Vocabulary Soup #14: Egregious
e·gre·gious /ɪˈgridʒəs, -dʒiəs/ [i-gree-juhs, -jee-uhs] -adjective
e·gre·gious·ly, adverb; e·gre·gious·ness, noun
1. extraordinary in some bad way; conspicuously bad or offensive; glaring; flagrant: an egregious mistake; an egregious liar.
[Origin: c.1534, from L. egregius, from the phrase ex grege "rising above the flock," from ex "out of ( Read more... )
e·gre·gious·ly, adverb; e·gre·gious·ness, noun
1. extraordinary in some bad way; conspicuously bad or offensive; glaring; flagrant: an egregious mistake; an egregious liar.
[Origin: c.1534, from L. egregius, from the phrase ex grege "rising above the flock," from ex "out of ( Read more... )
Pfff, yes, yes it is. Besides which, it will fail to convince me at all, because, HI, I read this when my friend was over and she can totally attest to all the loud-squeaking-fangirling noises I made over it. !!
Spencer disapproved of most people's shoes at the best of times.
HAHAHA WHAT YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE TO HAVE SPENCER APPEAR TO CHARACTERIZE HIM PERFECTLY.
Not to collect himself or take deep breaths or anything like that.
*makes grabbyhands at Ryan* You're reading my mind, aren't you? You know how much I love awkward fumbling denial and you're PUSHING ALL MY BUTTONS ON PURPOSE, AREN'T YOU?
"Seriously, Pete, put on some pants or you won't get a single drop of Jon's awesomesauce."
YOUR BABIES. HOW MANY OF THEM CAN I HAVE? A HORDE, PERHAPS?
Also? Pete lounging around naked while waiting for Ryan? YES.
A year ago it had meant pancakes and makeup tips and swapping clothes.
♥ ♥ ♥
Then last week Pete had murmured into the phone "Come sleep beside me,"
Oh, Jesus. Jesus.
DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW MUCH I NEED MORE OF THIS? DO YOU? <-------------------THISMUCH----------------------------->
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I can't believe I forgot to amend that bathrobe sentence before I posted -- the robe is totally open down the front from neck to knee. Pete is classy.
I think we are reaching my creative limits. This is probably going to end one of two ways: I simply stop posting more and it just drops off, unfinished, or I post increasingly awful bits until one of us cries mercy and I force them to kiss even if I've somehow locked one of them in an asylum along the way.
Here we go!
(Oh, and it goes without saying that I have absolutely no idea when exactly this is set or how it fits into the RL timeline, right? It's not like there is any research going on here.)
***
Ryan opened his eyes, regretting it almost immediately. Pete's idea of pants was a pair of purple boxers and white knee high socks. No shirt, and he was still wearing the bathrobe. Ryan wasn't sure if that made the outfit more or less offensive. The bartskull stood out in stark relief on Pete's smooth skin, and Ryan could see drops of water, probably from the shower, glinting from the thorns on Pete's collarbone. He shifted his hips back against the door frame, lowering the coffees to his waist and hunching his shoulders slightly.
"I'm pretty sure the sleepovers you're talking about only happen in porn." Porn. Why had he brought up porn? He wished he could let his head drop back against the wall and stare at the ceiling for a while. Think blank thoughts. He tightened his grip on the tray and kept his eyes on Pete's face.
Which was suddenly alarmingly close to his. Ryan blinked, but held himself casually still, avoiding rigidity by the smallest margin. Pete's arm was snaking toward him, going for his stomach, and he barely suppressed a helpless twitch.
A cup was plucked out of his tray. Ryan didn't sigh in relief.
"Hey, did Jon disappear into the back for a while before he passed these to you? Or, um, crouch down for a couple minutes?" Pete's voice was loud beside Ryan's head.
"What. No. What -- why?" They weren't going to talk about porn. Ryan couldn't believe his luck. He straightened out of his uncomfortable slouch.
"No reason. Have you read The Great Gatsby?" And Pete was back on the far bed, grabbing a book from the nightstand.
Ryan let the tray fall to the floor and sipped at his coffee. A bit sweeter than he was used to, but good. Hot. This conversation was already too hard to follow without caffeine and it wasn't even noon yet. Did coffee promote blood flow to the brain?
"Yeah, we read it in, like, school. Three years ago?" Three years felt like a lifetime. It also felt far too close for comfort right now; fourteen was just a strip of exposed skin away. At least in high school he'd had plenty of textbooks handy. He wondered if he'd been too quick to get rid of the tray, but he couldn't think of a good reason to hold onto it for the next two days.
"Cool, yeah, me, too. C'mere, let's read together," Pete said, patting the narrow inches of mattress beside him.
Definitely too quick with the tray.
***
It looks like Ryan is going to be the one in the asylum soon. I think I need to find a Pete/Ryan icon.
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Somehow this bit is too long for a single comment? Jesus.
***
When Ryan had woken up that morning, he'd gone from unconsciousness to full awareness without separation. Pete's room. He felt it in the stillness of his limbs and the feel of the sheets, like his entire body had catalogued and assimilated his surroundings while he slept. He clung for a few seconds to the simplicity of purely physical awareness, absent of the usual jumble of emotion and analysis. Then he noticed the quiet of the room, silent in the spaces between his breaths.
He sat up and examined Pete's very messy and very empty bed. It looked like someone had fought a rhinoceros for dominance in there during the night. There were books and papers spread over the knot of tangled blankets and all but one pillow lay scattered on the floor around the bed. The remaining pillow was crushed up against the wall, dented and collapsed in on itself, covered in black smudges and blue penmarks. Pete probably hadn't slept at all.
The house felt abandoned and cold, and Ryan suddenly wanted to be back in Vegas. This had been a huge mistake. Last night, he'd thought it was his exhaustion that had made Pete's full body bear hug and blinding smile seem paradoxically distant. He'd stumbled through hot chocolate in the kitchen with Pete and Pete's mom, practically fallen up the stairs to get the tour of Pete's domain, and finally collapsed pitifully into bed. It had been a long week, a long flight. He vaguely remembered that Pete had perched beside him, touched his wrist, whispered, "I'll be right back." But now here he was, alone in a tiny bed. He couldn't smell coffee, let alone pancakes. He wanted to go home.
He took a shower. The only shampoo was pink and smelled like strawberries. There were six kinds of conditioner, though, and Ryan tried three of them at once. There was no soap at all. Typical. Ryan smirked to himself and rolled his eyes then soaped up with strawberry-scented foam.
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"Morning, Ryan, say cheese! And turn a little more this way."
Ryan could feel his eyes going wide with horror and kept his jaw clamped shut with an effort. He tried to spin away from Pete, tripped over the tub, and ended up hunched over, hands braced low on the opposite edge of the bathtub, ass in the air.
Pete choked with laughter behind him, his braying overlaid with the alarming sound of digital clicks. "Oh, god, Ryan, Ryan, you're a fucking freak show. Dude, your *ass*. I love you, man. Yes!"
Ryan felt his neck burn with a hot blush. "Are you done yet? I could use a towel."
Pete was still gasping for breath when he tugged Ryan up by his shoulder and thrust a towel at him. Ryan grabbed at it and wrapped it around himself like a cape, clutching the ends at his chin and using his elbows to force a little space between their bodies. He could see actual *tears of joy* in Pete's eyes. There were beads of sweat on Pete's temples and the sharp odour of sweat cut through the perfumed shower steam.
"Where were you?" Thankfully, it didn't come out as accusingly as Ryan meant it.
"Out for a run. Had a shitty night, whatever. But man, best morning ever! You should come out every weekend, flash your junk in my shower."
Ryan snorted and pushed past Pete to walk back to the bedroom. The air outside the bathroom was cold and he was almost grateful for the extra body heat when Pete caught up and slung an arm around his waist. Things felt almost normal again, with none of the strangeness Ryan had maybe hallucinated last night. He'd obviously been wrong to expect to be greeted with kisses and cuddling, had obviously misinterpreted all those phone calls and breathy sighs. He was young and stupid and confused, but he could do this, at least. Hang out with Pete, write some shitty lyrics, try to avoid getting caught naked *ever again*.
Oh, god. Naked. He was still mostly naked, and Pete was clinging like a limpet to his side, sweaty and hot. Ryan squirmed free and headed toward his bag, pulling the towel tight around his shoulders.
"I'm just gonna get dressed and, ah, go pick up some coffee. Want coffee?"
"Sure," Pete shrugged, looking at him strangely. "There's a Starbucks not too far from here. Take my car."
***
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Hee! When I can, I love to give very detailed feedback :D I used to be able to do it for long stories, too; I've been known to break up feedback across 2 - 3 comments before. I mostly stopped doing that because it made me look really scary, though. *g*
...the robe is totally open down the front from neck to knee. Pete is classy.
\o/ My mental images did not lead me astray! Pete, you are the classiest princess in the kingdom, yes, yes you are.
Oh, and, y'know, research. It's not as if I could tell the difference anyway. ;)
I think we are reaching my creative limits.
New evidence would attest to this being a DIRTY LIE. FOR WHICH I AM VERY GRATEFUL.
MOVING ON.
Then he noticed the quiet of the room, silent in the spaces between his breaths.
I love the little quiet Ryan moments in here. ♥
The only shampoo was pink and smelled like strawberries. There were six kinds of conditioner, though, and Ryan tried three of them at once.
AHAHAHA YES. A) Totally how I would imagine Pete's shower, because, dude, pink and strawberries, how could he pass that up? and B) RYAN WOULD SO TRY ALL THREE AT ONCE. THIS IMAGE MAKES ME SO RIDICULOUSLY HAPPY.
...and a flash illuminated the scattering steam.
Again, you lie about not being a creative writer. LIE.
He could see actual *tears of joy* in Pete's eyes.
*FUCKING DIES* Oh, Pete. Pete motherfucking Wentz.
You should come out every weekend, flash your junk in my shower.
I AM SO ON BOARD WITH THIS PLAN. Your Pete voice sounds so spot-on to me, too.
And, dude, was Pete up all night pining after Ryan? Because in my head he was! Oh, God. And Ryan was totally in that shower pining after him, and HE TOOK PICTURES OF RYAN'S ASS WHAT, and oh, God, they're reading the Great Gatsby right now, aren't they?
He was still mostly naked, and Pete was clinging like a limpet to his side, sweaty and hot.
*whimpers pathetically*
*clings to you and your STORY OF AWESOME*
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Again, you lie about not being a creative writer. LIE.
Hee, no I really do not. This entire process is basically me playing a torturous game of chicken with myself. Pretty imagery is the least of my worries, though, it's true. That part I can handle. It's keeping the character motivation in line that torments me. And also making things interesting and organic, as opposed to my natural tendency toward boring and mechanical. If I have to write sex? Things are going to get HILARIOUS. (In a bad way. But still hilarious. Because do you see how two sections up I managed to have Ryan thinking constantly about erections without ever once using that word or mentioning any piece of below the waist anatomy? Ahahahaha, oh, my brain.)
And, dude, was Pete up all night pining after Ryan?
HE TOTALLY WAS. Not to spoil it or anything, but Pete invited him out to sex him up and then COULDN'T GO THROUGH WITH IT. NIGHT OF ANGST.
and oh, God, they're reading the Great Gatsby right now, aren't they?
They so are.
*clings to you and your STORY OF AWESOME*
Hee, you are the only thing holding us afloat! <3
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It's keeping the character motivation in line that torments me.
Really? Well, even though this isn't a 16-chapter epic story, I wouldn't immediately pick that out as your weak point. Ryan and Pete both seem very consistent to me, here.
And also making things interesting and organic.
Ah, yes, that's tough. I worry about that pretty much every second I'm writing. You know what I've realized, though? If something is in your head or types itself out, it's probably going to be both those things. Inspiration happens for a reason. :) And even things that have to be tweaked and played with usually come out sounding okay, too, because they're building around that kernel of inspiration. I think it's okay to have lulls in-text, because not every part of a story necessarily has to be interesting. Er, that may not sound right. But for anything longer than a drabble, I think, having connecting bits and parts where the text slows a bit is fine and can add to the pacing for a lot of narratives.
Also, I have an extreme sensitivity to writing that comes across as mechanical, and you don't strike me as such. What I consider mechanical writing doesn't get inside a character's head very well; a well-done limited third person POV just couldn't be mechanical because if it's capturing the flavor of the character, it'll have that humanizing effect.
MY DISORGANIZED THOUGHTS ON WRITING, LET ME SHOW YOU THEM.
(And I did notice, and liked that you didn't use that word! It fits perfectly in your Ryan POV! Because if he thought the word erection he'd scare himself, just a little. OH, RYAN.)
Not to spoil it or anything, but Pete invited him out to sex him up and then COULDN'T GO THROUGH WITH IT. NIGHT OF ANGST.
OMG WHAT ARE WE GOING TO GET TO HEAR ABOUT THIS NIGHT OF ANGST? PLEAAAAASE SAY YES! I don't know why, but Pete angsting over Ryan is possibly the best thing that could ever happen between these two. Because in my headcanon IT'S SO TRUE.
They so are.
*wantswantswants*
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Ryan and Pete both seem very consistent to me, here.
That is good! I will try to keep it up. Right up until one of them goes insane, that is!
If something is in your head or types itself out, it's probably going to be both those things. Inspiration happens for a reason.
You are assuming I am blithely typing out inspired sentences, which is a good sign I suppose, but so false. :(
MY DISORGANIZED THOUGHTS ON WRITING, LET ME SHOW YOU THEM.
I love your thoughts! They are very encouraging in that you seem to think I am not sucking. It is all by accident. MY WRITING INSECURITIES, LET ME SHOW YOU THEM. Not now, though -- when (if) it gets done there will be plenty of time to rip things to shreds. :)
Because if he thought the word erection he'd scare himself, just a little.
And me. OH, ME.
OMG WHAT ARE WE GOING TO GET TO HEAR ABOUT THIS NIGHT OF ANGST? PLEAAAAASE SAY YES!
No promises. I have a tight Ryan POV, so getting the full angsty picture will probably have to come through dialogue, either with Ryan himself or overheard as a phone call to, say, Patrick or something. You may just have to remix it in your head. ;)
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...but so false. :(
Oh, honey. *hugs* Even if it feels slow and painful, that doesn't mean it isn't inspired! Inspiration isn't just speed; it's content and characterization and all that. :)
...either with Ryan himself or overheard as a phone call to, say, Patrick or something.
Hahaha, I'm totally picturing Pete calling up Patrick for advice and Patrick being like, "Wait, what? You're calling *me* for advice on your love life? What the fuck is going on here?"
And, yeah, true about the Ryan POV. *smishes Ryan's little erection-less POV*
I wouldn't be opposed to writing a remix of this from Pete's POV. Wait, what? IGNORE ME, CARRY ON.
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Too often I forgo comments in favour of posting to Delicious, even though I *know* that a lot of people probably don't vanity search themselves there as regularly as I do. (Also, my Del posts aren't really complimentary, mostly just straightforward plot summaries. But at least they know I've read it?) Of course, I also try to write as if the authors *won't* see what I'm saying, because it isn't really for them. I want it both ways!
I wonder it it's a common enough practice now that I can assume most authors will see my Del posts? You should do a poll!
If he was in a bad mood, Patrick would give bad advice just to teach Pete a lesson. But then he would reconsider because his life is way easier when Pete is not a lovelorn mess.
Is it possible to remix something that isn't even finished and has no known end point? Hee.
And now for a very tiny update, just so I can say that they really are starting to read Gatsby.
***
Ryan sat back gingerly on the bed beside Pete, bending his knees and slipping his feet under one corner of the duvet, which was shoved halfway down the bed in a fluffy heap. Both hands wrapped securely around his cup, anchoring it against his stomach, spreading warmth through his fingers. He rested his head against the headboard and swivelled slowly right, glancing over at Pete. Instead of seeing hair and the back of Pete's bent neck like he'd expected, he was met head on by a glare. Pete's head was jerking like an epileptic puppeteer was pulling at its strings, and his arm was once again reaching out toward Ryan's midsection.
"Closer, Ryan, come here. We need to huddle for warmth," whined Pete, in one of the best Brendon imitations Ryan had ever heard. He couldn't manage the matching guileless smile, but his hangdog eyes were heavy with bags and shone with the false brightness of the over-exhausted. Even with the creepy smirk he looked strung out and pitiable. "You'll never be able to read your lines from way over there."
Ryan considered pointing out that they were in a bed with blankets that they could pull up if Pete was so cold. Blankets would provide some useful camouflage if things started to get awkward. But. Then it would be like they were really in bed, instead of just *on* bed. He inched over until their hips touched. Pete's damp hair smelled too familiar; Ryan starting taking shallow breaths through his mouth.
"Lines?" he finally remembered to ask. Fuck, was his coffee already getting cold? His fingers were cramping up. How long had he been staring at Pete's scalp?
"I'll be Daisy and Jordan. You can be everyone else," said Pete, who didn't seem to have noticed Ryan's unexplained paralysis. He opened the book to what looked like a random page and started to read out loud in his normal voice.
***
PS This has a Google Doc now. I hope you're happy. :P
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I'm one of those readers who sometimes cares more about hitcounts than feedback, and I'm always flattered that someone at least got to the end of my story, so bookmarks make me happy. Not sure that people who prefer feedback to stats would feel the same way, but I like to pretend they do to make myself feel better!
And, yeah, I want it both ways, too; I don't expect most people I bookmark to see my bookmarks, and there isn't really an account where I write my summaries in such a way that I'm anticipating that they'll read it.
You should do a poll!
Oooh, I could! I love doing polls! That would probably be more interesting than the weird Heroes poll I was planning on doing. How to word it? "Have you ever searched del.icio.us and found a bookmark of one of your fics?" or some such?
But then he would reconsider because his life is way easier when Pete is not a lovelorn mess.
Hahaha, I know, right? Pete as a mess makes everything else's life miserable by proxy, for real. He's better off helping Pete slide into Ryan's sweet and tight pants.
This has a Google Doc now. I hope you're happy. :P
I AM VERY RIDICULOUSLY HAPPY ABOUT THIS. \o/ LOOK AT MY ARMS OF JOY. I feel so proud. I bet this is what being a grandma is like!
Instead of seeing hair and the back of Pete's bent neck like he'd expected, he was met head on by a glare.
SNEAK PETE ATTACK. :O
Pete's head was jerking like an epileptic puppeteer was pulling at its strings
Ahahahaha, I have finally watched enough Pete interviews that I can fully appreciate this! IT IS SHOCKINGLY ACCURATE.
"Closer, Ryan, come here. We need to huddle for warmth," whined Pete, in one of the best Brendon imitations Ryan had ever heard.
*makes incoherent babbles* Pete! Pete trying to make up for his night of FAILED MACKING!
Pete's damp hair smelled too familiar
I... is it inappropriate that I find it really hot that Ryan finds this hot?
AHAHAHAHAHAHA PETE AS DAISY THIS JUST KEEPS GETTING BETTER.
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Me, too! I am kind of ridiculously excited just visiting my website stats and seeing that people are doing google searches and hitting my bookmarklets page.
Oooh, I could! I love doing polls! That would probably be more interesting than the weird Heroes poll I was planning on doing. How to word it? "Have you ever searched del.icio.us and found a bookmark of one of your fics?" or some such?
Yeah, that's a good question. Also, do you regularly vanity search your name/fics to see if you've been recced anywhere? Where do you do these searches (LJ Seek, Delciious, etc.)? Do you check your website stat referrer links? Do you track hits to your LJ pages via LJ Toys or embedded images? What value do you place on hitcounts versus written feedback?
I feel so proud. I bet this is what being a grandma is like!
Ahahaha. A gay porn grandma? Well, no porn, per se. But the carefully avoided non-thoughts of porn. Seriously, this is the weirdest way to write fic. I feel kind of bad for you, because I basically require you to comment and adore every 400 words. But that's not going to stop me from doing it this way. :)
SNEAK PETE ATTACK.
I do love me some sneaky Pete. DO I EVER.
Pete! Pete trying to make up for his night of FAILED MACKING!
Pete's seduction techniques are hilarious to me. Although, I'm not sure they deserve the term "techniques."
I... is it inappropriate that I find it really hot that Ryan finds this hot?
I'm glad you find it hot, because I find the way people smell unbearably scorching if I'm into them. And Ryan was a good boy in the shower that morning, because he was pretty distressed about the waking up alone thing and being in Pete's shower was more weird than erotic at the time, but now, thinking about how he and Pete used the same shower, the same shampoo, and Pete was all *naked*... yeah, he thinks it's hot now.
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I wrote this in Starbucks yesterday, with a really dull pencil I had to beg from a barista, on the back of some handouts about resiliency training.
***
"I'm glad it's a girl. And I hope she'll be a fool -- that's the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool. You see I think everything's terrible anyhow--"
Pete stopped abruptly. Ryan nudged him with a shoulder. Pete stayed silent, and Ryan suddenly wondered if he was trying to deliver some kind of message with this Gatsby shit. He tried to remember who Daisy was.
"Dude, this is you, Ross." Pete wriggled his eyebrows and jabbed at the page.
"What, I'm not the narrator. Fuck, no -- he never shuts up. Keep reading."
"I want to hear your pretty, pretty voice."
"It's not Lord of the Rings, there's no singing. Your voice is fine." Ryan had been finding Pete's voice pretty soothing, actually, the easy rise and fall of it. He'd even relaxed his death grip on the coffee.
"There's songs fucking everywhere. I thought you said you'd read this before, what were you *doing* in high school? Weren't you all into, like, English and shit?"
Putting photos of his ass on the internet for Pete Wentz of Fall Out Boy to find. No, don't say that.
"Having sex."
Or that. Fuck.
Ryan's heart maybe stopped beating for a second, but Pete just grinned evilly and flipped forward in the book. "I'm the Sheik of Araby, Your love belongs to me. At night when you're asleep, Into your tent--"
"Jesus, stop." It was like cats were clawing out Ryan's ears and pissing in the wounds. "Just. Stop. Whatever it is that you're doing. Raping your vocal chords. I'll be the fucking narrator."
Pete expressed his triumph by licking a sloppy stripe up Ryan's cheek and twisting over him to press their foreheads together. "My voice commands you, Ryan."
Ryan kept his eyes on Pete's, which made him cross-eyed, but was better than the alternative. Shutting them. Tilting his chin. Closing the distance between their mouths.
"Whatever, you're my boss. I do what it says in my contract. Pick up the fucking book."
Pete flopped back beside him, smiling so hard his teeth looked like they were staging a hostile takeover of his face, and opened the book to a new place, even closer to the end. Did Pete not read books like a normal person? He had a crush on a cheek-licking, song-massacring, random-reading maniac. It was so totally hopeless, and probably dangerous to his own sanity.
The maniac picked up at another Daisy line: "I'd like to just get one of those pink clouds and put you in and push you around."
And then he grabbed Ryan's cock.
"Dude, sweet! You're already hard like --"
And Ryan eventually, finally, *thank god*, fell off the bed.
***
ETA 1: Come tomorrow, I will have been writing this for an entire month. OMG.
ETA 2: I've finally realized what Jon actually wears when he works at Starbucks: Crocs. Just as against the rules as flip flops (holes! around hot beerages! bad idea!) but he gets away with them anyway and they are lime green and hideous.
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which I will not
We'll seeeee about that. *beams*
I wrote this in Starbucks yesterday, with a really dull pencil I had to beg from a barista, on the back of some handouts about resiliency training.
Ahahaha, OMG, WELCOME TO THE INSANITY THAT IS WRITING. Appropriate that you wrote it in Starbucks, isn't it? That's where this wonderfulness was all birthed! And, wow, has it seriously been a month? O_O I feel like I just opened up the first bit of awesomesauce in my inbox a few days ago. TIME FLIES WHEN THERE'S HOT FIC INVOLVED.
but he gets away with them anyway and they are lime green and hideous.
Only JWalk could pull that off, and he *so* would. I bet Spencer finds them physically painful to look at, bwahahaha.
He tried to remember who Daisy was.
HAHAH, RYAN, ILU. ♥
"I want to hear your pretty, pretty voice."
I love the way your Pete talks. He's just the right mixture of patented Pete endearing and creepy!
Okay, seriously, I WAS ABOUT TO QUOTE EVERY LINE OF THE REST TO YOU. I'M NOT JOKING. I mean, a) Ryan Ross telling Pete he spent highschool having SEX, as opposed to revealing the real reason behind those tightpants pictures (which, honestly, SO TRUE), b) Pete raping his vocal chords to command Ryan, and AAAAH LICKING HIM, c) FOREHEADS PRESSING, MY FAVORITEST THING EVER, d) "smiling so hard his teeth looked like they were staging a hostile takeover of his face" AHAHAHAHA, e) pink clouds + cock grabbing = HILARITY.
This story fucking SLAYS ME, DUDE. I ALMOST CAN'T TAKE HOW MUCH I LOVE IT.
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It feels like a year to me. At least. Oh god.
Okay, seriously, I WAS ABOUT TO QUOTE EVERY LINE OF THE REST TO YOU.
Ahaha, you are like the best thing to happen to my ego ever. I think I stole the tooth-face takeover from someone else. It sounds too familiar to me, somehow. It may have to go!
So I went on a bit of a canon rampage today and, like, retconned the story or something. This is now officially set over Thanksgiving 2006, when Panic! was in Chicago for a show and Pete was home after recording IOH. So that means that it also takes place in a kind of parallel universe where (a) Brent did not go AWOL in spring, he's still in the band but is lately becoming a cause for concern, and (b) Ryan never started seeing Keltie. I tried to rework the bits of the story that contradicted this weird universe (and also took the opportunity to adjust Jon's footwear), so you can read the google doc of the whole thing here if that interests you: http://docs.google.com/Doc?id=dd88dg5h_3zh8wgj
Here is the new snippet (so small!):
***
It wasn't that no one had ever touched Ryan's cock before. Fuck, he'd been getting laid since he was fifteen; he hadn't been lying when he'd said he'd spent high school having sex. But most of that sex had been with girls. Nearly all of it. Maybe ninety-six, ninety-seven percent.
OK, fine. Every single fuck, including the first one and each time since, had been with a girl -- except for last week.
He'd been in a dressing room, talking on the phone with Pete and waiting for the others to show up. The later Brent deigned to arrive, the earlier Ryan found himself pacing the floors of cramped, ugly backstage rooms, like he could counter-balance the time Brent missed with his own hours of restless worry. He finally threw himself onto a lumpy couch in the corner of the room and stretched out on his stomach, pressing his face into the cushions. Pete would just have to decipher his muffled words. Ryan hadn't spoken much so far, anyway; he'd dialed Pete's number, said, "Talk to me" when the line was picked up. Pete hadn't even taken a breath before he began pouring words into Ryan's ear.
Ryan let the words fill his head without paying much attention to the meaning, let them settle around his brain like a cradle, soothing his racing thoughts. Once Pete used up the latest gossip and enumerated all the objects Hemmy had peed on and/or eaten in the last few hours, his monologue drifted unpredictably, a string of barely connected phrases that filtered down the line with the cadence of poetry. Ryan's heart slowed and his breathing deepened, his organs blanketed in the soft comfort of Pete's words.
The majority of his organs, at least. Lately, Ryan had been pressing more than his face into the cushions during Pete's calls. Even when he wasn't following the context, certain words penetrated his consciousness and built up a collective impression of hot, frustrated lust. Pete fell in and out of love on a daily basis, and at night he tied every one of his momentary obsessions to his bedposts with threads of murmured conversation. For weeks, Ryan had been shoving his hips into the blankets of his bunk to the rhythm of Pete's whispered "choke" and "mouth" and "strip."
He hadn't had sex since late summer. That dancer at the VMAs, Kelpie or something. He could see her looking up at him, bright and happy, like there was nowhere she'd rather be than on her knees in a bathroom stall, undoing his zipper with her teeth. Her mouth had been sweet, like toffee around him, but best had been her eyes, more sincere than he'd seen in forever. She'd given him her number and a bone crushing hug, but he hadn't called. He'd flown to Chicago to record with Fall Out Boy. He'd gone overseas. Girls with that genuine spark deserved better than an absentee boyfriend.
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Well, my policy on that is unless I'm plagiarizing, getting inspired from someone else isn't stealing. Hard to tell without having the original quote on-hand, of course.
*pets GoogleDoc*
And that canon sounds good to me! I mean, hell, my knowledge of that time is sketchy at best, but it seems like it fits fine, to me.
Okay, so weirdly, I've been thinking about your latest snippet a lot since reading it. And not just in the "oh, yeah, I meant to feedback that" way; more like the... I really like your Ryan *a lot* way. I've liked him since the first line, really, but I don't know, the more you write, the more you draw me into him. Him worrying about Brent, unconsciously trying to counterbalance the time lost, calling Pete just to hear his voice (and Pete, oh, man, Pete just *talking* to him, that's working one of my kinks, right there), and how he thinks Keltie deserves someone better. Eeeee! I'm having all kinds of characterizationgasms!
Even when he wasn't following the context, certain words penetrated his consciousness and built up a collective impression of hot, frustrated lust.
ALSO, HOT FLASHES. DID I MENTION THOSE?
For weeks, Ryan had been shoving his hips into the blankets of his bunk to the rhythm of Pete's whispered "choke" and "mouth" and "strip."
MMMHMMM, YES, MANY OF THEM.
...like there was nowhere she'd rather be than on her knees in a bathroom stall, undoing his zipper with her teeth. Her mouth had been sweet, like toffee around him.
YEAH SRSLY.
God, I just love this story. It feels like a little present every time more of it comes into my inbox.
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