Shotgun Sinners ;; Wild Eyed Jokers

Love Meme time!

Mon, 15 Jun 2009 11:48:56 GMT

My f-list feels sad lately, you guys. SO!

Do I DAZZLE you?
A Love Meme!

for your LJ:

rules.
o1. comment this post with yours OR somebody else's username
o2. spread the love! anon or logged in is perfectly fine :)
o3. no wank, seriously.

Lindsey Spam

Fri, 04 Jul 2008 13:34:05 GMT

So, idktbh wanted a Lyn-Z picspam. I went to comment and spam her with all of my photos, and then realised that I had a shitload of photos of Lindsey and that would take me ages. Instead, under her directions, I'm just posting them all here for her. So. LINDSEY SPAM. <3

Probably one of my favourites of her. Ohpls. Taken by queeniegalore

Another favourite, and also my desktop picture. <3

hai legs. <3<3

nrgh

bahaha <3

flexible. i envy gerard.

moar legs

fuck me now, pls and ty

okay. so I think that's all I have. Have fun with those, Maryam. <3

EDIT: So I lied, I went through my files and found a shitload more pictures, but I can't be fucked uploading right now. Will do a Lindsey Spam Part Two later. XD

Something to Live For [16]

Sun, 30 Mar 2008 11:16:58 GMT

Title: Something to Live For [16]
Author: drown_thecity
Pairing: Frank/Gerard
Rating: R.
Summary: What would you do, faced with the end of life as we know it?
Disclaimer: Not mine. I am not in any way affiliated with My Chemical Romance. I just obsess, and write.
Author's Note: Nyeah. I'm really sorry. I hardly get time to write at all anymore. >_<
Beta: gee4president <3
Warnings: WWIII, swearing, death.

[1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12][13][14][15]

His leg wouldn’t stop moving. He couldn’t seem to sit still no matter how he tried, shifting and wriggling on the couch restlessly. With a groan of annoyance, Gerard stood up, storming quickly into the room Frank had disappeared into.

"Frank, honestly. Open the fucking door. Okay?"

No answer.

"Frank! This is ridiculous. We have to stick together, alright? Open the door or I’m coming in regardless."

When he still received no answer, Gerard decided to take matters into his own hands. With a somewhat harsh train of thought, he decided that nobody was coming back to claim the house anyway, and as such, there was no harm in him kicking the goddamn door down if Frank wouldn’t open it.

It took him a couple of goes, until finally, he managed to knock the wooden door of its hinges and slip inside.

"What the fuck."

Empty.

-

His throat was burning, and he was pretty sure that if he coughed one more time, he was going to hack up both of his fucking lungs. The opened window had been an easy giveaway, and Gerard followed Frank’s trail determinedly. There was no way in hell he was letting them split up now. Not after everything.

He needed Frank. Needed him more than he had originally thought. The idea that they might be split up for good, that something could happen to either of them without the other knowing... It seemed disastrous. Gerard didn’t know what he would do if he couldn’t find Frank. As such, his feet continued to push forward, despite the protests of the rest of his body. He was moving on momentum only, his feet moving with next to no input from his brain. First, he had thought to raid the house for a backpack, and had since filled it with food and new supplies, seeing as the originals had long-since been lost. They had been living on whatever they could find in each house they occupied, but he didn’t know how long it would be before he stopped and took up residence in a house. He didn’t plan on stopping until he had Frank back in his sights.

Only once it got too dark to see did Gerard slip into the nearest deserted house and curled up on the sofa.

And that was when the trouble started.

"Get up. Kid. Get up."

Gerard’s eyes shot open and he jumped off the couch, wide awake and already beginning to tremble. His eyes darted rapidly, struggling to see in the darkness until a man was visible in front of him.

"Who? What?" he rushed, trying to step backwards and stumbling. He righted himself quickly, refusing to turn his back on the stranger for a second.

"Calm down, kid. What’s your name?"

Briefly, Gerard noted that this guy was not wearing an army uniform or a gas mark, did not speak in a foreign language, and did not appear to be threatening him in any way. Still, he was wary.

"Who are you?" he demanded, the force taken out of his words as his voice cracked halfway through.

"I’m not here to hurt you. Just calm down," the man answered.

"Tell me who you are!" Gerard shouted, his heart still racing from the surprise, despite his attempts to calm himself down.

"James Tyler. I’m not going to hurt you," he repeated, and Gerard slowly allowed himself to breathe a little easier. "What’s your name?" the stranger asked again, and Gerard swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Gerard. Gerard Way," he answered quickly.

His heart calmed a little, relief at finding another live person taking over. James reached over, flicked on a light, and Gerard was finally able to look at him properly. It was clear from first sight that he was sick. Beyond sick. Bald patches covered his scalp, dark rings of fatigue hung under his eyes, blood spots were visible up his arms and his lips were large and swollen. Gerard flinched, remembering how Mikey had showed the same signs the closer he got to his own death.

"You’re..." Gerard trailed off, unable to say it. His throat closed up on him, and he wanted nothing more than to stop looking, stop seeing Mikey’s face on this stranger, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

"Radiation’s a bitch. You though... You’re early stages, yet," James laughed, a snarky sarcastic noise that set Gerard on edge.

Throughout his various stays in random houses, Gerard had avoided mirrors at all costs. He did not want to see what radiation had done to his body. The inner symptoms were enough, regardless of the outer. He didn’t want to be reminded that both he and Frank were going to die, and that it was certainly going to be sooner rather than later. But standing here in front of him was a living reminder that they were all sick. And this man, disintegrating slowly and painfully... Gerard knew he didn’t have much longer at all.

"I’m looking for a friend. Frank. You haven’t seen anyone, have you?" Gerard asked, carefully diverting the subject.

The guy laughed again, shaking his head. "No one comes by here, kid. Dead. All of them. We’ll follow them soon, you and I."

Gerard didn’t want to be there anymore. He wanted to get as far away from this man, from this house, find Frank and hide forever. Hide from the sickness, and the death, and the knowledge that no matter how hard they tried, there really was no way out.

"Go back to sleep, kid. No point in staying awake anymore."

With that, he was gone, disappearing into the back of the house and leaving Gerard rooted in the living room. Uncertain, his eyes danced from the door, and back to the couch. There was no point in going looking for Frank now. His eyelids drooped, and he acquiesced, curling back up on the sofa. He would continue on in the morning.

-

They were quiet about it. Cautious, clever. Gerard would give them that, at least. There were no loud bangs, doors being thrown open, voices yelling. He was floating in that space between sleeping and waking, hovering just above unconsciousness. He stirred, eyelids flickering but not opening, mind beginning to come into use.

There was something cold and hard pressing against his head.

Gerard opened his eyes, began to sit up, and immediately there was a hand on his chest, shoving him back down again. And then, the noise began.

Something was shouted at him in words he didn’t understand, and Gerard’s heart was racing, hammering uncontrollably, his breath stuttering. There was a harsher prod to the back of his head, and somehow, without looking, he knew it was a gun. His thoughts were scattered, tearing apart his brain and not letting him make sense of anything, still groggy from sleep and unable to comprehend exactly what was happening to him. Fingers clamped down around his upper arm and hauled him off the couch and onto his feet, refusing to let go. He shouted in surprise, struggling against the extra hands that moved in to hold him still. Soldiers. Three of them.

No, no.

"Leave the kid alone!"

Gerard turned his head to the side and saw James striding down the hall towards them, shotgun at his fingertips.

"James-!"

And Gerard didn’t care anymore. Didn’t care that the guy was seemingly half-deranged and on the brink of death. He was here, and he had a gun, and Gerard had never seen anything so amazing. His voice got caught in his throat and he couldn’t say anything anymore, but he didn’t need to. There was a scurry of movement, the click as the soldiers flicked off the safety. Gerard took advantage of the second, throwing himself to the side and out of the soldier’s grip, landing on the floor with a thud. It didn’t take long before there was open fire, shots ripping through the air and tearing apart the house. Gerard couldn’t believe it as he watched James take his first shot, sending the first soldier flying off his feet. In return, he copped a bullet to the shoulder. He staggered, firing another shot, landing that one in the stomach of the soldier who had been holding Gerard. In another few quick shots it was over, and Gerard watched, wide-eyed as James fell back onto the couch.

He crawled towards him, not trusting his legs to hold him. Avoiding the fallen soldiers, Gerard reached the couch and swore as he saw the dark red seeping through three different spots in the man’s shirt.

"Told you I’d be following ‘em, didn’t I?" he grunted out, and Gerard didn’t have the heart to tell him it’d be okay. The guy tried to laugh and ended up coughing instead, grimacing. "Nothing left for me here anymore."

"Thank you," Gerard returned, and that was all that he needed to say. It didn’t take long before James had gone still, and Gerard crept guiltily out of the house, promptly throwing up in the garden upon exit.

With shaky steps forward, he continued.

"Coming, Frank."

amazing banner up there by idktbh <3

Something to Live For [15/?]

Sun, 02 Mar 2008 04:00:01 GMT

Title: Something to Live For [15/?]
Author: xmychemx
Pairing: Frank/Gerard
Rating: R.
Summary: What would you do, faced with the end of life as we know it?
Disclaimer: Not mine. I am not in any way affiliated with My Chemical Romance. I just obsess, and write.
Author's Note: Sorry. Life has been taking over.
Beta: gee4president <3
Warnings: WWIII.

[1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12][13][14]

With Gerard’s sudden want to find the people that had so mysteriously -- or maybe not so much -- disappeared, I felt my own curiosity growing. It started out as a casual thought that if there wasn’t anybody in these houses, they had to be somewhere. The cynical part of my mind reminded me that there were armed, enemy soldiers patrolling the town, and there was no reason as to why these poor people hadn’t already been killed. But every single time, I found some way to disagree. The foolish part of me - the part that hoped there was still some way we could all escape this - decided that there was something else. There was some other answer as to why they were missing, and if we could just figure it out...

Thinking like this can grow dangerous, as it did for me. The further along that track my mind wandered, the more theories came, and the faster I drowned in them until I was so far submerged, I could see no other way. They had to be somewhere, and they... It had to include everyone, right? Life couldn’t be so cruel as to only spare some of the people we had known, or the people we had never had the chance to meet. Surely, there would be all of them. Despite the fact that I had seen people shot with my own eyes, I became convinced that the soldiers weren’t killing them all, merely taking them somewhere else, somewhere out of the way.

Including, I was sure, my brother and sister.

I mentioned this theory offhandedly to Gerard the next day, and his reaction surprised me, at first. He had been drawing, random sketches on a pad of paper he had found in our current location, myself sitting on the floor and tracing my finger along the floorboards beneath me. Days like these had become painfully normal. We did nothing but sit around in empty houses all day, doing our best to hide from the air outside, boarding up doors and windows as soon as we entered, knowing it was no use, no matter what we did. Once inside, our days were spent sitting around in boredom, raiding the food in the house when the boredom became too much, and, in Gerard’s case, teaching himself to draw.

He spoke sparingly of how his grandmother used to talk of art, and how often she had encouraged Gerard to take up the activity. He had declined, as a child, because he thought the kids would make fun of him, and as he grew older, she dropped the subject. In the wake of her passing, and with nothing else to do, Gerard seemed determined to honour her wish. The first time I had caught him at it, I found him sitting alone in an unfamiliar bedroom, sitting at the desk and scratching at paper with a blunt pencil furiously, scrunching up the page every few moments and starting all over again. He was like a man possessed, then, and now, there was hardly a moment that he wasn’t attacking any piece of paper he found. He was so determined I found myself staring at him in awe as he worked, so concentrated on getting every line perfect, tearing the creations to pieces as soon as he made the slightest mistake. He had natural talent, that much was obvious, if only he would end the furious scribbling and just let himself draw.

I almost felt guilty disturbing him when he was at it again, but I had spent the majority of the day dwelling on the same thoughts, and I felt like I would explode if I didn’t try and talk some of them out. And so, I looked up from the ground, my finger stilling on the floorboards and my mind focussed. He didn’t notice the sudden change, and I reached out to touch the bare skin of his ankle lightly.

He jolted, so engrossed in his work that he seemed surprised I even existed. "Yeah?"

My teeth clamped down over my lip before I released it soon after, running my tongue over the dent. I contemplated my words carefully before I spoke, looking up at him earnestly. "You know how you said... That you wanted to find them? The people that should be living here?"

"Yes..." he said hesitantly, a wary frown wrinkling his brow.

"What if... You remember, that day at the shelter. When we watched... When we ran."

He caught on quickly, sensing that I couldn’t bring the words to my lips, and he nodded to show his understanding.

"We never exactly saw them do anything... Did we?"

His pad fell, unnoticed, beside him, and he stared at me. "Frank... I don’t... Don’t do anything you’re going to regret."

"I’m not. But I have to know, Gerard. What if they’re out there somewhere, and I can still get to them? I couldn’t live with myself if they were waiting for me and I never showed up..."

Shaking his head sadly, he slipped off the couch and sat in front of me on the floor, reaching out a hand to brush my knee sadly. "No, Frank."

His words startled me, and I frowned, my voice raising pitch as I spoke. "Why not?"

It seemed almost as though he was disappointed in me, and at the same time, I could tell that it pained him to talk about it. Maybe my own wondering had left him thinking about his own family. There were no ‘ifs’ or 'buts' in his case. He had watched them die. Finality. A closure that once, I had envied, but now, I pitied him. I thought about how I would feel if I was the one with the knowledge that my family really was gone, beyond help, and I shuddered.

"You just can’t, Frank. The chances... It’s better to just leave it, okay?"

I wasn’t having it. Standing up abruptly, I glared down at him, hands clenched into fists at my sides. "You don’t understand! They’re out there, Gerard, I know they are. I need to find them!"

He didn’t bother standing up level with me, just looked up from the ground with that same sad look on his face, and in a flash of understanding, I realised that he wasn’t mourning his own family... It was all directed at me. He pitied me. Once I could see it, the fury raged beneath my skin and I couldn’t hold onto it anymore. I didn’t want nor need his pity. All it was was an indication that I was wrong, that I needed his sympathy. I could tell that he thought it was all becoming too much for me, and maybe it was, but that didn’t mean that I was wrong. I couldn’t be wrong.

"I’ll find them, just watch," I told him fiercely, but he just continued to shake his head.

"Don’t leave the house, Frank."

Feeling my frustration growing and not wanting to be around him any longer, I groaned and stormed down the hall, slipping into the first room I found and slamming the door behind me. Through the barrier of the door, I heard a similar cry of annoyance, before the sound of something smashing broke through the house. It was followed shortly by the sound of another door slamming, and I felt momentarily guilty that we were practically fighting. We were all the other had left; we couldn’t afford not to be on good terms.

However, my own stubborn attitude, and the ever settling belief that I was right, that my siblings were out there waiting, kept me from going and apologising. Instead, I kicked out against the wall angrily, hoping that he heard it, and sat down on the bed, my brain immediately diving into more scenarios involving me finding Kat and Nathan.

After letting my brain delve further and further into the theory, I was utterly convinced. In my mind, there wasn’t a doubt that they were okay, and that I had to find them and bring them back. I knew that Gerard wasn’t going to help me, but as far as I was concerned, it didn’t matter. I could do this with or without his help, I was sure of it.

And so, an hour later, when he knocked on my door, I locked it.

"Frank? Frank, c’mon, please open the door. This is stupid. I don’t want to fight about this. Frank?"

I shook my head even though he couldn’t see, curling further into a ball on the bed and turning so that my back was to the door.

"Just leave it, Gerard. Okay?" I called out, hoping that it would convince him to leave me alone.

"Frank... Promise me you won’t do anything stupid, alright? Just promise me that, and I’ll leave you alone. I don’t want you to get hurt."

At any other given time, I probably would have been touched that he cared enough about me, even after our short time of knowing each other. However, right then, all I wanted was for him to go away so that I could figure out exactly how I was going to go about getting my siblings back. And so, I kept quiet, and eventually, I heard him sigh softly before his knocks and pleas ceased, and I heard his footsteps moving away from the door.

As soon as I knew he was gone, I sat up again, and glanced at the window. Perfect.

How Long Will I Be Waiting? [1/1]

Thu, 17 Jan 2008 09:10:47 GMT

Title: How Long Will I Be Waiting?
Author: xmychemx
Pairing: Pierre/David [Simple Plan]
Rating: PG
Summary: It's a game, but David's not sure that there can ever be a winner. There's only one rule: Never give in. Never slip, never stumble, never push just a little too close. Intimacy without being intimate, flirtatious touches that are never really going to lead to anything.
Disclaimer: I don't own either of them, and they own the title as well...
Author's Note: I blame Sarah ( blackeyedwicca ) entirely for this. For getting me into the damn pairing in the first place, and making me like them, and buying their DVD, and in the end, causing this to come from my fingertips...

It's like a game that David's not sure whether he's winning or losing.

It's all about self-control. In David's case, at any rate. It's a game of pushing down the butterflies, ignoring the heart rate, pretending those hands aren't clammy and lust, what lust?

One step closer, noses barely brushing, cool breath on hot lips --

Pull back, giggle, walk in the opposite direction.

It's almost like a dance, David supposes. They'll prance and twirl around each other, gradually closer, closer, closer until just before they touch they're ripped away again, spinning, spinning, spinning away.

It's a game, but David's not sure that there can ever be a winner. There's only one rule: Never give in. Never slip, never stumble, never push just a little too close. Intimacy without being intimate, flirtatious touches that are never really going to lead to anything.
Self-control. That's all there is to it.

David thinks he's going to crack. And it's going to be soon.

They're backstage, hearing the roar of the crowd and itching to go out there and just play. David's bouncing, hands shoved into his pockets and rocking up down, up down on his heels, all nervous giggles and eager grins. He can see Pierre, eyes darting around and watching the rush of pre-show energy flowing through everyone's veins. He's smiling just barely, one corner of his mouth tipped upwards in a lopsided smile that makes David's stomach twist and turn and clench in on itself.

"And you're on in three... two... one... get out there!"

There's a rush of feet, stumbling, instruments clutched protectively and running onto a darkened stage, hearing the screams, feeling the burst of adrenaline. David throws his hands up, spinning in circles as he walks towards his place on the stage, grin seemingly etched permanently onto his features.

"How are you all feeling tonight?" Pierre's shouting into the microphone, holding it stretched out so the crowd can reply, voices clambering over one and other's so loud it become indecipherable. David supposes that they're feeling alright.

A few more words bellowed to the crowd and they're into the first song, tearing into instruments and notes that they created so meticulously. The effort it took to get there is almost forgotten and it's worth it, so worth it to be playing, ripping the shit out of instruments and doing what they were born to do, hard and fast and giving it all they've got.

Pierre looks over, winks at David and the game is on. Three steps across the stage until he's right in Pierre's face, wicked grin and seductive smirk battling. David reaches out, runs a hand through Pierre's hair sharply, leans in close and uses Pierre's microphone instead of his own. David forces out his lines, fingers tangled in the singer's hair before as quickly as he came he's gone, stumbling back to his own side of the stage and jumping, spinning, playing.

"Pierre, pass me a beer?"

Pierre nods once, moving over to the fridge and opening it, leaning down and purposefully giving David a nice view of his behind. He takes his time, longer than it should take, before he's trotting back, handing it to the bassist and letting hands linger a few seconds longer than necessary.

Eyes are locking and Pierre's moving closer, lips inches away from David's before he's tearing back, grinning and bounding away to bug Jeff.

David smirks, opens his beer and takes a long swig, the liquid moistening his lips and leaving them shining when he pulls the bottle down. Makes sure Pierre's watching as he licks his lips.

He receives a knowing smile in return, and it's almost back to normal, chatting and laughing and discussing the night's performance.

David's watching as Pierre talks to Chuck, not really listening to what they're saying. He's more focussed on the way Pierre has one hand out to lean on the wall, the stretch of his body causing his shirt to ride up a little and expose his left hipbone. There's a familiar sensation tugging at David's heart, stomach, crotch, and he stands up, sauntering over to where his band-mates are lost in discussion.

"Hey Pierre, I need to show you something," he interrupts. Pierre gives him a measured look, Chuck rolls his eyes and walks away.

David doesn't wait for a reply before he's grabbing Pierre's hand, dragging him out of the bus. He jumps off the last step, taking Pierre down with him. The second they're on flat ground, David's pushing the singer against the side of the bus, stepping in close, left leg slotting in between Pierre's. Hands on either side of Pierre's head, chests brushing together, head tilted teasingly. A fraction more and their lips would be touching.

Pierre is watching him intently, and there's no trace of a smirk or smile this time. His hands rest on David's hips tightly, dragging him impossibly closer, hips rubbing together. David's biting his lip, leaning in closer. Nobody's smiling now.

The tension is pulled taut, breathing rapid and shallow, silence descending and it's almost suffocating. Something's gotta give, something soon, and in the end it's David, falling forward and crashing lips together.

Fast, rough and aggressive, teeth biting down on lips and tongues pushing forward to meet, hands gripping at hair, hips, anything to hold them upright. Eventually, they're forced to pull apart for air, lungs gasping, lips kiss-swollen and hair messed.

"It was getting ridiculous," David mutters before he takes Pierre's bottom lip between his own again, slower this time. No more pent up tension, no more desperation, just each other, and really, that's all they need.

David kisses him slowly, tasting, learning, exploring every contour of Pierre's lips and mouth.

Finally, Pierre pulls back, head hitting the bus and he smiles, eyes glittering. And this is what David means by there being no winner. He gave in, technically he lost the unspoken game, but the look in Pierre's eyes and the erratic beating of his own heart make it so that he can't help but think he came out on top.

It was a fun game while it lasted, but as David leans in to kiss Pierre again -- he really can't resist -- he's glad that it's finally over.