::grumbles:: It's on my to-do list (http://angelgazing.livejournal.com/191782.html) now.
Yes! He totally has a day job! It's not like he expects to make it big, it's not even like he's trying. He fixes cars all day, he loses a bet to his friends and ends up on stage one night, and it's just the best thing ever.
Ugh. Now I'm torn on POV. Because, I mean, Jared! With the wanting and the fanboying and the absolute certainty that Jensen is the real fucking deal. But then Jensen! With how much music means to him. How it buzzes under his skin. They way he hums along with the radio station that's at least 60% static, while he's fixing his truck, the sun burning the back of his neck and grease under his fingernails. Music is the way his momma would sing Beatles songs when she was cooking breakfast on Saturday mornings, her hair pulled up and cartoons on in the background, and how he'll associate Let it Be with Batman and frying bacon 'til the day he dies. It's the way his daddy would say, "ol' Johnny" like he was a neighbor down the road, like they were on a first name basis. It's the way his fingers felt, before the calluses built up, when he was learning to play Amazing Grace on his first acoustic--the one he still has, still plays, pulls out when it's hot and there's something big and empty trying to swallow him whole...
no subject
Yes! He totally has a day job! It's not like he expects to make it big, it's not even like he's trying. He fixes cars all day, he loses a bet to his friends and ends up on stage one night, and it's just the best thing ever.
Ugh. Now I'm torn on POV. Because, I mean, Jared! With the wanting and the fanboying and the absolute certainty that Jensen is the real fucking deal. But then Jensen! With how much music means to him. How it buzzes under his skin. They way he hums along with the radio station that's at least 60% static, while he's fixing his truck, the sun burning the back of his neck and grease under his fingernails. Music is the way his momma would sing Beatles songs when she was cooking breakfast on Saturday mornings, her hair pulled up and cartoons on in the background, and how he'll associate Let it Be with Batman and frying bacon 'til the day he dies. It's the way his daddy would say, "ol' Johnny" like he was a neighbor down the road, like they were on a first name basis. It's the way his fingers felt, before the calluses built up, when he was learning to play Amazing Grace on his first acoustic--the one he still has, still plays, pulls out when it's hot and there's something big and empty trying to swallow him whole...