possibly the best book ever written on the subject of turtle-stacking

Here we go with the DWNOGA recs. Because I know what I like, and perhaps you like it too.

anti-alphabetical--z to l

break me: Good Lord. It's Teerlove and it's fantastic! *whimper*
JC’s frown deepens. “Is that what you think?” he asks. “After all that shit we’ve been through, hell, after this damned hiatus, that if all that didn’t screw us up, sleeping together will?” JC’s tone implies that it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s heard in his life. And this is JC, who thinks talking to his car in baby talk makes it run smoother.

coffee shop: There's fun TrickC and lots of coffee drinking. And not just any coffee, either. I'm so fucking easy.
"Gingerbread latte," Chris says. "Isn't it great?" Chris picks up his own drink and runs his tongue along the edge of the lid, snagging the stray drops of coffee from when he almost spilled the cup earlier.

not yet: JC and Lance are snarky about themselves, each other, and everybody in the most delightful of ways.
Lance smiles. "I like the furry drumsticks."
"I dropped them three times. My hands got a cramp."
Lance taps the photo. "Your shoelace is undone."
"I did that to piss Justin off."

third time: Mine! Mine! It's lambs and Justin's adorably dorkily contemplative! eee!
And despite the fact that none of his relationships had worked out (yet, his heart added optimistically), Justin had a deeply-held conviction that when you really loved somebody, they had no choice but to love you back.

twenty-eight: What the fuck? It's Chris/Nick, and I like it. Quite a lot. How did that happen?!?
"I didn't see --" Nick looks over his shoulder, probably inside. "Is Justin here?"
"Nursing a broken hoof in Elvis-town."
"Is anybody else here? Like, Lance or Joey, I mean."
"I'm confused, Carter." Chris kind of sneers. "Isn't Howie throwing a Feliz Navidad this year?"

coming of age: It's Bassez, but I'm really fascinated by the Joey. He's such a goddamned guy.
Joey whispered, "Dude, I was convinced she was a lez-lesbian. She really really likes Kylie Minogue. And, seriously, she has all three Tori Amos albums and a bunch of singles. Lesbians love Tori Amos."
JC whispered, "I like Tori Amos. And Kylie Minogue. She's amazing, man. I'm not a lesbian."

always somebody: Chris and JC--at least, it would be, except for Chris's inexplicable taste for Veal.
"You didn't really decorate this yourself," said Chris, stepping in the front door and looking around the transformed house. "There isn't enough tinsel."
"They made me take it down," said JC, and didn't even bother with the fake pout that usually accompanied a statement like that. "Apparently people try to eat it when they're high. It's a real holiday danger. Did you know that?"
"Yes," said Chris, and imagined JC going around the house eating the tinsel later that night.

five years: An AU with an Egyptian flavour--odd and frenetic and compelling.
There's a nomad in front of him, water suit unzipped and hanging off her hips. She moves away and Chris walks forward. He touches his hand to the statue of the red calf and its mother, smudges water on the inside of each wrist.

burn: Justin keeps scrabbling, and Joey can't figure out how to make him stop.
Justin stares out the TRL windows for a few seconds. Joey puts his hand on Justin's shoulder and squeezes.
"It’s just glass," Justin whispers. "Just glass."

whisper: Oooooh, yes. Character studies from a Chris pov, and just perfect, and he and JC fit together just so.
Quiet people made him impatient. More than that, angry. Justin used to pipe up in this little baby voice when he was tired or homesick, this thin quiet little voice that drove Chris absolutely batshit.

runaways: Now this is Trickyfish I can get behind, because Lord, I was laughing out loud.
The stewardess -- flight attendant, Lance hissed in his ear, they like to be called flight attendants -- was pretty and blonde and French and very amused by Chris. Chris amused everybody, so he expected it. He smiled and winked at her and nearly fell over twice while Lance explained how Chris had been dropped on his head repeatedly as a child.


And now, bed. See y'all in the morning.

love in the time of scurvy

More DWNOGA madness.

anti-alphabetical--l to g

runaways: What's that? I mentioned this one before? No, you must be mistaken. Shut up, that's why! *snuggles fic fiercely*
When they'd decimated the bread, Lance brought out the chocolate. Maybe it was weird French chocolate, but Chris didn't care; it tasted like chocolate was meant to taste. Chris was definitely behind the concept of chocolate no matter where it came from, and the French were apparently very, very good at it. There was more kir then, and with the chocolate it didn't seem too girly anymore, so he drank enough of it to lose track of what he was drinking and eating and to start talking smack about Justin, which he suddenly felt was the only reason he'd come to Paris.

count the days: There's something that's just so pretty about Joey and Justin when they're written like this, and you never see it coming.
They're on break when Justin comes up behind him, wrapping impossibly long arms around his waist. Slender fingers intertwine and push, just a little, at the hem of Joey's shirt.

anarchitect: All this Trickyfish, man. Good thing some of it is intensely funny and loveable, or I'd be clamoring for Timbertrick.
Lance let him down. When they met up in the soda aisle, Chris had store brand nachos, a bottle of Pepsi, and a block of Velveeta. Lance proudly held out a cantaloupe, broccoli flowers, a huge bottle of vitamins, and bread.
Chris made him put all of it back - even the bread, which was the gross, nutty kind.
"It has linseed oil and extra fibre," Lance protested.
"You make me sad, Bass," Chris said.


fried chicken: Stories that use food in a fabulous way are near and dear to my heart, and good lord I would kill somebody for some macaroni pie about now. Plus, bitch!JC, and they fuck in a library, heaven help me.
JC and Justin bickered for over a week about the menu, Justin wanting to try some of the more exotic dishes he knew Lance liked. JC argued that Lance would have nothing but exotic meals in Russia and that his last meal with his four best friends should be something simple. In the end, because JC can hold a grudge like nobody's business, they decided on good ole' Southern fare: fried chicken, macaroni casserole, corn on the cob, refried beans (none for Joey, thank you) and sweet cornbread with peach cobbler for dessert.

game: Teerlove, dammit, but they're all snarky and good.
“Don’t touch me,” JC says, biting and clipped. Justin pulls his hand back, startled, then remembers the dark reflection in the bus window he can’t see from where he’s standing.

the neurological disorder elf: JC thinks he's clever, and Chris calls Legolas a bitch. It's beautiful.
"I'm not a fucking elf."
"Well Chris, for the last three months, you haven't been a-fucking anything." JC thought it was a good comeback, especially for him. He didn't understand why Chris was unappreciatively hitting him over the head with a pillow.

safe places: Chris and JC make fishcakes and diss "Glitter" and like to fuck. Hey, that sounds like a good time to me!
"No time like the present," is all JC can get out before Chris pounces on him and shuts him up with a rough kiss. Well, he also manages "Mrgglekempsf," but he somehow doubts that anybody would makes any sense of that besides maybe Romanians, and sadly, neither he nor Chris is Romanian.

black and white: Nick and Justin, and is he a starfucker or isn't he?
"Leave your number," he said to Justin before shrugging on a hoodie and going.
"Sure," Justin said with a half-smile, like he thought there was no way in hell Nick was going to call him. But when Nick got back that afternoon there were seven digits in big even handwriting on the complimentary stationary on the desk, along with a note thanking him for the use of his couch and shower.

jailbait street: I'm not all that keen on baby!sync, but this is fantastic and funny and the characterization is bang-on.
"No rehearsal till twelve. So you've got plenty of time to talk to the babies."
JC sighed and went to sleep.
When he woke up the next morning, Chris had already left the room. There was a large note taped to the door, saying TALK TO THE BABIES in big bright red letters. Stupid Chris.


More to follow, eventually. And tomorrow, a Baltimoron! Whoo-hoo!