august 14th, 2008

11:12am: picspam: out of the box

Ed is bewildered by his new surroundings.

current mood: Bitter

speaky mcspeakerton?

 

4:24pm: fic post: Mr. Staker's Holiday (Hot Fuzz)

TITLE: Mr. Staker's Holiday
FANDOM: Hot Fuzz
AUTHOR: phosfate and viedma
WORD COUNT: Lots, like...whoah, 9,700.
RATING: PG for goddamn swearing, violence
WARNINGS: Movie spoilers, American spelling, writers who think they're fucking hilarious. Contains peanuts.
SUMMARY: Bread. Bread. BREAD BREAD BREADBREADBREADBREADBREADBREAD!
NOTES: Crit is love.
DISCLAIMER: Hot Fuzz belongs to breadbread Rogue and bread bread bread. Bread. No infringeBREAD! BREAD! BREADBREADBREADBREAD!tendedBREAD!


Mr. Staker's Holiday

When you looked at it a certain way, the whole thing was Nicholas Angel's fault. If not for him, Sandford, Gloucestershire would not be on its third police station in as many years, and the village's swan population would not be Britain's highest per capita.

"That boy," Andy Wainwright said later, "Is wound too tight."

It started like this.

Nicholas was no longer the ticking time bomb of no one was quite sure what that he had once been, but he was, as Danny Butterman said, always thinking away. Even in his sleep.

Late one night -- or rather, very early one morning -- Nicholas suddenly woke, sat bolt upright, and said, to no one in particular, "Swans don't honk. Swans do not honk!" continued on Ann's LJ, since Mary's a bit shy.

current mood: *thud*

speaky mcspeakerton?