Last In Line
In the town of Modest, it was ten thirty in the morning. The toilet paper factory the town’s economy rested upon was up and running, steam billowing from tall towers rising high above the entire town.*
In the town of Modest, it was ten thirty in the morning. The toilet paper factory the town’s economy rested upon was up and running, steam billowing from tall towers rising high above the entire town.*
Spencer, Ryan concluded, had some kind of magical powers. That, or the uncanny ability to sweet-talk his boyfriend’s friend’s friend’s security guards into getting them on the guest list for this entirely swanky, if rather vacuous and showy, party. It was LA, Ryan expected nothing less; he’d left his wide-eyed wonder behind somewhere around the third semester at UCLA when he realized this was just another city and he was just another music studies major.*
Where Panic are largely rentboys, MCR runs a clinic, and FOB is off in Sausalito, saving the manatees.*
I called this the bus!accident fic while I was writing it. Largely because the premise is that Panic gets in a bus accident. I’m clever like that.*
Gerard recognizes him, and that’s not weird, but a little bit, because he was pretty sure the only boyband member he would recognize on sight was Timberlake and only then because of the whole “wardrobe malfuction” thing and whoa did that kid ever not pay his publicist enough.* In the same universe as 42.
The first year they’d been together, Bob had called Spencer on Easter and said, “Happy Easter?” because he wasn’t really clear on exactly what Spencer’s brand of Christianity was. It didn’t seem to involve as much bitterness as Ryan’s, nor as much angst as Brendon’s, but it wasn’t exactly as lackadaisical as Jon’s, either, from what Bob could tell.*
“Are you lost?” Spencer asked. “No,” the New Guy said, and continued to look in both directions while standing in the middle of the hall.*
Mikey came awake to the buzzing of his pelvis and the annoyed realization that he’d clearly fallen asleep on his phone. He pulled it up, peered at the screen and noticed the time first. Three oh seven. Normally, that would have been enough for Mikey to just turn over and go back to sleep, figure he could deal with it in the morning, but there was only one number in the world that could bypass Mikey’s block on unidentified callers. Mikey pressed talk. “Ronon?”*