this is how we know
J and I stumbled on an American Justice on A&E featuring Michael Alig. Holy crap was that creepy. And then we watched some other show after it that was about this 17 year old boy kidnapping a 13 year old boy and breaking his legs and ankles and locking him up in his room for days, breaking and setting and re-breaking his bones. So, with the rain and all, it's a pretty morbid night! Let's think of fun things, shall we?
* Expect another soundtrack soon!
* I've started writing another SGA/Bandslash fic. Um. It's actually a tangent off of a tiny section in Supersaturation II (which actually has a title, I don't know why I'm so reluctant to use it) and it involves Frank. I'm pretty excited about it.
* Also, I'm still toying around with the Ryan pulls a Mikey Way fic. The format might be a little weird for it. Here's some snippets that may or may not make it into the final product:
Right around June, the tour gets weird.
Spencer is going to go ahead and blame Ryan.
Brendon has been more annoying than usual, Carlos has some sort of staring problem, and Jon Walker is suddenly Zen. He’s this field of poppies, this layer of caramel, and he’s always been pretty laidback, easygoing, but he’s pushing Spencer’s patience with all this vacant smiling crap.
***
“Jon. Jon, Spencer is such a brave little toaster, I’m so proud,” Brendon says, pouncing on the couch beside Jon, because he may be puzzled - baffled even, seriously, he’d had money riding on Keltie being a beard, and he may now owe Gabe his as yet unborn first child, but that whole memory is sort of fuzzy with alcohol so he can’t be sure - but he’s proud of Spencer, he is.
Jon arches an eyebrow. “Okay.”
It’s been exactly three days since they’d rocked out in Vegas; three days since Ryan wrote them a Dear John letter and went off to space camp - Brendon’s using his euphemisms in his head, too, for practice, since Spencer doesn’t need any elopement reminders, not when his fragile heart is breaking - and Spencer had raged a little when they were stuck scrambling for a temporary replacement guitarist - “I’ll catch up with you out east somewhere. See you guys in a month!” Ryan had written - but luckily Joe had saved them for the first couple of shows, and then they brought in Carlos, and Carlos is pretty cool and lets Brendon hang all over him on- and off-stage, so he gets Brendon’s stamp of approval, despite having this really distracting mustache, but anyway.
***
Brendon is sure of two things. Two undeniable truths.
One: Jon Walker is awesome.
There is proof positive of this fact every time he smiles, every time he steps out on stage, every time he gives Brendon one of his enormous unselfconscious hugs.
And two: Spencer Smith and Ryan Ross are In Love.
Brendon knows - he totally knows, because his sisters had books and books about this kind of stuff, books that Brendon was not secretly addicted to, no sir, he was not - that in very special circumstances, Best Friends means In Love. Where the special circumstance, in this case, means rampant gayness. You can’t tell Brendon, even after he’d ran off to join the circus, that Ryan isn’t at least a little gay, and if you did, he totally wouldn’t believe you.
***
There’s a crash, some inhuman yowling, and Jon’s smile gets wider, sloppier, like he’d laugh if he had any energy left for it. Spencer is starting to suspect Jon’s either scoring some really excellent weed or he’s having lots and lots of tour sex.
* Expect another soundtrack soon!
* I've started writing another SGA/Bandslash fic. Um. It's actually a tangent off of a tiny section in Supersaturation II (which actually has a title, I don't know why I'm so reluctant to use it) and it involves Frank. I'm pretty excited about it.
* Also, I'm still toying around with the Ryan pulls a Mikey Way fic. The format might be a little weird for it. Here's some snippets that may or may not make it into the final product:
Right around June, the tour gets weird.
Spencer is going to go ahead and blame Ryan.
Brendon has been more annoying than usual, Carlos has some sort of staring problem, and Jon Walker is suddenly Zen. He’s this field of poppies, this layer of caramel, and he’s always been pretty laidback, easygoing, but he’s pushing Spencer’s patience with all this vacant smiling crap.
***
“Jon. Jon, Spencer is such a brave little toaster, I’m so proud,” Brendon says, pouncing on the couch beside Jon, because he may be puzzled - baffled even, seriously, he’d had money riding on Keltie being a beard, and he may now owe Gabe his as yet unborn first child, but that whole memory is sort of fuzzy with alcohol so he can’t be sure - but he’s proud of Spencer, he is.
Jon arches an eyebrow. “Okay.”
It’s been exactly three days since they’d rocked out in Vegas; three days since Ryan wrote them a Dear John letter and went off to space camp - Brendon’s using his euphemisms in his head, too, for practice, since Spencer doesn’t need any elopement reminders, not when his fragile heart is breaking - and Spencer had raged a little when they were stuck scrambling for a temporary replacement guitarist - “I’ll catch up with you out east somewhere. See you guys in a month!” Ryan had written - but luckily Joe had saved them for the first couple of shows, and then they brought in Carlos, and Carlos is pretty cool and lets Brendon hang all over him on- and off-stage, so he gets Brendon’s stamp of approval, despite having this really distracting mustache, but anyway.
***
Brendon is sure of two things. Two undeniable truths.
One: Jon Walker is awesome.
There is proof positive of this fact every time he smiles, every time he steps out on stage, every time he gives Brendon one of his enormous unselfconscious hugs.
And two: Spencer Smith and Ryan Ross are In Love.
Brendon knows - he totally knows, because his sisters had books and books about this kind of stuff, books that Brendon was not secretly addicted to, no sir, he was not - that in very special circumstances, Best Friends means In Love. Where the special circumstance, in this case, means rampant gayness. You can’t tell Brendon, even after he’d ran off to join the circus, that Ryan isn’t at least a little gay, and if you did, he totally wouldn’t believe you.
***
There’s a crash, some inhuman yowling, and Jon’s smile gets wider, sloppier, like he’d laugh if he had any energy left for it. Spencer is starting to suspect Jon’s either scoring some really excellent weed or he’s having lots and lots of tour sex.