Title: Stars Over Berlin
Genre Awaydays fanfiction. Slash.
Rating: 15 - language.
Pairing: blink and you'll miss it Elvis/Carty
Summary: alternate ending for Awaydays (2009) film. Carty realises that Elvis' loyalty to him is unquestionable.
A/N: Haven't had a chance to read the book yet. I'm hoping the movie was a dud and it really ends like this. Haha.




( It's past nine when Carty hits town again. )

 

 

Before we take a look at the actual room, let's get an idea of what you carry with you. Show us the contents of your purse/wallet/pockets. (DO NOT REMOVE ANYTHING.)

LMAO. :D (does this mean I'm poor, takative and horny?)


Sweet! Now let's see your bed!

Bob spends more time in my bed than I do...


How about your wardrobe? Show us your closet/dresser or just some clothes.

uhh...


How about showing us your desk?

It's actually tidy for once.


The walls of a room can reveal a lot about a person. Let's see yours!

Quadrophenia and Trainspotting posters. I have oasis and sid vicious along with certain Miss Chevy Impala and a book shelf on the opposite wall, but i uhh.. fogot to upload the photo. You'll just have to use your fantastic imagination.


Any other cool things you'd like to share?
  

  
     
Supernatural magazine collection, Dean's amulet replica, SPN mug. I had a replica of Dean's elephant hair bracelet but I gave it to my boyfriend. (and secretly really want it back, haha)


Awesome. Now show us evidence of your job.

Scary mannequin head is scary.


And what you spend your wages on.
  
wages? what are those? haha.


Okay. Now let's see something of sentimental value.

the dozens of drawings, gifts, cards and letters I've recieved from Chessy and Yuu over the years. :)


Can you show me to the exit?

Right that way.

Nicking fromflamingbentley
Post a single sentence from each WIP you have (or as many as you want). No context/explanations.

x. He saw figments of himself reflected back at him a thousand times in the tired, worried faces, in the overworn and underwashed clothes, in the backpacks and the dogs and the exhausted, slumbering children, all clutching one way tickets in nervous hands. All catching the midnight express together to a station named limbo.

x. Mickey has just realised that he’s risking his balls for twelve semi-automatic pistols, four grand worth of dope and a kitten.

x. The faint reflecting glow of the cat’s eyes soften the lines in his weathered face, making him look younger somehow and Noel can almost fool himself that he’s back there again with that warm breath (stolen whiskey and cheap cigarettes) fanning against his mouth while those brilliantly blue eyes, foggy with drink and joy and something else, something raw and deep and wanton that can never seem to break free, staring back at him.

x. Instead, he’s rewarded with another much more intense hiss from Dean - not a gasp, certainly not a gasp, not even the promise of his own personal harem of significantly top heavy blondes could ever get Dean to admit that it was a gasp – and the barrel of Dean’s gun pressing against his throat now hard enough to bruise.

x. On all of the streets with the pink lights it’s become a build up so thick that it’s impossible to discern where the pavement ends and the road begins.

x. His baffled frown and surprised laughter are proof enough, however, and I’m guessing that the whole dominatrix scene isn’t his thing.

x. He paused, face much closer than truly appropriate, and Kelly winced again as Uncle Wanker's hot panting breath, with an overwhelming stink of bitter and cigarette ash, threatened to engulf him, before finally, “…wha’ it is ya workin’ as now, again, son?”

x. The Scot was grinning like a pedo in a playground as the door finally edged opened and his friend's all too familiar tumble of wild hair shifted into view.

x. Persia’s choice of fashion was quite simple really - he wanted to be an undertaker.

x. It’s still as knackered as the rest of the furniture in Sick Boy’s pad, if not more so from all the use it gets, but it’s comfortable in its own highly complex, battered down way, like that of an old friend.

x. Miss 1967 Chevrolet Impala, KAZ 2Y5, is a Winchester – and Winchesters are tough bastards.