So, for reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture, because
thingswithwings explained them so clearly here, I went looking for Bruce/Johnny (Dead Zone) fic today. And I was so excited! Yesterday I only looked at yuletide, but I found Dira Sudis's Sympathy for the Devil, which was really good, so what would today bring?
Well, here is what it brought. I quote below the opening of every story I looked at today:
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Well, here is what it brought. I quote below the opening of every story I looked at today:
- "I'm telling you, Johnny, you have to go with me or I'm going to commit Hari-Kari!" Bruce exclaimed. [what? seriously?]
Bruce Lewis knew about the pain. He had seen Johnny rub his ribs, his neck, even his butt. He also rubbed his eyes a lot. [sadly this did not transition into "other places Bruce wished Johnny would rub," though it obviously should have]
The glass was half-empty, definitely, which is why Johnny felt not the least bit guilty about abandoning his martini and ordering a beer to replace it. Now if the glass had been half-full, that would have been something else entirely. [deeeeep]
It was a little pathetic that Tuesday Night Movie With Bruce was the social highlight of his week. It was like high school all over again, except there would be no making out with Sarah at the end of it, or in the middle of it, or before the movie even started. [Or at intermission, or while waiting in line for popcorn, or other times as well.]
The sunlight shines brightly today. The warm rays streaming through the glass illuminate so many things, some beautiful and others mundane. Standing back in the shadows by the couch, I wait. Wishing that by simply moving into the sunlight that it could somehow illuminate the dark corners of my heart. [Awww, dark corners of my heart! I am nostalgic for bad Sentinel fic.]
It should have been easy to hate Johnny Smith. Okay, so it wasn't such a good thing to hate someone just for waking up from a coma, but it should been easy despite the moral fuzziness of the situation. [Moral fuzziness!]
I was pacing the waiting room, pretty much like your clicheed lion. I ran a nervou hand over my head-- Okay, a tiger, then-- no more mane. [Seriously. Bruce isn't a lion any more guys!]
I didn't know quite what to tell him-- or if I should tell him-- about what I saw before waking. I know that I chose something, when I came out. I mean, the metaphor was pretty clear, wasn't it? All that was missing was a little path forking from where I stood. [Color me confused; I still don't know how this relates to the story.]