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May. 18th, 2009 10:32 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
turpsI've decided there should be some kind of easing in time between leaving a fan gathering of awesomeness and jumping back into real life. Then you're not left blinking at the realisation you have to do boring household stuff and also suffering from a lack of fannish hugs. To help ease that shock I spent time reading insane fic at Mibba and watched the Eurovision Song Contest, watching the actual results part with many other people on twitter, which was fun.
I also did a ridiculous amount of laundry/ironing, watched a load of tv, including Pete and Ashlee on CSI New York and got a nice start on the final story in the Tints of Rainbow Hue universe. Which will be Bob/Gerard focussed this time, though at the moment is all Bob and Frank talking about Mikey, because I'm just that predictable. Though I have to admit, after a long and involved conversation at Camp Sparkle I was tempted to write out the bandom/popslash story where MCR, Panic, FOB, BSB and Nsync are pieces of furniture that are brought together in a second-hand store and it's all kinds of tragic because Mikey the table with wonky spindly legs is separated from Gerard the battered art desk.
I love fans so much, you don't even know. How you can sit there and tell quite insane stories and make them feel right.
Gerard liked being a desk.
He liked the feeling when a new sheet of paper was smoothed across his top and how the splashes of paint tickled as they seeped into his wood. He even liked the nicks and dents that scarred his sides and legs -- they were evidence of how he'd survived, changing from the unreliable desk he'd been to the one he was now, wearing his covering of paint splashes with pride.
What he especially liked was he could see Mikey.
Mikey was a table, one with sleek lines and thin but sturdy legs that always looked crooked, but he'd never collapsed, just stood against the wall and held everything that was placed on him, no matter how heavy. Sometimes he changed colour, the lady who owned them appearing with tins of varnish and brushes held in her hand. Once she'd decorated Mikey's top with glued on straw. Gerard hadn't stopped laughing for days.
So yeah. Gerard liked being a desk. He had Mikey and enjoyed talking to everyone else in the room -- except the lamp, he was kind of insane.
Then one day their lady fell and didn't get up, no matter how hard Gerard yelled. Because she couldn't hear, she never could. No one could. Not the people who broke into the apartment, or the ones who took their lady away. Or the man who came later and emptied the room, taking lamp and couch and everyone.
Except for Gerard. He didn't make it into the van. All he could do was stand there, abandoned in the alley, yelling as Mikey was taken away.
I don't even know, man.
ETA: forgot to say. While I'm sure everyone who wants one has one, I have 2 DW codes if needed.
I also did a ridiculous amount of laundry/ironing, watched a load of tv, including Pete and Ashlee on CSI New York and got a nice start on the final story in the Tints of Rainbow Hue universe. Which will be Bob/Gerard focussed this time, though at the moment is all Bob and Frank talking about Mikey, because I'm just that predictable. Though I have to admit, after a long and involved conversation at Camp Sparkle I was tempted to write out the bandom/popslash story where MCR, Panic, FOB, BSB and Nsync are pieces of furniture that are brought together in a second-hand store and it's all kinds of tragic because Mikey the table with wonky spindly legs is separated from Gerard the battered art desk.
I love fans so much, you don't even know. How you can sit there and tell quite insane stories and make them feel right.
Gerard liked being a desk.
He liked the feeling when a new sheet of paper was smoothed across his top and how the splashes of paint tickled as they seeped into his wood. He even liked the nicks and dents that scarred his sides and legs -- they were evidence of how he'd survived, changing from the unreliable desk he'd been to the one he was now, wearing his covering of paint splashes with pride.
What he especially liked was he could see Mikey.
Mikey was a table, one with sleek lines and thin but sturdy legs that always looked crooked, but he'd never collapsed, just stood against the wall and held everything that was placed on him, no matter how heavy. Sometimes he changed colour, the lady who owned them appearing with tins of varnish and brushes held in her hand. Once she'd decorated Mikey's top with glued on straw. Gerard hadn't stopped laughing for days.
So yeah. Gerard liked being a desk. He had Mikey and enjoyed talking to everyone else in the room -- except the lamp, he was kind of insane.
Then one day their lady fell and didn't get up, no matter how hard Gerard yelled. Because she couldn't hear, she never could. No one could. Not the people who broke into the apartment, or the ones who took their lady away. Or the man who came later and emptied the room, taking lamp and couch and everyone.
Except for Gerard. He didn't make it into the van. All he could do was stand there, abandoned in the alley, yelling as Mikey was taken away.
I don't even know, man.
ETA: forgot to say. While I'm sure everyone who wants one has one, I have 2 DW codes if needed.
