(no subject)
I woke up this morning and still had the plague. Then the cats decided to chase each other around the house and Freesia jumped and landed on me, scoring her nails down my foot and leg. There was blood....sigh.
But, when Corey went to school and James to work. I made myself a hot orange juice and logged on, where I found out that Arsenic had written me Mikey/Frank h/c comment fic, and it was perfection. It was exactly what I wanted to read, exactly what I love to read. Thank you, honey. ilu.
It's Chris' birthday today. Chris remains the most beautiful man in the world and I love him muchly. Wherever he is, I hope he's having a good day. Also, Chris with Justin ftw \o/
Then there's this.
When you see this, post an excerpt from as many random works-in-progress as you can find lying around. Who knows? Maybe inspiration will burst forth and do something, um, inspiration-y.
I went and looked at my files and I have three I've been poking at. Well, ones I'm willing to share anyway. The first two stuff that I posted in comments and may extend, the third the one I'm actively working on.
ETA: One is a wip no more.
This next one is something I've been adding to in various comments to certain people. Which is how a lot of my stories begin to be honest. I doubt I'll ever actually post it but it's fun to add to. It's MCR vampire fic, which, I know!
It's 3:47 when Frank lowers Gerard to the bed. He's pliant in Frank's arms, spine curved and head back, dark lashes against pale skin, mouth open in memory of one last panicked gasp.
Carefully, Frank settles him down, straightens Gerard's arms, smooths his shirt and finger combs his hair so it's lying straight, concealing the marks that puncture his neck. Giving dignity in these first moments of death.
That done, Frank sits. He waits, holding vigil.
It's 4:02 when he hears the rattle of the front door.
Frank breathes in deep and runs his fingers along the line of Gerard's jaw. Gathering courage, excuses, explanations.
He stands and crosses the room in the blink of an eye, meeting Mikey in the hall. Frank watches as he pulls off his damp coat and hangs it on the hook, his smaller jacket, his hoodie, peeling off his layers. Mikey's pulled in tight, his face pinched and his eyes shadowed. His t-shirt is stained at the hem and his jeans soaked half-way to his knees.
Frank reaches out, cups his hands over Mikey's face and his skin is chilled, the evidence of snow and icy winds under Frank's fingers. He shivers as he stretches up, his bare toes curled against the floor.
The kiss is brief -- alcohol, cold, fresh blood, regret -- Mikey's tongue licking over sharpened teeth and the sticky coating of blood. He pulls back, his eyes wide, his mouth open as he licks at his lips.
"What have you done?"
Mikey stills and tilts his head, listening.
He runs then, there one moment, gone the next. Frank follows, and by the time he gets to the bedroom Mikey's sitting on the bed, holding Gerard on his lap. Gerard's head lolls against Mikey's shoulder, his legs between Mikey's, fitting in the way the never should but always do. And so obviously dead that the grief is momentarily crushing, taking away Frank's breath.
"I should hate you."
Mikey's eyes are wet, his hand is pressed against Gerard's chest.
Frank says nothing. The words pressed back until they're thick in his throat. That Gerard begged for this, begged until Frank couldn't say no.
"I should, but I don't." Mikey runs his fingertips over Gerard's neck and brings them away with the faintest trace of blood. He looks at Frank, keeps looking as he sucks his fingers into his mouth. Draws then out, and says, quietly, "I couldn't have left him behind."
Frank nods, because he knew that. The same way he knew if Gerard hadn't been turned, eventually Frank would have lost them both. Which is why it has to be this way, and why Frank mourns as he curls up by Mikey's side, waiting for Gerard to be reborn.
Gerard hurts. His head aches and his bones feel like they're crumbling, pieces flaking away each time he moves. His skin itches and he scratches at his own arm, nails digging in, blood pooling under his fingers. He closes his eyes and fights against the urge to gag at the reminder of how helpless he is. Trapped in an addiction of his own making, because he asked for this. Begged for it when Frank said no.
Now Gerard's forced to ride this constant need. Even when he's freshly fed, his teeth coated and mouth slick he still wants more. The craving is ever present and gets worse the more he pushes it away. Denies that he's trapped in this life, where others have to suffer for him to survive.
He hates that most of all. No matter how often he's reassured they don't remember, he senses the fear. The barely repressed trembling as he gently moves each victim into place and bites down, hating himself all the while.
"You have to eat," Mikey says. He sits next to Gerard, rests his head against his shoulder. "Please."
"I can't," Gerard says. He rubs his cheek against Mikey's hair and swallows hard.
"You'll die," Mikey says, no inflection at all, but Gerard can feel his fear, the way his heart is thundering as he fights to remain still.
"No he won't." Abruptly, Bob stands. He reaches for Mikey and pulls him to his feet. "Go and sit with Ray and Frank for a while."
At first Mikey looks like he's going to say no, but Bob's insistent, hand tight around Mikey's arm as he pulls him away. At the door he leans in close, head against Mikey's and says, quietly. "Trust me."
Mikey nods, and with a last look, leaves them alone, and while Gerard isn't afraid, he knows they've crossed a line.
"You're a selfish piece of shit." Bob's hands are clenched and it's obvious how much effort it's taking him to control his temper. "You demanded until Frank caved, and now you're going to let yourself die."
Gerard wants to protest his reasons, but he's tired, weak. "You don't know what it's like. They're scared."
"I'm not," Bob says, and he drops to his knees in front of Gerard, holding up his arm as he demands. "Drink."
Gerard can hear Bob's pulse and he can't help moving closer, inhaling deeply, relieved when he can sense no fear at all. Bob trusts him totally, and Gerard can't resist.
He pounces, bites down, his fingers tight around Bob's arm. Drinking what's freely given.
And the last. I keep joking that you'd be able to piece together Bob in Space through the various parts I keep showing people in comments, and it's true. The story will end up Bob/Gerard and is pretty much Gerard looking for his band. It's also full of angst and revelations and I'm just enjoying writing it.
"Are you sure we don't need disguises? I'd look bitching in a mask and robe."
Bob adds more dried flubel fish to his bag and resists the urge to stuff one down Gerard's throat, because, seriously. "I told you, we don't need them."
"But we're going to be infiltrating a den of iniquity, if we need to find this Pete we need to blend in."
"You look like the walking death. You'll blend in," Bob says, and adds a selection of tradeable medication to his supplies.
"I prefer the description zombie-like myself."
The description fits. Gerard still looks like little more than a walking corpse, and listening to him talk remains painful. In an ideal world he'd remain in the Love and Death while Bob searches for answers, but Bob knows how to pick his battles, and this is one he'd never win. Buckling the bag, he looks at Gerard. "I should put something on your neck."
Gerard reaches up, fingertips beneath the scabbed 'F'. "I thought that gunk you've been spraying on was antiseptic?"
"It is," Bob says. He stands, rubbing at his right knee when it cracks. "I thought maybe you'd want it covered."
Carefully, Gerard presses his fingers over the word, then drops his hand. When he does his hair falls back into place, and while the letters are partially covered it's still easy to see what's been written. Not that anyone will care planet-side, but Bob can't imagine displaying your issues for all to see.
But, when Corey went to school and James to work. I made myself a hot orange juice and logged on, where I found out that Arsenic had written me Mikey/Frank h/c comment fic, and it was perfection. It was exactly what I wanted to read, exactly what I love to read. Thank you, honey. ilu.
It's Chris' birthday today. Chris remains the most beautiful man in the world and I love him muchly. Wherever he is, I hope he's having a good day. Also, Chris with Justin ftw \o/
Then there's this.
When you see this, post an excerpt from as many random works-in-progress as you can find lying around. Who knows? Maybe inspiration will burst forth and do something, um, inspiration-y.
I went and looked at my files and I have three I've been poking at. Well, ones I'm willing to share anyway. The first two stuff that I posted in comments and may extend, the third the one I'm actively working on.
ETA: One is a wip no more.
This next one is something I've been adding to in various comments to certain people. Which is how a lot of my stories begin to be honest. I doubt I'll ever actually post it but it's fun to add to. It's MCR vampire fic, which, I know!
It's 3:47 when Frank lowers Gerard to the bed. He's pliant in Frank's arms, spine curved and head back, dark lashes against pale skin, mouth open in memory of one last panicked gasp.
Carefully, Frank settles him down, straightens Gerard's arms, smooths his shirt and finger combs his hair so it's lying straight, concealing the marks that puncture his neck. Giving dignity in these first moments of death.
That done, Frank sits. He waits, holding vigil.
It's 4:02 when he hears the rattle of the front door.
Frank breathes in deep and runs his fingers along the line of Gerard's jaw. Gathering courage, excuses, explanations.
He stands and crosses the room in the blink of an eye, meeting Mikey in the hall. Frank watches as he pulls off his damp coat and hangs it on the hook, his smaller jacket, his hoodie, peeling off his layers. Mikey's pulled in tight, his face pinched and his eyes shadowed. His t-shirt is stained at the hem and his jeans soaked half-way to his knees.
Frank reaches out, cups his hands over Mikey's face and his skin is chilled, the evidence of snow and icy winds under Frank's fingers. He shivers as he stretches up, his bare toes curled against the floor.
The kiss is brief -- alcohol, cold, fresh blood, regret -- Mikey's tongue licking over sharpened teeth and the sticky coating of blood. He pulls back, his eyes wide, his mouth open as he licks at his lips.
"What have you done?"
Mikey stills and tilts his head, listening.
He runs then, there one moment, gone the next. Frank follows, and by the time he gets to the bedroom Mikey's sitting on the bed, holding Gerard on his lap. Gerard's head lolls against Mikey's shoulder, his legs between Mikey's, fitting in the way the never should but always do. And so obviously dead that the grief is momentarily crushing, taking away Frank's breath.
"I should hate you."
Mikey's eyes are wet, his hand is pressed against Gerard's chest.
Frank says nothing. The words pressed back until they're thick in his throat. That Gerard begged for this, begged until Frank couldn't say no.
"I should, but I don't." Mikey runs his fingertips over Gerard's neck and brings them away with the faintest trace of blood. He looks at Frank, keeps looking as he sucks his fingers into his mouth. Draws then out, and says, quietly, "I couldn't have left him behind."
Frank nods, because he knew that. The same way he knew if Gerard hadn't been turned, eventually Frank would have lost them both. Which is why it has to be this way, and why Frank mourns as he curls up by Mikey's side, waiting for Gerard to be reborn.
Gerard hurts. His head aches and his bones feel like they're crumbling, pieces flaking away each time he moves. His skin itches and he scratches at his own arm, nails digging in, blood pooling under his fingers. He closes his eyes and fights against the urge to gag at the reminder of how helpless he is. Trapped in an addiction of his own making, because he asked for this. Begged for it when Frank said no.
Now Gerard's forced to ride this constant need. Even when he's freshly fed, his teeth coated and mouth slick he still wants more. The craving is ever present and gets worse the more he pushes it away. Denies that he's trapped in this life, where others have to suffer for him to survive.
He hates that most of all. No matter how often he's reassured they don't remember, he senses the fear. The barely repressed trembling as he gently moves each victim into place and bites down, hating himself all the while.
"You have to eat," Mikey says. He sits next to Gerard, rests his head against his shoulder. "Please."
"I can't," Gerard says. He rubs his cheek against Mikey's hair and swallows hard.
"You'll die," Mikey says, no inflection at all, but Gerard can feel his fear, the way his heart is thundering as he fights to remain still.
"No he won't." Abruptly, Bob stands. He reaches for Mikey and pulls him to his feet. "Go and sit with Ray and Frank for a while."
At first Mikey looks like he's going to say no, but Bob's insistent, hand tight around Mikey's arm as he pulls him away. At the door he leans in close, head against Mikey's and says, quietly. "Trust me."
Mikey nods, and with a last look, leaves them alone, and while Gerard isn't afraid, he knows they've crossed a line.
"You're a selfish piece of shit." Bob's hands are clenched and it's obvious how much effort it's taking him to control his temper. "You demanded until Frank caved, and now you're going to let yourself die."
Gerard wants to protest his reasons, but he's tired, weak. "You don't know what it's like. They're scared."
"I'm not," Bob says, and he drops to his knees in front of Gerard, holding up his arm as he demands. "Drink."
Gerard can hear Bob's pulse and he can't help moving closer, inhaling deeply, relieved when he can sense no fear at all. Bob trusts him totally, and Gerard can't resist.
He pounces, bites down, his fingers tight around Bob's arm. Drinking what's freely given.
And the last. I keep joking that you'd be able to piece together Bob in Space through the various parts I keep showing people in comments, and it's true. The story will end up Bob/Gerard and is pretty much Gerard looking for his band. It's also full of angst and revelations and I'm just enjoying writing it.
"Are you sure we don't need disguises? I'd look bitching in a mask and robe."
Bob adds more dried flubel fish to his bag and resists the urge to stuff one down Gerard's throat, because, seriously. "I told you, we don't need them."
"But we're going to be infiltrating a den of iniquity, if we need to find this Pete we need to blend in."
"You look like the walking death. You'll blend in," Bob says, and adds a selection of tradeable medication to his supplies.
"I prefer the description zombie-like myself."
The description fits. Gerard still looks like little more than a walking corpse, and listening to him talk remains painful. In an ideal world he'd remain in the Love and Death while Bob searches for answers, but Bob knows how to pick his battles, and this is one he'd never win. Buckling the bag, he looks at Gerard. "I should put something on your neck."
Gerard reaches up, fingertips beneath the scabbed 'F'. "I thought that gunk you've been spraying on was antiseptic?"
"It is," Bob says. He stands, rubbing at his right knee when it cracks. "I thought maybe you'd want it covered."
Carefully, Gerard presses his fingers over the word, then drops his hand. When he does his hair falls back into place, and while the letters are partially covered it's still easy to see what's been written. Not that anyone will care planet-side, but Bob can't imagine displaying your issues for all to see.