch, suffering from leprosy and severe ezcema, tared from his vintage t-shirt. "It's been fifty years, man. Fifty years since..."
"Since you," Brian said. "Fifty years isn't long. They even had guitars back then."
"No guitars," Nick said despairingly. He reached out with one toe and slid his case toward him, as if to assure himself it still weighed enough. "What did you do?"
"Cowbells," Brian deadpanned. "And we clapped."
Howie, setting up Kevin's keys on the rubber-backed mat he'd hauled up the stairs, laughed. His skin was cocoa-colored in the shadows and caramel where the light struck it. Sun fibered the walls behind him as if it shone through ice, and against it his shadow was a gargoyle's.
Canticle
Pairing: Brian/AJ
Author on LJ:
xoverauAuthor Website: n/a
Why this must be read: Because it's an intense and powerful story about Fae and mortals, creativity and music, love and death, in a world that for all its mundane trappings is stark and beautiful and strange. Because the language is beautiful and haunting and grips you by the throat from the first line and won't let you go even at the end.
Excerpt: "And whom do we dance to his death today?"
Brian looked up from twisting down the mesh of his microphone. His curls were scratched with the last of the sun that streamed through the rippled glass of the practice space they'd rented above Dooley's Second Chance. "Nobody. Maybe. Have some faith."
Nick sat beside him crosslegged, hands folded over his knees. He'd ripped the denim over them artistically, three diagonal slashes like the bite of a very old dog, and tucked the cuffs into his sneakers. Starsky and Hutch, suffering from leprosy and severe ezcema, tared from his vintage t-shirt. "It's been fifty years, man. Fifty years since..."
"Since you," Brian said. "Fifty years isn't long. They even had guitars back then."
"No guitars," Nick said despairingly. He reached out with one toe and slid his case toward him, as if to assure himself it still weighed enough. "What did you do?"
"Cowbells," Brian deadpanned. "And we clapped."
Howie, setting up Kevin's keys on the rubber-backed mat he'd hauled up the stairs, laughed. His skin was cocoa-colored in the shadows and caramel where the light struck it. Sun fibered the walls behind him as if it shone through ice, and against it his shadow was a gargoyle's.
Canticle
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