(no subject)
Oct. 17th, 2008 03:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
turpsI 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.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-10-17 03:20 pm (UTC)*hugs and fetches the chicken soup*
That is a super sweet comment fic - the best sort of soul medicine.
And !!!! yes, to all three fics!
There's a thingy that I have to send you way soonish. *looks shifty* Let me go find my red pen...
no subject
Date: 2008-10-17 03:44 pm (UTC)That is a super sweet comment fic - the best sort of soul medicine.
It was such a wonderful surprise, I loved every word.
I think you've seen all three of those before, so I'm thrilled you still like. I was just looking at the drawing one when I was posting this and it really won't take much to finish. That is once I decide between them being happy or it all being in Gee's mind.
Oh. Wait! Something where Mikey stays and tries to be domestic. Him cooking when Gee gets back. Just noodles or something but at least it's not frozen pizza, and Gerard's happy and it's not Waycest, just them being family, something Gee needs. Watching tv under blankets and then reading comic books by candle light when the power is cut.
But they're happy still, but then Mikey begins to fade a little, blurring at the edges and one night Gerard's drawing, Mikey directing him 'No, he needs to be smaller, his smile wider etc and in the end there's this scene, a room that looks warm, people on the sofas and Mikey goes. 'I need to go back' and Gerard would be all, nooo! but Mikey's got no choice, and he says, 'you could come' and Gerard's cold and he's tired of work so when Mikey holds out his hand he says yes, and it would end with the sketch book falling to the floor. Mikey and Gerard both shown.
Hopefully that makes sense.
Also, thank you <3
no subject
Date: 2008-10-17 04:02 pm (UTC)Oooo... an ending to the life drawing bit. You know, that ficlet really struck me - the thing I need to send you way is a continuation of that idea, actually. It's not as lovely and warm/cozy as this ending here [because it's always a happy ending if the boys are together], but I hope you'll like it anyway.
no subject
Date: 2008-10-17 04:13 pm (UTC)And I'm so excited about seeing what you send. It's such a compliment when something I've written stays with someone, and I'm sure I'll love it.
no subject
Date: 2008-10-17 04:59 pm (UTC)This isnt wrought of sunshine...I hope you like it anyway. [unbeta'd]
~~~~
Negative Space
At the Paramour,
the walls are white,
and graphite is a constant weight
on Mikey's tongue.
He drinks,
to strip away
slippery grey.
The tumbler held to light –
his fingers print the glass,
ridged circles of lead
reflection trapped
like bugs in amber,
their faint spirits thicken
on the inhale.
It's as close to turpentine
as he can get,
a memento mori
off kelter enough to settle chills
in, waking the edges and
outlines of his skin.
Turpentine
memory piggybacked on scent;
Mikey thinks of the first apartment,
dirty nest of sheets and blankets,
stacked plates, life encrusted.
But the art supplies
were always tidy,clean.
~~~
The walls here are white,
white
Mikey's smudging against the paint.
Charcoal imprints on the baseboards,
lined oval shadows mar
doorknob, light switch, a smeared band
at shoulder height where he leans
against the fridge.
At the end of the day, his bass strings
are caked with black.
Mikey avoids the shower.
He doesn't want to wash himself down the drain.
Leaning close to the bathroom
mirror, breath fogging surfaces.
He cakes on eyeliner
trying to replace what he loses,
what he's lost.
With his free hand he presses
fingers to the glass.
The glass presses back.
~~~
Mikey evades sleep.
He won't lie down, certain
that when attention
wanders, when sleep blurs
thoughts
he will reduce down
to carbon
grit and dust
mired in the sheets.
white sheets
reflect white walls
and he's the bug
smudge of black, caught.
And they
they'll wonder
where he'd vanished to this time
as they
marvel at the perfect outline
photo negative of a murder
scene, black on white,
wonder as
they bundle up the cotton,
as they carry the linens
to the laundry.
no subject
Date: 2008-10-17 05:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-17 05:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-17 05:19 pm (UTC)I love these.
It's as close to turpentine
as he can get,
a memento mori
off kelter enough to settle chills
in, waking the edges and
outlines of his skin.
Leaning close to the bathroom
mirror, breath fogging surfaces.
He cakes on eyeliner
trying to replace what he loses,
what he's lost.
I'm blown away so much. You are amazing. Thank you!
Feel free to say no, but if I finish the story. Don't add on the pretty ending and keep it angsty so it fits this, which I had in mind before this other ending anyway. Would you joint post with me? Your poem, my story. Because it's two sides of one story and it gives me the chills.
I want people to see, because you're so talented and you should be read.
no subject
Date: 2008-10-17 06:14 pm (UTC)Yay! I'm so glad you like this - I found the ficlet so comforting when you wrote it, I'd only hoped to do your work honor. The concept is so cool, and I was so taken with the idea and thinking about what Lifedrawing!Mikey would be like, I couldn't stop myself from riffing on your ficlet. [I actually spent a staff meeting writing notes about this Mikey, the day that you wrote it for me]. I'm glad it dovetails with your thoughts here.
The turpentine momento mort verse is one of my favorites too. :D And I really liked the tension of Mikey in the bathroom, trying to draw himself back together. So... \o/ basically.
I'd be honored to co-post this with you. Though, if I may meta a little? I don't see this poem as an ending. The questions I was pursuing here was 'what would Lifedrawing!Mikey be like at the Paramour? How would that place affect him?' . This is the answer I received. But I see events moving forward from this point too - he's leaving the mansion, the band finishing the album, etc. etc. I have a random scattering of notes along the rest of the RL timeline too - the fact that everyone 'remembers' Mikey as always being there, Bob's take on Mikeyway... some other bits.
But I'm easy. :D
[And I'm going to post this on my LJ too - writing's been scarce over there.]
I want people to see, because you're so talented and you should be read.
Thank you, Terri. I appreciate that more than I can properly express. *Glomps*
no subject
Date: 2008-10-17 06:34 pm (UTC)I worry for him. Grieve for him.
Honestly, before you poems were something I didn't really notice. Just something that was there. You've shown me that they're another kind of story, telling a tale. Thank you for that.
Meta away, I do love talking this stuff with you, and I'm fascinated with your thoughts. I think I'll just leave my story as it is, a jumping point as it were, and when you're ready I'll post too.
I am so incredibly lucky in my friends. So lucky.
no subject
Date: 2008-10-17 07:01 pm (UTC)I worry too! This Mikey needs hugs STAT! [and maybe some glue.]
What in the world were they *thinking*, trying to record in that house?!
Honestly, before you poems were something I didn't really notice. Just something that was there. You've shown me that they're another kind of story, telling a tale. Thank you for that.
You are most welcome. And ... Well, that's one reason why I write what I do. Back in the day, when we humans were still figuring out language and remained leery of the written word, verse was how we remembered and told our stories. It only seems fitting that, as we change how we share stories [ you know, through technology], poetry gets added back to the tale-telling. :)
Terri, you're the Beeeesssttt! Encouraging me to meta... *gleeface*
I think I'll just leave my story as it is, a jumping point as it were, and when you're ready I'll post too.
Cool! I think that's a good idea - I liked the original so much. And hey, there's nothing preventing future re-mixes... I really want to write this 'verse's Bob. Though with my luck he'll want to talk in Haikus. :P
I'm working on the post now - how do you want to link this stuff, hon?
And OMG, I'm having the *worst* with the summary for the poem. Though I'm tempted to just go with 'In which Mikeyway is haunted and freaks the fu.k out'. I dunno though...
I am so incredibly lucky in my friends. So lucky.
Boy howdy, is *that* feeling mutual!
no subject
Date: 2008-10-17 07:19 pm (UTC)You know, I want to reach out and hold him together, and I can't. That Gerard doesn't see, that Mikey is dealing alone. It leaves me with a lump in my throat.
Oh, Mikeyway.
What in the world were they *thinking*, trying to record in that house?!
That always puzzles me too, and that they stayed there after everything went down.
I like your meta, and like listening to your ideas. It's always interesting and prompts thoughts and ideas of my own. Some of which come to nothing, some that flare to life.
I really want to write this 'verse's Bob. Though with my luck he'll want to talk in Haikus. :P
And I really want to read, especially if it is Haikus, because Bob haikus would be fun *g*
Well, I was thinking we'd just post in our own journals with a link to the other, with an explanation of how the story and poem are linked together. When that's done, I could do a post at
Gah, I can see how a summary will be problematic. For mine I keep thinking of 'In which Gerard draws Mikey to life' except I want the actual coming to life part to be a surprise. I'll have to think on that.
no subject
Date: 2008-10-17 07:36 pm (UTC)Yup, sounds good. I think I did okay with the explanation... still trying to figure out the summary [I seldom do summaries]. And what link would you like me to use for your story? Does it have a title? I'll add those bits and send you a link.
[eeeeep. First post to a bandom comm.]
The Bob haikus are called 'Thumbnails'. That's all I know currently.
annnd, I'll be back to reply to the rest of this in a few ticks.
*smishes and runs*
no subject
Date: 2008-10-17 07:59 pm (UTC)http://turps33.livejournal.com/859305.html
Is that okay? Any changes just let me know.
And no eeeeeping. Your poem rocks!
The Bob haikus are called 'Thumbnails'. That's all I know currently.
This makes me so happy.
no subject
Date: 2008-10-17 08:24 pm (UTC)[Though I had to change my summary - it originally said 'His lines begin to blur'. :D]
Here's the link: http://crowgirl13.livejournal.com/246288.html
It's a little eep. Almost an ep.
The Bob haikus are called 'Thumbnails'. That's all I know currently.
This makes me so happy.
Well, your happiness is the goal here. :)
no subject
Date: 2008-10-17 08:38 pm (UTC)Okay, how's this for the community post?
This is a two for one announcement.
A story first, then a companion poem.
Title: Blurring Lines
Author:
Fandom: Bandom- My Chemical Romance
Characters: Mikey and Gerard Way
Summary: In which Gerard draws what he needs
Blurring Lines
Title: Negative Space
Author:
Fandom: Bandom- My Chemical Romance
Character: Mikey Way
Summary: Rub too hard against the paper and the sketch becomes indistinct, blends to grey.
Negative Space
no subject
Date: 2008-10-17 09:04 pm (UTC)That looks great.
*bounces*
And look- we managed to find you a great distraction today. :DD
no subject
Date: 2008-10-17 10:56 pm (UTC)That Gerard doesn't see, that Mikey is dealing alone. It leaves me with a lump in my throat.
Neither of them are meant to be alone. And yet, and yet...
I'm pretty much left with 'oh, Mikeyway' too.
What in the world were they *thinking*, trying to record in that house?!
That always puzzles me too, and that they stayed there after everything went down.
I get why they stayed, afterwards. Because they are stubborn cusses, and wouldn't be defeated by a *house*. :) But STILL...
I have to admit that this question - that of the Paramour- is probably my favorite deus ex machina/plot device in fic, though. Which I feel kinda bad about.
no subject
Date: 2008-10-17 04:23 pm (UTC)I loaded up a memory stick with my WIPs under the delusional idea that I'll have time to write *them* while I'm at A's writing test-Sesa stories...
**hugs you hard**
no subject
Date: 2008-10-17 04:28 pm (UTC)Be careful you're not locked in the conservatory with your WIPs, a laptop and an order to finish pumas *g*
*leans*
Have fun this weekend. Give everyone my love.
no subject
Date: 2008-10-17 04:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-17 04:41 pm (UTC)Plus, the sheer horror of the request is bound to help banish any germs.
no subject
Date: 2008-10-17 04:56 pm (UTC)*hugs* *sends chicken soup*
no subject
Date: 2008-10-17 06:12 pm (UTC)And dude, sorry for the TMI.
Thank you so much for asking :)
no subject
Date: 2008-10-17 06:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-17 05:02 pm (UTC)I think you should write all three of these :-) Gerard should never be without Mikey! And good vampire fic is always needed especially if it turns out to be Bob/Gerard in the end. As for Bob in Spaaace, you already know that I think it's the best thing ever! \o/\o/\o/\o/
no subject
Date: 2008-10-17 06:23 pm (UTC)My leg feels okay, though one of the puncture points is seeping fluid which is annoying. Nothing I'm not used to though, so no worries.
I doubt I'll write all three. Obviously Bob in Spaaace will be done, and I'd love to tidy up the Mikey and Gerard and post it linked with T's beautiful poem if she's agreeable. But the vampires may be shelved for now, even with the maybe lovely Bob/Gerard *g*
no subject
Date: 2008-10-17 06:30 pm (UTC)"Obviously" - I like that :-)
I'd love to tidy up the Mikey and Gerard and post it linked with T's beautiful poem if she's agreeable
I approve of this so much! Her poem is AWESOME.
But the vampires may be shelved for now, even with the maybe lovely Bob/Gerard
*sulks at you*
no subject
Date: 2008-10-17 06:38 pm (UTC)Her poem is so powerful. When I read it gives me this incredible sense of threatened loss, and her language use is beautiful. That something I wrote can prompt something like that amazes me.
*sulks at you*
They're in my googledocs! It's been written in comments anyway so far, that may continue *g*
no subject
Date: 2008-10-18 02:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-18 05:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-24 02:20 am (UTC)