I'M ALIVE

So yeah, MCR has a new song and it's sexy as all shit they do is, but SERIOUSLY, GERARD. *guh* But really, I LOVE this song. It's so dirty-rock!
Here, someone ripped the important part for everyone to enjoy! XD

Okay, so... Life. Life's good, just been MAD busy, and I've got an MCR AU fic to finish in, like, a week (ohshit), but I THINK I can do it. Anyone wanna beta? Also, I've got my inception_bang due pretty damn soon, so I'm working on that (ohSHIT). So, what's happening in fandom recently? What've I missed, besides all you fabulous people?

Also, I've been watching a lot of the Killjoy concert videos, and is anyone else noticing this? Gerard is really animated during the Danger Days songs, strutting, dancing, and going, as he'd probably say, all-fucking-out on them, but on their old songs, even the super bombastic ones like INOK, he's pretty subdued, mainly just walking around with a few hand motions. The most I've seen was a bit of spazzing out in a couple songs. Now, I might be reading too much into this, but does anyone else think he might be getting sick of them? Of all the trappings that came with their old, darker image? Just wondering... This though kinda depresses me. :/

WIP Meme

Post a single sentence or more from each wip you have, or from as many wips as you want. Provide no context/explanations.

***

It's something. Nothing, really. Existing in that fragile space somewhere between "something" and "nothing". Them. Not happening, but not not happening either. Just hanging around, like an elephant in the room. But not. If it was, Brendon would try his hardest to point it out, amping up the awkwardness until it all goes away. But this. This he ignores. It sits, waiting, until it all explodes, in a tangled mess of shouted emotions and festering secrets.

***

It's not until after the door shuts behind her that he lets himself fold into a ball, wrapping his arms around himself tightly as if they can keep his heart from finally breaking.

***

She leans forward, eyes bright. "And what about... Did it have anything to do with...?" she asks tentatively, as if she's afraid to say it. Whatever it is.

"What?" Ryan asks. What could she be this scared of bringing up?

"Brendon?" It's little more than a whisper, as if she's breached some sacred taboo. And in a strange way, she has.

Ryan breathes out. "Brendon." In the year it's been, he hasn't said his name more than once, twice. But it flows from his lips as easily as ever. As easily as those first few sessions, tinged with exasperation and laughter. As easily as those first few nights on stage, murmured asides and shouted jokes. As easily as those first few times, choked and stuttered out in a flood of lust and sensation.

He speaks carefully, repeating phrases Jon as fed him in preparation for these questions. "He was definitely a part of it. Everyone was. I mean, no one was more at fault than the others." Which he knows is a lie, but to go in to that, to explain the circumstances, is not what he wants to do right now.

"But were there any special issues with Brendon? Ones that you didn't have with the other band members?" She's really pushing now, wanting to hear him say it. Say Yes, I was fucking Brendon Urie. The whole world seems to want him to.

And for the first time, he does. "Brendon and I had a — a thing. I guess that's what you could call it." He's not quite sure how to articulate it, this thing they had. For a lyricist, someone with a way with words, they've always failed him here. "It was... complicated."

She leans back, settling into her chair. "Tell me."

And so he does.

***

When the lights go out, Frank has no idea what he's expecting. The Artiste. Maybe she dances really fucking gracefully or something? Whatever.

Then this "artiste" steps out, and fuck. It's all smooth, smooth lines, pale and creamy, and dark, dark hair, and thin, flat chest, and.

Flat.

Well, whatever he was expecting, this sure as fuck wasn't it.

***

Frank realises, then, that he has no idea who this guy fucking is. He turns his face towards, and pushes his hair off his face. Paler skin, somehow, than the rest of his body, and long, dark lashes, and smooth lips, curved peacefully but for the blood smeared across them. "Fuck," he whispers. He's beautiful. Not like that, sexually, but almost angelically. But he shakes his head, shakes off the thoughts. He's got a girlfriend now. He's not gonna do the gay thing again. But holy fuck, this guy's gorgeous.

He decides to take him to Jamia's hospital. She should be able to patch him up. Bending down, he puts a hand under each arm. All of a sudden, this guy's full body comes into view, out of the surf, and Frank stumbles backwards, dropping him as he falls.

Because those aren't legs. Not even close. Those are scales, blacker than black, and holy fuck that's a fin. Motherfucking flying fuck that's a tail, a black tail. He's a motherfucking mermaid.

***

"He's... a mermaid?" Frank asks cautiously. Because really, is there any other way to say it?

Ryan laughs. "Oh really? Wouldn't he be a merman then, Frank?"

Right. Merman. But, that's such a stupid word.

"That's such a stupid word, though."

"Well, what would you prefer, mer-male?"

Brendon giggles. "Y'know, dude, I think that may sound even stupider. If that's even possible."

"Well, what would you propose?"

He shrugs, looking up towards the ceiling. "I don't know, how about... Mer-masculine?"

Ryan cracks at that, laughing so hard he bends in two, and Frank just falls apart as well, laughing as Brendon stand there, all mock-serious and stifled giggles.

"Okay, I think I'm gonna stick with guy mermaid for now," Frank says, finally calming down.