linkspam grab-bag
Things that are not made of awesome:
- Having my maybe-a-cold finally decide to become a cough and the resulting bruised muscles in my chest.
- Sucking it up and being a responsible adult.
Things made of pure awesome:
- bexless and cimorene111's MCR nesting epics (respectively).
- Pete standing on a chair in support of his Patrick. And the lullabies they write together.
- Ray Toro on an acoustic guitar (Also, playing DESERT SONG OMGWHAT).
- Canon hair-pulling. I don't care if it's Waycest or whatever, PLS TO GIVE HAIR-PULLING FIC ALREADY.
- Panic and the Cab at the opening of a Guitar Center in Vegas. And Ryan Ross's fucking FACE.
- Gerard apparently " sucking the cock of every man I meet."
- wolfshirts
- Finding new bands to love and then having them post new songs that BLOW YOUR FACE OFF (god, if you ask me about this one, I will ramble wretchedly about bands on Myspace. Pls ignore my fangirling).
- Joseph Trohman's existence.
- All of my friends. But especially the ones who are going to be in Maine v. v. shortly. ♥
- ETA: Lupe Fiasco hanging out backstage at an FOB show and the song collaboration that came out of it.
Things somewhere in the middle:
- Writing snippets of things that get stuck in my head and then being left with nowhere to go with them:
Ver. 1.0 - Gerard/Frank and vampiresThe night is dark, but never dark enough. Gerard can still find them, follow the trail of blood and arrogance back to its lair, the air thick with the stench of rotting flesh. He hasn't stopped in three days and he knows he's going to keep hunting until his body gives out. Or he gets caught, whichever comes first. Mikey's dead, truly dead thankfully (not like Ray; not like Frank) and there's still blood on Gerard's hands from when he said goodbye.
Joe and Brian are probably looking for him, but Gerard's done with all that bullshit. Waiting and planning and strategizing. The vamps have run rabid now, there's no point in chasing them down. He'll kill whatever bothers to cross his path. The original nest is nothing more than a pile of embers; the ones that got to Mikey and turned Ray and Frank now pathetic heaps of dust. Gerard hunts because it's all he has left.
Gerard knows he's being followed. It's too quiet, no rustle of leaves, no night crickets, even the sound of the interstate is far off. He flexes his fist on instinct, feeling the bite of splinters in his palm. He walks faster, rounding the corner and ducking into the nearest alley. He's not going to get caught off-guard this time. He waits, hand clenched on the hard stake hidden inside his jacket, but the footsteps never come.
A chill breath crosses Gerard's cheek and Frank is next to him, all sallow skin and sharp eyes. He grins, razored incisors twisting it into just an echo of Frank's smile. Gerard doesn't start, but it's a near thing.
"Gerard, Gerard, Gerard," Frank laughs. He sounds almost drunk, syllables slipping away from him. It's Frank's voice but raw, vulnerable. He touches his fingers just inside Gerard's collar, tracing the line where the cross necklace used to be. It's a trap, a trick, a tease, Gerard reminds himself and his stomach turns with want and hate.
The thing that used to be Frank tucks Gerard's hair (matted with dirt and blood and sweat) behind his ear and gently strokes Gerard's tie, like he's a pet to be soothed. He used to do that before -- before everything -- when the only thing Gerard worried about was running out of conté crayons and Frank noticing the way he looked at him was different from everyone else.
And that's enough to move him, Gerard knocking Frank's hands away, finally showing the stake. Frank giggles, raspy and hollow and turns away, pacing back and forth across the alley.
"I'm shivering in my Docs, Gee," Frank says to the empty air, like he's onstage addressing an audience. He whirls back around, hands hitting the wall on either side of Gerard's head. "I don't think you have the balls," and now Frank's voice is soft again, leaning in to whisper in Gerard's ear, and Frank's chest presses into Gerard's knuckles. "Come on, Gerard, do it." Frank's panting now, turning and arching into him, and all Gerard can do is stare at his neck, marred only by the two small punctures just below the scorpion.
"Go on, put it in me. Make me scream, just like you've always wanted. Put that big, thick stake inside me," and one of Frank's hands is cupping Gerard's cock through his pants while he carefully moves his pointed teeth around the curve of Gerard's ear and Gerard doesn't know why he doesn't move away.
Ver. 2.0 - Pete/Mikey and first kissesMikey's futzing with his glasses when Pete leans over. It's the third time he's cleaned them today; it's hot and dusty where they are right now (as opposed to hot and damp or hot and hot) and Mikey's t-shirt really only pushes the dirt around. It's the third time and once again Pete finds himself stupidly watching Mikey's fingers and the way his eyes squint even smaller than they do in the afternoon sun.
He mostly misses, catching just the corner of Mikey's mouth and the picnic table they're sitting on squeaks under them. Pete expected this to happen in the dark, long after the last amp was unplugged and when the heat curling up from the asphalt was a welcome thing, but the brightness of the sun makes him feel bolder, braver.
Pete pulls back quick, like it could be a joke if he wants, but his hands are sweaty in his pockets from more than the heat. Mikey's still looking down at his glasses and Pete turns enough so that he can only see Mikey put them back on and the way his nose scrunches up out of the corner of his eye.
Pete's trying not to watch for every little movement but it feels like he's got fucking spider senses or something, hyper-aware of Mikey's every breath. His foot bounces to the rhythm of some far off bass line and Mikey picks at a worn spot on his jeans and smooths down his hair like he does when he's thinking.
Pete musters his best smile and starts to say, "So, nachos?" when Mikey reaches over and turns Pete's head, kissing him square on the mouth. The noise Pete's making trails off into something wordless and content. Pete had thought he'd be all edges and corners, sharp like a tattoo needle leaving imprints on Pete's skin, but Mikey's kiss is lazy; sweet. It takes Pete a moment to recognize that, hey, he's being kissed, but when he does he deepens it, tilting his head and parting his lips.
When Mikey finally pulls away, Pete lets himself fall back and lay down on the table, too stupidly blissed out to gather the strength to sit up. Mikey gets up and walks around the table, his head blocking the sun over Pete's head and Pete things about feathers and lutes and other things he'll be embarrassed about in a minute. He smiles down at Pete, that little grin that shows his teeth and says, "Nachos sound great." Mikey walks off back towards the tents and Pete takes a few seconds to breathe deep before getting up and following.
*tries not to nap at work*
Ahaha, PS, that is totally what the new song will be called now. Everyone's called it that and I think extraneous punctuation is just what MCR song titles are missing.
- Having my maybe-a-cold finally decide to become a cough and the resulting bruised muscles in my chest.
- Sucking it up and being a responsible adult.
Things made of pure awesome:
- bexless and cimorene111's MCR nesting epics (respectively).
- Pete standing on a chair in support of his Patrick. And the lullabies they write together.
- Ray Toro on an acoustic guitar (Also, playing DESERT SONG OMGWHAT).
- Canon hair-pulling. I don't care if it's Waycest or whatever, PLS TO GIVE HAIR-PULLING FIC ALREADY.
- Panic and the Cab at the opening of a Guitar Center in Vegas. And Ryan Ross's fucking FACE.
- Gerard apparently " sucking the cock of every man I meet."
- wolfshirts
- Finding new bands to love and then having them post new songs that BLOW YOUR FACE OFF (god, if you ask me about this one, I will ramble wretchedly about bands on Myspace. Pls ignore my fangirling).
- Joseph Trohman's existence.
- All of my friends. But especially the ones who are going to be in Maine v. v. shortly. ♥
- ETA: Lupe Fiasco hanging out backstage at an FOB show and the song collaboration that came out of it.
Things somewhere in the middle:
- Writing snippets of things that get stuck in my head and then being left with nowhere to go with them:
Ver. 1.0 - Gerard/Frank and vampiresThe night is dark, but never dark enough. Gerard can still find them, follow the trail of blood and arrogance back to its lair, the air thick with the stench of rotting flesh. He hasn't stopped in three days and he knows he's going to keep hunting until his body gives out. Or he gets caught, whichever comes first. Mikey's dead, truly dead thankfully (not like Ray; not like Frank) and there's still blood on Gerard's hands from when he said goodbye.
Joe and Brian are probably looking for him, but Gerard's done with all that bullshit. Waiting and planning and strategizing. The vamps have run rabid now, there's no point in chasing them down. He'll kill whatever bothers to cross his path. The original nest is nothing more than a pile of embers; the ones that got to Mikey and turned Ray and Frank now pathetic heaps of dust. Gerard hunts because it's all he has left.
Gerard knows he's being followed. It's too quiet, no rustle of leaves, no night crickets, even the sound of the interstate is far off. He flexes his fist on instinct, feeling the bite of splinters in his palm. He walks faster, rounding the corner and ducking into the nearest alley. He's not going to get caught off-guard this time. He waits, hand clenched on the hard stake hidden inside his jacket, but the footsteps never come.
A chill breath crosses Gerard's cheek and Frank is next to him, all sallow skin and sharp eyes. He grins, razored incisors twisting it into just an echo of Frank's smile. Gerard doesn't start, but it's a near thing.
"Gerard, Gerard, Gerard," Frank laughs. He sounds almost drunk, syllables slipping away from him. It's Frank's voice but raw, vulnerable. He touches his fingers just inside Gerard's collar, tracing the line where the cross necklace used to be. It's a trap, a trick, a tease, Gerard reminds himself and his stomach turns with want and hate.
The thing that used to be Frank tucks Gerard's hair (matted with dirt and blood and sweat) behind his ear and gently strokes Gerard's tie, like he's a pet to be soothed. He used to do that before -- before everything -- when the only thing Gerard worried about was running out of conté crayons and Frank noticing the way he looked at him was different from everyone else.
And that's enough to move him, Gerard knocking Frank's hands away, finally showing the stake. Frank giggles, raspy and hollow and turns away, pacing back and forth across the alley.
"I'm shivering in my Docs, Gee," Frank says to the empty air, like he's onstage addressing an audience. He whirls back around, hands hitting the wall on either side of Gerard's head. "I don't think you have the balls," and now Frank's voice is soft again, leaning in to whisper in Gerard's ear, and Frank's chest presses into Gerard's knuckles. "Come on, Gerard, do it." Frank's panting now, turning and arching into him, and all Gerard can do is stare at his neck, marred only by the two small punctures just below the scorpion.
"Go on, put it in me. Make me scream, just like you've always wanted. Put that big, thick stake inside me," and one of Frank's hands is cupping Gerard's cock through his pants while he carefully moves his pointed teeth around the curve of Gerard's ear and Gerard doesn't know why he doesn't move away.
Ver. 2.0 - Pete/Mikey and first kissesMikey's futzing with his glasses when Pete leans over. It's the third time he's cleaned them today; it's hot and dusty where they are right now (as opposed to hot and damp or hot and hot) and Mikey's t-shirt really only pushes the dirt around. It's the third time and once again Pete finds himself stupidly watching Mikey's fingers and the way his eyes squint even smaller than they do in the afternoon sun.
He mostly misses, catching just the corner of Mikey's mouth and the picnic table they're sitting on squeaks under them. Pete expected this to happen in the dark, long after the last amp was unplugged and when the heat curling up from the asphalt was a welcome thing, but the brightness of the sun makes him feel bolder, braver.
Pete pulls back quick, like it could be a joke if he wants, but his hands are sweaty in his pockets from more than the heat. Mikey's still looking down at his glasses and Pete turns enough so that he can only see Mikey put them back on and the way his nose scrunches up out of the corner of his eye.
Pete's trying not to watch for every little movement but it feels like he's got fucking spider senses or something, hyper-aware of Mikey's every breath. His foot bounces to the rhythm of some far off bass line and Mikey picks at a worn spot on his jeans and smooths down his hair like he does when he's thinking.
Pete musters his best smile and starts to say, "So, nachos?" when Mikey reaches over and turns Pete's head, kissing him square on the mouth. The noise Pete's making trails off into something wordless and content. Pete had thought he'd be all edges and corners, sharp like a tattoo needle leaving imprints on Pete's skin, but Mikey's kiss is lazy; sweet. It takes Pete a moment to recognize that, hey, he's being kissed, but when he does he deepens it, tilting his head and parting his lips.
When Mikey finally pulls away, Pete lets himself fall back and lay down on the table, too stupidly blissed out to gather the strength to sit up. Mikey gets up and walks around the table, his head blocking the sun over Pete's head and Pete things about feathers and lutes and other things he'll be embarrassed about in a minute. He smiles down at Pete, that little grin that shows his teeth and says, "Nachos sound great." Mikey walks off back towards the tents and Pete takes a few seconds to breathe deep before getting up and following.
*tries not to nap at work*
Ahaha, PS, that is totally what the new song will be called now. Everyone's called it that and I think extraneous punctuation is just what MCR song titles are missing.