I only got one weapon, it's so plain for me to see, my only weapon I call poetry

The One Where Brendon is a Street Busker and Bob Owns a Music Studio and is Sick of People.

Sun, 12 Jul 2009 16:59:40 GMT

Title: The One Where Brendon is a Street Busker and Bob Owns a Music Studio and is Sick of People.
Author: ihrtangusyoung
Pairing: Bob/Brendon
Rating: PG-13
POV: Third.
Summary: Obliviousness, not so unrequited love, and some minor failings all around
Disclaimer: Fake.
Author Notes: Wow… *looks around* I’m not dead… Well, enjoy this little story. I apologize for not writing for so long, *shakes fist at real world*. I just felt like this was a pairing that needed to happen, I hope you agree.

Brendon Urie’s fingers were cold where they poked out of his gloves, stiff on the strings of the second-hand guitar he strummed in an effort to make a little extra money. It was freezing out, the square nearly empty, and Brendon was pretty sure the smile had frozen on his face at least two hours earlier.

He cursed Jon the umpteenth time for dragging him out of his nice warm, dry, desert to the wet, snowy, cold of Chicago. Jon was a selfish asshole and didn’t deserve Brendon’s awesome roommate skills (he was very neat and always did dishes and was totally magic at laundry), stupid fluffy-headed, scruffy-faced, best friend. Jon was lucky he made good coffee…

Brendon was about to give up and go find a place to thaw out when a man actually stopped to listen. He was tall, blond, and intimidating with his black clothes, lip ring, and muscular build. He looked like a bouncer and Brendon totally wasn’t scared that his fingers would slip and the guy would squish him like a bug for being sub-par.

But when his song ended, the guy was still there, hands deep in pockets, staring with some of the bluest eyes Brendon had ever seen. So he started up another one, forgetting a little about the cold, letting the music warm him from the inside. A real smile seeped it’s way to his lips and Brendon added some nonsense lyrics to his melody.

As that song too died out, the guy gave a small, genuine, smile and dropped a handful of change into Brendon’s guitar case. He gave the man an exaggerated bow and tip of imaginary hat. He chuckled, the sound doing nice things to Brendon’s insides. He would have totally flirted if the guy didn’t kinda scare him a little, he liked having all his teeth, thank you very much. So, instead, he just watched the man walk away and maybe fantasized a little about what could have been.

Brendon packed up his shit about twenty minutes later, it really was freaking cold, plus he’d promised Jon he’d go shopping. All that was left in their fridge was a half-full jar of dill pickles and some old yogurt that neither of them was going anywhere near. Seriously.

----

Bob Bryar was not having a good day.

There was something wrong with soundboard #2 that would require the whole fucking thing to be dismantled to fix.

One of the bands that he had scheduled time for in studio three had not shown up until two hours after they were supposed to, and without a bassist. He let them buy a few hours of Patrick’s (the studio’s session musician, and sometime producer) time to fill in for the AWOL member. But had to make it pretty damn clear that this would not be the case if they kept fucking up. The band had some talent, but Bob could only stand so much apathetic incompetence.

Then, some fucker had the nerve to eat his lunch (clearly marked in black sharpie on the bag) out of the fridge. He had been looking forward to that orange chicken an now someone was likely to die a grisly death.

Instead of going on a crazed killing spree, Bob took a little walk, smoked a couple cigarettes, and listened to a boy play a mindless ditty that felt like a warm balm on his frayed nerves.

He felt better after that, and made it through the rest of the day without committing any felonies.

Bob stayed late at the studio to finish repairing the soundboard. Ended up just sleeping on one of the couches rather than taking the long subway ride home to his empty apartment. He’d been doing that a lot often lately. Spending more and more time working, and less time out doing normal things like going to shows, or out to a bar for drinks with friends.

Even Brian had noticed, had told him to stop working so hard. Which was fucking laughable coming from him, Brian was the biggest workaholic Bob knew.

Bob, well, he just didn’t really see the point anymore. He was weary of people in mass, he’d much rather stay in his studio and deal with assholes musicians and equipment that always seemed to need some kind of repair, than deal with all the bullshit.

Yeah, it probably wasn’t healthy, but it was okay for now.

----

The weather got slowly warmer, and Brendon took his guitar out more often. Sometimes bringing bongos or a trumpet along too, depending on his mood. Today he also had a new scarf (courtesy of Ryan Ross, who liked to send him things like that, like maybe Brendon would forget about him if he didn’t shower him in oddly patterned strips of cloth), blue and green and swirly in the breeze. It made him want to dance a little, so he grabbed a tambourine and did just that. Singing a fast, happy song, that had a couple people gather ’round, clapping in time.

Busking was really the highlight of Brendon’s week. It was a lot better than working at Barns an Noble, if less reliable.

He liked the attention, basked in applause and shamelessly showed off. If people didn’t like him, they could just walk away. But a lot of people stayed, listened to him like he had talent and was worth something. Even if it was only the spare change from their pockets. It still made him happy and full of what he supposed was life.

He did get lonely sometimes, though.

One night stands were great while they happened, sure, but afterwards, Brendon kinda wished some would stay a little while longer. Even though most of the guys he brought home were totally not the type he would want to start anything serious with. Still, he longed for a real relationship.

Someone to cuddle up with and watch scary movies. Jon was awesome for cuddles, but wasn’t really the same. Plus he’d been spending a lot of time over at Mikeyway’s place, said they were just ‘hangin’ out’, but Brendon totally saw through the looks. And Jon had never texted so much since they started spending time together.

The blond guy was back again, he usually came by once a week or so. Brendon was starting to think he had a fan, a kinda big and intimidating fan, but one nonetheless. The man always had a frown when he showed up, but Brendon started to make it his solemn duty to make it turn upside down. He always accomplished it too. Even if he had to use the old play-a-banjo-while-riding-a-unicycle trick.

He liked to see the man smile, his blue eyes warm up and soften his demeanor. Brendon really wished he knew his name.

Jon said he was falling in love, but Jon was an asshole who didn’t know when to keep his mouth shut about stuff that’s supposed to be secret and never mentioned again after slipping out one drunk night. ’Sides, even if it was anywhere near love, it was so very unrequited.

A guy that good looking was sure to be snatched up already, though Brendon had never seen a ring on his finger, it was a small reprieve. Even if he wasn’t married, there was no way Brendon could be lucky enough for him to be gay. It didn’t hurt to imagine though, to have small fantasies of a cozy apartment together, maybe even a cat. The guy liked cats, Brendon had brought Clover with him one day and the guy’s face had gone so soft and unguarded while he bent to scratch the kitty’s ears that Brendon wanted to kick Jon for always having to be right about everything.

Anyway, Brendon had finished his dance, taken flourishing bows and listened to the little tinkle of coins hitting each other as they fell in his case. He brought out his miniature bongos, tapping out a rhythm and trying not to look over at the blond man too often.

Then the skies decided to open up and pour their heart out all over Brendon and his precious instruments. He franticly tried to pack everything up, while people ran for the cover of shops and awnings.

Water was getting everywhere, then suddenly it wasn’t. Brendon looked around in confusion, found an umbrella being held over him, attached to an arm that led to the blond man.

“Need some help?”

Brendon nodded dumbly, mouth a little agape. But the guy just smiled and picked up Brendon’s bag so he could fit things in it easier.

“Thanks man.” He smiled bright and winning up at his savior, “I’m Brendon.” he shouldered the bag and held out a hand, totally fishing for the man’s name.

“No problem,” he shook, hands big and warm, nice, “Bob.”

He nodded behind him,

“If you wanted a place to put your stuff until the rain lets up, my studio’s just around the corner.”

“Studio? Like music?” Brendon’s eyes widened, “Are you a producer? Do you work with rock stars, and like famous people?” this guy was climbing higher and higher on Brendon’s Awe List (top spot forever reserved for Jon Walker, but don’t tell him that or he’d never let it go).

Bob chuckled, shook his head a little, “It’s only a small one, but nice enough. Come on, this way.”

He started walking, and Brendon followed him like a lost puppy.

----

Bob didn’t know what the fuck had come over him, inviting the kid back to work. He’d just looked so worried about his shit when the rain started. Bob could respect a person who thought of their instruments first and self second.

The fact the kid had a nice ass had absolutely nothing to do with it. He looked all of seventeen Bob was so not going there.

There was only one booth in use today, a band had canceled last minute due to lack of drummer and singer both. They’d probably be back when the members were relocated, if not, well, Bob would have stern words.

He led Brendon to the staff room, gesturing at an empty corner,

“Just set it there, it’ll be safe. You want some coffee?”

The boy nodded, looking around at everything like it was magic or something.

“Can I see the rest of the studio?” he asked, eyes big and earnest, Bob had no chance at all.

“Sure.”

Both armed with hot mugs, Bob showed Brendon around. The recording booths, and soundboards. He asked never ending questions, and Bob answered them all, surprised to find he enjoyed the company, highly energetic though it was.

When he introduced him to Patrick, they started a very involved discussion of the musical styles of the 90s that lasted two hours with minimal input from him, and probably would have gone on longer if Bob hadn’t reminded Pat that he had a job to do. Maybe he wanted Brendon’s attention back, whatever.

Before he knew it, everyone else had left the studio, he and Brendon were eating takeout drinking cheep beer (“I‘m twenty! Close enough.”) and talking about their favorite movies.

Bob wasn’t quite sure how it had come to this, but he wasn’t really complaining, even if the kid did seem to have a strange affinity for Disney.

His voice wasn’t bad either, Bob knew this, had heard it often enough on the street. But it sounded different, bellowing out Arabian Nights with drunken bluster. Giggling in the middle.

Bob kinda wanted to record it and play it forever. That was probably the beer talking…

---

Brendon woke with a killer headache, no shirt, and drool dried in the corner of his mouth. He was also on the floor of a strange place under a ratty afghan, and when he looked around through slit eyes he saw the blond man- Bob- snoring on the couch.

Brendon would seriously enjoy just laying there at staring at him, but it was getting hard to ignore his screaming bladder. So he went in search of a bathroom.

Bob found him like an hour later, totally messing with a keyboard in one of the booths. Just picking out a low melody, he still had a fucking hangover. Brendon didn’t notice him at first, Bob was apparently a ninja of some sort. But when he did, Brendon jumped back and stammered out an apology. Bob shook his head though,

“That was nice, you write it?”

“No,” Brendon flushed, “no, I learned it forever ago, don’t remember where.” he backed away from the piano, unsure of what to do, rubbed at a bare arm, stared at his toes curling on the carpet.

“Hey,” Bob leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, “Wanna get some breakfast?”

“Sure, yeah.” Brendon nodded, a little too fast, fucking hangover.

“Pancakes?”

Brendon loved pancakes.

----

Bob wasn’t quite sure what he was doing, sitting in a back booth at the diner down the street, watching the busker boy inhale pancakes like they were the greatest thing he had ever tasted. But Brendon had looked so shy, back in the booth, so shy and like he might blush or melt into the carpet.

It was…cute.

So Bob sipped his (third) cup of black coffee and watched Brendon eat with a gusto that no man with a hangover as bad as he complained it to be, should posses.

“So, you live around here?” Bob asked causally, picking at his hash browns. Brendon shook his head,

“Not really,” he spoke around a mouthful of food, “my apartment’s a good bus ride away, I just get a good crowd here.” and he winked, Bob had to hide a smile in his cup.

“Which reminds me, I should probably call Jon,” Brendon looked a little worried, patting his pockets for his cell. “He worries.”

“Who’s Jon?” if Brendon had a boyfriend, Bob would have to stop whatever it is that he was attempting, for whatever strange reason, to do here.

“Oh, my roommate.” he finally located his phone and giggled, “I got like, seven missed calls, and ‘bout fifteen texts.”

“It’s nice he cares.”

“Yeah.” Brendon got a funny kind of smile, one Bob suspected was just for Jon, as he taped out a quick text before returning the cell to his pocket.

“So, Bob.” he smirked a little, completely different from the boy in the recording booth, and yet somehow not fake. “What’s a guy like you do for fun?”

Flirting, the kid was flirting. Bob resisted the urge to cover his face and laugh, barely.

“Music mostly.” he shrugged, “Go to shows, search out rare albums to add to my collection, work at the studio.”

Brendon nodded, like it wasn’t weird to list work as a pastime.

“Well, I don’t have to be to work until three, let’s go on a music quest.” and he raised his orange juice in a kind of toast before downing it in one.

“Sure.” Bob had nothing better to do any way.

----

It became sort of a thing, Bob would come see him busk and Brendon would inevitably follow him back to the studio. Though over the weeks, he had yet to stay the entire night again. An a lot of the time Patrick would join them, Brendon liked Patrick, he was funny and knew his shit and had once turned an angry red and punched him in the arm for trying to steal his hat, hard. Yeah, Patrick was cool, and cute in a baby-faced, could-totally-own-your-balls-if-you-played-your-cards-right way. But he wasn’t hot like Bob, all big, blond, strong-silent type, Brendon would be hard pressed to find someone hotter than Bob.

Besides, Patrick had a weird infatuation for the studio’s accountant, who was like twice as tall as him and had greeted Brendon by grabbing his ass and complimenting him on it’s firm roundness (Brendon had looked to see if Bob was paying attention, because it was totally true and something the man really should know. But Bob was yelling at a guitarist who had messed with the slides in the soundboard for what appeared to be the fifth time in half an hour, Brendon suspected he was high). So Patrick only had, kinda scary intense, eyes for Gabe-the-accountant, who was either really oblivious, or not interested. Brendon hoped for the former, Patrick was a sweet dude and deserved to get laid.

Sometime they had lunch, or went to dusty record shops, or just sat at coffee shops and listened to the mellow live music. Brendon knew they weren’t dates or anything, that they were just two dudes hanging out together. But he like to pretend they were, doing little things like sitting closer than necessary on an overstuffed couch at a coffee house. Or taking hours deciding what to wear if he knew he and Bob were going somewhere. Or constantly texting Ryan and Spencer about how awesome, and cool, and hot, Bob was.

So maybe Brendon was suffering from delusions and burning a little inside from all the unrequited feelings, but it was okay, really.

By the time spring started showing it’s flowery face, Bob had invited him to record some of his crazy, one-man-band, shit. On days where all the booths weren’t already booked. Brendon had been ecstatic, and had offered to pay but Bob just shook his head and refused.

“Friends, man.”

Oh, right, they were friends. At least it was something, if not what Brendon really wanted. He just had to bide his time, wait for the perfect moment to make his move. He wasn’t procrastinating (shut up, Jon), just awaiting the right time. He could feel it coming closer.

One day, Gerard Way showed up. Which both startled and gladdened him,

“Hey, Mikey’s brother.” he held up a hand for a high five, which he got after only a couple awkward seconds.

“Hey, Jon’s roommate?” he had doubt in his voice, but Brendon nodded happily.

Bob looked a little nonplussed.

“You guys know each other?”

Brendon nodded again, “His brother’s totally fucking Jon,”

Gerard gaped at him, but didn’t deny it. Looked more apposed to hearing his brother did anything the least bit dirty, than who it was the dirtiness was happening with. Like he would much rather ignore the whole matter.

“Oh, ’kay.” Bob shrugged, but Brendon could totally tell he was pleased to hear that Jon was taken. Brendon might be grasping at straws, but whatever. “Anyway, Gee does art and promotion an’ shit for the studio.”

Bob had been busy that day, going over things with Gerard. He asked Brendon’s opinion on a couple things and listened like he really cared what he thought, an Brendon was so fucking screwed.

----

“Brian, you fucker. Why didn’t you tell me you were back?” Bob had tried for annoyed and grumpy, but mostly just came off as glad to see his business partner. Even if he had woken him up from a nice sleep.

“Up yours, Bryar.” but Brian was smiling too, until he was looking stern, “You sleeping on that ratty couch more than your perfectly nice bed, in your apartment again? How long has it been since you were even home?” he looked about three seconds away from wagging a finger and Bob sighed, straightening up on the sofa.

“Yesterday.” I was true, he and Brendon had been on one of their record trips and Bob had taken ’em to his place to drop off the heavy milk crate before taking them out for pizza.

The fact that he hadn’t gone back was negligible.

Brian didn’t buy it, and had Bob in a headlock faster than you could snap. But Brian was a tiny guy, no matter how much his personality tried to make up for it, so Bob had the advantage pretty quick.

They toppled off the couch and rolled around the floor, Bob had just succeeded in pinning Brian when Brendon walked through the door, a plastic bag hanging from his wrist, and stopped dead. Eyes wide before he cast them down and away, taking a half-step backward,

“S-sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Bob looked down, at how he was straddling Brian, both panting a little; how that must look…

He jumped up,

“No! No, Bren don’t leave, that’s just Brian.” he waved a hand, ignored the affronted look on Brian’s face, “It’s not- it’s not anything, I was just teaching him a lesson about waking people up.”

A tentative smile appeared and Brendon stepped back into the room proper. Brian picked himself up, dusting imaginary dirt from his jeans.

“So this is the famous Brendon.” he scanned the boy up and down, and Bob felt inexplicably embarrassed that Brendon knew he talked about him.

Brendon, on the other hand, looked quite happy about the fact. He beamed and shook Brian’s hand enthusiastically with is empty one, chattering freely.

“Hi, yes, that’s me. You must be the guy who’s always away, I was starting to think you were just made up. I brought Thai,” he held up the bag, “there’s lots, it’s real spicy though, hope you don’t mind-”

Brian cut a look at Bob while Brendon continued to talk, Bob kinda just shrugged like he didn’t know how he had got here either. But he couldn’t help smiling a little that he had. Then Brian was giving him a considering look that Bob didn’t like at all, so he suggested they start eating before the shit got cold.

A few days go by, Brian bullies him into going home and actually staying there. After the first night, Bob had Brendon over and they played Xbox for what was probably too long, as Brendon had work the next day, but he didn’t seem to mind.

Or maybe it was that he didn’t know how to say no, Bob thought back and realized he hadn’t heard a single objection the entire length of time he had know Brendon. It would have worried him, but Brendon just seemed so happy and content all the time, it was hard to believe he wouldn’t say anything if he truly didn’t want to do something.

Still, Bob started asking if he wanted to do something, rather than just suggesting what he, himself, felt like doing. They ended up watching more kid’s movies than Bob thought he ever would after about age nine, but it was fine. ‘Cause Brendon was happy and Bob liked to see him smiling for real, not the fake too-broad ones he sometimes saw plastered on his face after long hours of fruitless busking; or even when Brian was hanging with them. Bob got the impression Brendon didn’t like Brian much, though he couldn’t understand why, Brian was awesome.

“He’s jealous.”

Bob spluttered into his beer, he and Brian were alone tonight, just kicking back at Brian’s place and having a few beers. Bob wasn’t sure how the conversation had come to this, maybe he’d had more than just a few.

“W-what?” he managed, dabbing at his shirt with a (probably) clean napkin, Brian snorted.

“It’s fucking obvious he thinks I’m competition, flattering really,” he looked a little smug, “dude is head over heels for your stupid ass.”

“He is?” why was he smiling?

“Yes, thinks you hung the goddamn moon,” Brian smacked his ear, sounding exasperated “and I think you feel just about the same.”

It was Bob’s turn to snort, Brian spoke again before he could deny anything.

“You two are practically dating, always going out to eat, spending the day together doing nothing but watching movies cuddled up together--”

“We don’t cuddle.” it wasn’t strictly true, Brendon sometimes fell asleep against his shoulder and Bob just didn’t move him, but that was not cuddling; even when he put his arm around his shoulders, it was just more comfortable that way. No need to read any further into it.

“--out watching him play in the street, even if it’s freezing balls. Always seeing if he wants to come along whenever--

“Okay! Okay fine, stop, I get it. I’m the most dense person ever.” he was quiet for a moment, “How do I fix it?”

“Stop being a pussy, and make a move like real man.” Brian’s tone was mocking, but his eyes were genuine, and maybe it was the beer talking, but that sounded like a pretty good idea.

----

Brendon had stopped by the Krispy Kream and picked up half a dozen donuts, three lemon-filled with powdered sugar on top because they were Bob’s favorite, and a couple bear claws and a jelly filled (in case he wanted something different). He hadn’t seen Bob in almost a week, and he wanted to show up with something sweet to make up for bailing on him. They’d given him more shifts at work, and Bob was always out with Brian (Bob always called to ask him along, but Brendon had always been busy, it freaking sucked). But he was free now, and he wanted to surprise Bob with coffee plus deep-fried confections. Always a winning combination.

It was pretty cool how the security guys knew him and let Brendon go right up.

He looked around for Patrick, to offer a doughnut, and found him…in a steadily fogging recording booth with none other than Gabe-the-accountant, he left a bear claw and jelly on a napkin for them, outside on Patrick’s desk.

He was glad Patrick was finally getting what he wanted, Brendon hummed as he made his way down the hall.

“Hey, Bob, you might want to sanitize some shit in a little bit.” he said with a laugh as he pushed the door open. Bob was filling a carafe at the sink and groaned, banging his head against the cupboard in front of him.

“Pat and Gabe again?” Brendon nodded, “Dammit, they haven’t kept their hands off each other for three days.” he looked pleadingly at Brendon, “I have seen more of Gabe Saporta than I ever, ever, wanted to…”

Brendon grinned and held up his (slightly greasy) bag and the tall lattés he’d brought, Bob smiled immediately and abandoned the Mr. Coffee in the sink. He plucked a cup and took a deep drink, smiled broader…and kissed him.

A quick peck on the lips, so casual that it took a second to register, and when it did Brendon nearly dropped everything he was holding.

“Wha-?”

Bob gently took the bag (which Brendon had in some sort of death grip) and remaining latte and set them aside. Brendon continued to stare, mouth just the slightest bit open, like he might say something, if his brain decided to start working anytime soon.

Bob chuckled and kissed him again, a little longer.

“It’s been brought to my attention that we are dating, so I thought it was appropriate to non longer exclude some of the best parts that entails.”

“’Kay.” it was faint and breathless, Brendon’s eyes still totally wide and probably looking like a complete dork, but he still managed to reciprocate when Bob leaned in again.

It was so worth getting up early to see Bob before his shift started. He might even call in sick…yeah, that sounded like a good idea…

The One Where Gerard Totally Comes Out of His Basement to Try and Impress Bob

Thu, 29 Jan 2009 21:52:24 GMT

Title: The One Where Gerard Totally Comes Out of His Basement to Try and Impress Bob
Author: ihrtangusyoung
Pairing: Gerard/Bob
Rating: PG-13
POV: Third.
Summary: This, this Sunshine Club, no matter how dire the name, was obviously fate's way of bringing them together. Before he could chicken out, Gerard quickly scrawled his name into the last free space on the list. He could bare to spend time outside, if he got to be near Bob Bryar, probably.
Disclaimer: Fake.
Author Notes: I wrote this for the cduclub comm, enjoy.
Club:: Sunshine Club

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What Pete Did

Wed, 07 Jan 2009 06:56:54 GMT

Title:What Pete Did
Author: ihrtangusyoung
Pairing: (past)Pete/Joe, Pete/Brendon
Rating: PG-13
POV: Third.
Summary: A disease has wiped out the human race, Pete doesn't know what to do with himself.
Disclaimer: Fake.
Author Notes: A companion fic to What to Do With Yourself When the World Ends, though it could be read as a stand alone, I guess.

clicky

Fun With Computers

Mon, 05 Jan 2009 04:59:51 GMT

Title: Fun With Computers
Author: ihrtangusyoung
Prompt: 017. Webcam.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Bob/Patrick
Summary: Bob’s not a perv, he just notices things sometimes and neglects to look away in a strictly-descent amount of time.
Disclaimer:Fake.
Authors Notes: I havn't written something for this in a while, sorry about that.
My Prompt Table Here

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What to Do With Yourself When the World Ends

Sat, 03 Jan 2009 19:21:23 GMT

Title:What to Do With Yourself When the World Ends
Author: ihrtangusyoung
Pairing: Gerard/Jon Walker and Mikey/Jon Walker
Rating: PG-13
POV: Third.
Summary: A disease has wiped out the human race, the Ways were immune and go to find others like them.
Disclaimer: Fake.
Author Notes: Something long and post-apocalyptic that wormed it's way into my brain, I hope you like it.

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Freedom and Pumpkin Muffins

Fri, 14 Nov 2008 18:52:38 GMT

Title: Freedom and Pumpkin Muffins
Author: ihrtangusyoung
Pairing: Pete/Mikey
Rating: PG-13
POV: Third
Summary: Mikey Way dreams of escaping, of just up and leaving one day.
Disclaimer: Just about as fake as you can get.
Author Notes: A Peter Pan AU, just because I could.

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Moonless Nights are Always the Best for Hooking Up

Wed, 12 Nov 2008 18:50:54 GMT

Title: Moonless Nights are Always the Best for Hooking Up
Author: ihrtangusyoung
Pairing: James Dewees/Mikeyway
Rating: PG-13
POV: Third
Summary: Strolling down under some Jersey pier in the middle of the night, a moonless one no less, alone was probably not one of James' smartest choices to date
Disclaimer: Just about as fake as you can get.
Author Notes: An update! Woop.
Warnings: Tentacle sex(which is really an insentive, am I right?), MPREG (wiggly!babies ftmfw)
Part: 2/?

Part 1

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Kitty: The Sequel

Sat, 18 Oct 2008 07:26:01 GMT

Title: Kitty: The Sequel
Author: ihrtangusyoung
Pairing: Mikey/Bob
Rating: PG-13
POV:First, Mikey's
Summary: The guy, he…he had a tail.
Disclaimer: Fake. ~~damnit~~
Author Notes: Oh, noes the end! I would like to thank all of you who have followed along with me on this venture. I know I got kinda slow in the updating towards the end, and I apologize. Hopefully you like how it ends. I would also like to thank tiktac, who I know will eventully get over her art-block and draw me some lovely Kitty pictures, I have faith in her. And restinpiecesluv 'cause her comments never cease to make me grin like an idiot. Well, enjoy and thanks for being with me all through this, Kitty, and it's perverted off-shoot
part: 7/7

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six

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A NEW KICKASS COMM

Tue, 14 Oct 2008 02:33:11 GMT

It's for fics and whatnot, centered around James Dewees, because we all know he is the shit.

Choco-licious

Sat, 04 Oct 2008 05:18:58 GMT

Title: Choco-licious
Author: ihrtangusyoung
Pairing: Mikey Way/Jon Walker
Rating: R
POV: Third.
Summary: Hotel parties, chocolate fountains and the munchies.
Disclaimer: Fake.
Author Notes: This is for unicorn_kisses, cause she gave me the prompt and insatiable hunger for the pairing. Please enjoy.
Warnings: A little weed and a lot of inappropriate use of a chocolate fountain.

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Kitty: The Sequel

Tue, 30 Sep 2008 01:28:20 GMT

Title: Kitty: The Sequel
Author: ihrtangusyoung
Pairing: Mikey/Bob
Rating: PG-13
POV:First, Mikey's
Summary: The guy, he…he had a tail.
Disclaimer: Fake. ~~damnit~~
Author Notes: Oh, hey look, an update. Crazy.
part: 6/7

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five

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Better Off Dead.

Mon, 29 Sep 2008 02:10:09 GMT

Title: Better Off Dead.
Author: ihrtangusyoung
Pairing: Patrick/Ray
Rating: PG-13 (for now)
POV: Third, Patrick centric.
Summary: A smile on the lips and a hole in the head. Patrick is a reaper, never felt true love, but content in his current life. Maybe his future is looking up, maybe he’s at the start of something big, maybe he’ll be lonely in this life too. The only way to find out is to keep on living and see what comes about.
Disclaimer: Oh so very Fake.
Author Notes: I was listening to Bad Religion, and the song Better Off Dead got me to thinking, and this fic came about. You are all free to hate me for flicking from story to story, but when an urge this big hits me, I can’t not write it down. I would go insane. Please let me know what you think of this fic, I really like the idea of it and would appreciate feed-back very much.
Warnings: Death.

Clicky

How to Cool Down

Tue, 09 Sep 2008 07:08:13 GMT

Title: How to Cool Down
Author: ihrtangusyoung
Pairing: Patrick/Gabe
Rating: R
POV: Third
Summary: So, Patrick was unhappy. It was hot and he was sweating and who the fuck throws parties in this kind of weather?
Disclaimer: Fake.

So, Patrick was unhappy. It was hot and he was sweating and who the fuck throws parties in this kind of weather? People should be inside, in houses with blessed air conditioning without the threat of evil UV rays. But no, Patrick had to follow Pete everywhere (for reasons still a little murky to him, though Pete would say it was just the way they worked), and Pete hung out with(fucked) Mikeyway; who partied with Gabe Saporta.

Which led (unhappy)Patrick to be sitting under a drooping tree in the corner of the largish backyard of said party holder, panting slightly and wishing he had chosen to just say no when Pete had looked at him with those puppy eyes. A possible feat, he was sure…

He looked around, scowling at the happy people. He seemed to be the only on affected by the heat, everyone else just shed clothing and laughed and sprayed each other with drinks. Bastards.

Patrick would be in the house, if the fucking doors weren’t locked, as it was he just tugged his hat further down his sweaty brow and huffed.

“Now what’s got you all grumpy? I don’t like it when people are grumpy at my little gatherings, makes me feel like an awful host.”

Patrick looked up, it was the (nauseatingly tall)man himself, smirking down at him and leaning against the trunk of the tree in such a way that make his thin shirt ride up. Patrick tugged at his hat again,

“It’s too damn hot.”

Gabe’s smirk grew,

“Is that all?” he bent down and Patrick saw just how blown his eyes were, “I can fix that easy.”

He offered a hand, Patrick hesitated only a moment before taking it, hoping his solution didn’t involve a bottle of water being upended over his head.

But Gabe pulled him towards a side door of the house, they past a rustling bush that had two pairs of familiar shoes poking out, muffled giggles floating up. Patrick snorted and Gabe winked back at him,

“See, I love when people have fun.” Patrick just snorted again, still too overheated to bother with pointless words.

Gabe fished a silver key out of the pocket of his tight pants, quickly unlocking the door and slipping through; bringing Patrick along.

He sighed the second he was out of the sun, closing his eyes and humming slightly.

“Oh, it get’s better.” you could hear the smirk in his voice.

Patrick followed the pull on his arm, not opening his eyes until he felt the floors change from soft carpet to smooth linoleum. They were in the kitchen and Gabe dropped his hand to rummage through his freezer.

“You’ll feel better if you take your shirt off.”

Patrick fought the urge to roll his eyes, but complied anyway (‘cause why the fuck not, Pete wasn’t the only one who could get laid, seriously). He neatly folded the blue plaid button up and set it on the counter, leaning back against the cool faux marble; giving a slight sigh at the sensation.

Gabe emerged from the freezer, holding out both hands: one holding an orange popsicle, the other grape. It was Patrick’s turn to smirk (if he didn’t he might have let out an embarrassing squeaking sound at the wondrous sight) he took the orange one.

“Thanks, man. You have no idea.” Gabe winked again, sucking obscenely on his own frozen treat.

Well, fuck.

Patrick hooded his eyes and licked the orange pop slowly from base to tip, leaning further back for the hell of it, and groaned in apparent pleasure at the cold, sweet, thing. He could so play this game too. Gabe’s blown eyes sparkled and he pressed his slim frame against Patrick’s side, whispering across his ear.

“Well, if you insist.” he folded down to his knees and undid Patrick’s pants one-handed, tugging them to his ankles.

Patrick was half-hard already and it took but a few strokes of Gabe’s cool fingers to bring him the rest of the way up. Patrick groaned again, his popsicle slipping from his grip and into the sink, hips moving in minute thrusts. ‘Cause Gabe wasn’t touching him anymore, what was with that?

The man smirked up at Patrick and went down on his grape pop, so fucking unfair when there was a perfectly good cock right there he could be doing that too. Patrick was about to point this out when Gabe pulled off the popsicle and quickly swallowed him in a one swift movement. Tongue so fucking cold and good ohmygod.

Gabe giggled around his cock and repeated the trick until Patrick was so fucking out of it he didn’t even notice the fingers pushing in. Then, when his mouth didn’t return Patrick glared down, breath coming out in a pant.

“Wha--?”

Gabe smiled like the Cheshire Cat and wriggled his fingers, making Patrick gasp and push down on them, knees shaking.

“Turn around,” he licked at the tip of his cock, “Trust me.”

Patrick was beyond thinking for himself and flipped around immediately, bending forward like a fucking slut and presenting himself. Gabe hummed in pleasure and pressed a cool kiss to his lower back.

But he didn’t stand up and Patrick was confused, wasn’t Gabe going to fuck him?

The answer came a second later when the fingers spread inside him and a cold thing was pressed in between them.

“Motherfuh-gahdam-shitshitshit.” Patrick mewled, loud and high-pitched. He could feel Gabe chuckling against his hip as the fingers slipped away, leaving the popsicle cold and slick inside him.

No fucking way was this happening, no fucking way did it feel so goddamn good, and why the fuck wasn’t Gabe moving it? Patrick whimpered, pushing back, begging. Gabe complied, slowly sliding the pop out and back in with a twisting-rolling motion that hand Patrick falling down to his hands and knees and moaning way too loud.

Gabe smiled and bent his head to lick up the dripping purple from the melting treat as he continued the movements, slurping at Patrick’s ass and giving a low sound of his own.

“Fuck!” that was just too much for him, and Patrick shot all over the linoleum floor, his arms collapsing and leaving his ass high in the air.

Gabe nipped at his right cheek and pulled the grape pop all the way out, giving it one long thorough suck before tossing away and diving in for Patrick’s purple stained hole with earnest intent. Grape had always been his favorite.

When Patrick became coherent enough to realize he was now laying on his back on the cool tile floor, it was to find Gabe laying next to him with purple lips and a content smile.

“Feeling better now?”

Patrick snorted and nodded.

There was a sound from the doorway, Pete and Mikey were in a heap on the floor, after apparently falling forward through the space.

Patrick scrambled for his pants and glared, but Pete just gave him this look and said,

“Fuck, Patrick. I’d love to see what you’d do for a Klondike Bar.”

</3, I'm Sorry.

Tue, 09 Sep 2008 07:07:08 GMT

Author: ihrtangusyoung
Prompt: Genderswap
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Gerard/Mikey
Summary: It started as a joke, really it did.
Disclaimer: Fake.
Authors Notes: This is for the writting comp over at mcr_promp_fics. Also, I'm really sorry about being slow in updating Kitty, every time I sit down to write it the words suddenly leave me and I'm kinda in a slump about it. I mean, I have the whole overall plot line figured out(which is rare for me) but the details are making my head hurt. I apologise.
My Prompt Table Here

Okay, so Gerard likes IMVU…a lot. Like, really, really, a lot. He spends time and actual money to make his little 3-D avatars to be the coolest/sluttiest/prettiest/most vampiric (depending on what account he’s on at the time) thing he could. He loves how you had your own rooms and so many fucking clothing choices, pets and fucking wings in every shade of the rainbow.

He loves how he could be a girl and no one would be the wiser, ‘cause Gerard knew how to keep some things fucking secret. Unlike Mikey, who left screens up on his desktop where nosey brothers could just walk in and see.

Gerard, along with being nosey, also likes to play pranks. It doesn’t help (at least for those on the receiving end) that he has social life to speak of, and therefore has a lot of spare time to plan thing out and generally cause mayhem on the internet. For his tiny part of it anyway.

It starts as a joke anyway. Really.

He logs on with his blonde bimbo type avatar and requests to chat with Mikeykins42 (his brother was so imaginative…). He doesn’t know why he does it, but Gerard starts in at once with the flirting, his little bubbles filled with many a ‘lol’ and few whole words. Gerard can barely hold back his giggles, ‘cause it was seriously funny to talk to his brother that way.

The laughter dies though, when Mikeykins42 makes some bullshit excuse to leave, like he can’t stand to be around Gee’s blond bombshell. That makes him huff and feel slightly offended, who the hell does Mikey think he is?

He quickly logs out of that account and into his goth chick, the one with the orange and black wings and fucking bleeding vampire teeth. He was going to get his brother to respond to him if it was the last thing he did.

Gerard takes a totally different tactic this time, both of them sitting in the coffee shop (seriously Mikey, the internet is for being anything you want, not what you already are. Sheesh.)

It went better, Mikey complemented him on his wings and Gerard said he liked his tail. They talked for a while (using very little chat-speak), took a few pictures (Gee jumps into Mikey arms not a few times), and hugged goodbye almost two hours later. Gerard almost forgot he was talking to his brother, Mikeykins42 was so witty and interesting…

Gerard bangs his head against the computer desk, what the fuck.

Okay, so Gee keeps chatting. Even though he fucking knows it’s weird as all let out. He just needs to keep coming back, feeling closer to his brother then he had ever been. Mikey, he lets himself go, lets Gerard see this secret side that’s so different than the apathetic, sarcastic person he’s so used to and loves so much. Like the internet allows him a freedom he doesn’t gets anywhere else.

Gerard’s totally falling for his own brother…

Somehow, he doesn’t know how (really), a few weeks later they kinda, sorta cyber. Gerard feels so fucking dirty about it, and more turned on then he’s been in a freaking long ass time. Mikey has such a filthy mouth as they lie on his computer generated bed, wrapped up in each other.

What’s worse (at least in his mind) is that Gerard presses his ear to the thin wall separating there rooms, hears the slick noises under the low thrum of music. Hates himself for getting off on it.

Mikeykins42 wants to call him, hear his voice…this is not possible. Gee knows the time has come (after another month and twelve cybers (god he is such a freak)) than he must fess up. Not that it’s really him, never that. But, about why Mikey can’t call him, won’t want to.

Mikeykins42: Are you there?

VampyrePrincess: Um…just a sec.

Mikeykins42: You don’t have to call…I just thought maybe you’d want to.

VampyrePrincess: No, it’s not that I don’t want to.

Mikeykins42: Then what?

VampyrePrincess: I, um. I lied a tiny bit.

Mikeykins42: oh.

Mikeykins42 About what?

VampyrePrincess: Will you promise not to hate me too much if I tell you?

Mikey takes a minute to reply, and Gerard starts breathing way too fast.

Mikeykins42: I’ll try.

It's the best Gee can hope for. His fingers only shake a little as he pecks out the next few words.

VampyrePrincess: I’m…not a girl.

He cringes, not daring to look at the screen for half a minute, but he can’t avoid it; needs to see.

Mikeykins42: Oh.

VampyrePrincess: I’m sorry! So, so fucking sorry!

Mikeykins42: Um, okay. I don’t really know what to think now.

VampyrePrincess: Do you hate me?

Mikeykins42: I don’t know.

Mikeykins42 That’s not true, I do know. I don’t hate you, I’m just a little shocked is all.

VampyrePrincess: I’m sorry…

Mikeykins42: Um, I gtg. We’ll talk later.

Gerard starts to type out ‘promise?’, but Mikey has already logged off. And Gerard is left alone in his gothic style room. He stares at the screen, unable to will himself to move.

That night, dinner is quiet. It’s just him and Mikey, their parents off on a business trip and Gerard wants nothing more than to escape down to the comfort of the basement, where there’s a couch, t.v., and crappy b-movies to numb his brain.

“Hey, Gee?”

“Hmm?” he doesn't look up from his pizza.

“How did you know you liked boys?”

Fuck.

“W-why?”

“I’m curious is all.” he sounds less than interested in the conversation, but Gerard can tell from the set of his shoulders and the way his voice is just the tiniest bit hesitant that whatever Gerard says next will have a lot of influence.

The internal struggle is nearly tangible inside his stomach, heat floods the back of his neck. He knows what has to be done here, there is no escape (at least not one that didn’t hurt both of them more than was necessary, he hoped anyway).

“Mikey.”

“Yeah?” his voice rises a small notch, and Gerard hunches unable to stop the tears from squeezing out and down his cheeks, making tiny splashes on his paper plate.

“Gee? What’s wrong?”

“Mikey. This--I can’t--you’re just so…” he wraps his arms around his middle, nearly sobbing, throat burning and whole body shaking.

“You’re scaring me, Gee.” Mikey’s standing next to him, and Gerard knows he will not be able to hold anything back if he touches him.

Fingers brush his wet cheek,

“Wha--”

“It’s me! I’m so fucking sorry, Mikey! It was supposed to be a joke, I didn’t mean for it to go so far!” the floodgates were open, no filter left between his mind and mouth, “I’m such a sick fuck. I didn’t mean it--I c-couldn’t stop, I tried. I really did Mikey, please believe me, I tried. But you were so fucking nice and smart and goddamnit I couldn’t stop myself from getting off on that fucking dirty talk. I’m s-so fucking sorry…”

Sobs choke the rest of the words, stopping them in his throat. He has to get away, can’t look at his brother, can’t see the disgust or shock or fucking apathy he would hide emotions behind.

Gerard jumps from the table and scrabbles for the safety of the basement, nearly breaking his neck on the stairs (almost wishing he had) and dives under the throw blanket on the warn couch. Curling up into the fetal position and letting the tears and spasms take over.

Crying until he just can’t anymore, exhausted beyond anything he’s ever been in his life. Passes out more then falls asleep.

When he wakes, the tears start flowing again, sorrow making him feel hollow and itchy. As he rubs at his face, flashes of black catch his bloodshot eye.

Mikey had written on the palm of his hand in Sharpie.

I DON’T HATE YOU, BUT I CAN’T LOVE YOU EITHER.

Gerard clenches his fist, biting a knuckle until it bleeds, hot and coppery.

Falling, I'm Falling

Wed, 03 Sep 2008 08:00:27 GMT

Title: Falling, I'm Falling
Author: ihrtangusyoung
Pairing: (in this order) Gerard/Bert, Bob/Patrick, Ryan Ross/Ville Valo, Bob/Mikey
Rating: PG to PG-13
POV: Third and First.
Summary: Four drabbles/ficlets based off the song Have You Ever by The Offspring. They are not related in any way, they just all come from bits of the same song.
Disclaimer: Fake.
Author Notes: I was listening to this song, and the idea to do a bunch of oneshots came to me and would not go away until I wrote them. I hope you like them.

Clicky

Kids are Scary, at Least to Ryan Ross

Thu, 28 Aug 2008 02:02:24 GMT

Title:Kids are Scary, at Least to Ryan Ross
Author: ihrtangusyoung
Prompt:011. Babysit.
Rating:PG-13 (language)
Pairing: Gee, Mikey and a bit of Ryan/Brendon
Summary:Babysitting the Way brothers is no light task to uptake.
Disclaimer: Fake.
Authors Notes: Okay, so I lied, there's accually another part coming after this one.
My Prompt Table Here

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven

Clicky

To Loath and Abhor

Mon, 18 Aug 2008 07:00:37 GMT

Title: To Loath and Abhor
Author: ihrtangusyoung
Prompt: 044. Isolation.
Rating: PG-13, for now
Pairing: Ray/Mikey
Summary: When it sounds so much like love and adore.
Disclaimer: Fake.
Authors Notes: Okay, so I have done away with Gerard in this fic (*pets him* sorry, Gee) and Mikey is around sixteen, and Ray is closer to his real age. This is only the prologue, so there will be more. And no, I’m not abandoning my other fics, they will be updated (hopefully) soon. But I have this bad habit of starting new stories when I should be working on all the stuff I have going right now. Anyway, I hope you like this.
Warnings: General creepiness, hints of pedophilia.
My Prompt Table Here

Prologue

Kids are Scary, at Least to Ryan Ross

Wed, 13 Aug 2008 03:15:32 GMT

Title:Kids are Scary, at Least to Ryan Ross
Author: ihrtangusyoung
Prompt:011. Babysit.
Rating:PG-13 (language)
Pairing: Gee, Mikey and a bit of Ryan/Brendon
Summary:Babysitting the Way brothers is no light task to uptake.
Disclaimer: Fake.
Authors Notes: \o/ a relativly quick update
My Prompt Table Here

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six

Clicky

Leviathans, Booze and Bosuns

Sun, 10 Aug 2008 03:23:26 GMT

Title: Leviathans, Booze and Bosuns
Author: ihrtangusyoung
Pairing: Ehren/bosun
Rating: R
POV: Third
Summary: Ehren needed a drink...
Disclaimer: Fake.
Author Notes: Hazaa for more fic.
Beta: ihrtkjr

Clicky

Kitty: The Sequel

Fri, 08 Aug 2008 17:32:02 GMT

Title: Kitty: The Sequel
Author: ihrtangusyoung
Pairing: Mikey/Bob
Rating: NC-17
POV:First, Mikey's
Summary: The guy, he…he had a tail.
Disclaimer: Fake. ~~damnit~~
Author Notes: Please enjoy.
Beta: ihrtkjr
part: 5/?

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four

Clicky

Kids are Scary, at Least to Ryan Ross

Fri, 08 Aug 2008 02:16:43 GMT

Title:Kids are Scary, at Least to Ryan Ross
Author: ihrtangusyoung
Prompt:011. Babysit.
Rating:PG-13 (language)
Pairing: Gee, Mikey and a bit of Ryan/Brendon
Summary:Babysitting the Way brothers is no light task to uptake.
Disclaimer: Fake.
Authors Notes: I havn't updated this one in a while... I apologize for the shortness.
My Prompt Table Here

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five

Clicky

Kitty: The Sequel

Mon, 04 Aug 2008 19:12:46 GMT

Title: Kitty: The Sequel
Author: ihrtangusyoung
Pairing: Mikey/Bob
Rating: NC-17
POV:First, Mikey's
Summary: The guy, he…he had a tail.
Disclaimer: Fake. ~~damnit~~
Author Notes: Yay for more!
Beta: ihrtkjr
part: 4/?

Part One
Part Two
Part Three

Clicky

A New Comm (full of awsomness and wonder)

Mon, 04 Aug 2008 16:47:20 GMT

GO AND JOIN IT!!! It would make me feel oh so happy, 'cause I am half-way in charge of it. Or if you havn't read the awsomeness that is The Codex Alera series, go out to the bookstore, or library, and check them out, they are by Jim Butcher and the characters are so extremly slashable it's unfair at the total lack of fanfiction out there.

So GO! Hurry!!

♥

p.s. I made that banner up there *points* it's the first one I ever made so excuse the roughness and lack of skillz ^^

Wipeout

Sat, 02 Aug 2008 09:02:25 GMT

Title: Wipeout
Author: ihrtangusyoung
Pairing: Bob/Bert
Rating: PG-13
POV: Third
Summary: Obstacle courses, sexual innuendo and fifty-thousand dollars grand prize. What more could you ask for in a game show?
Disclaimer: Fake.
Author Notes: I declare my entry to SafeHavenSlash Challenge complete! I had a lotta, lotta fun with this fic, I hope you all like the ending as much as I do, and thanks for all the support throughout. Please enjoy.
Part: 6/6

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5

The Final Round!

Wipeout

Fri, 01 Aug 2008 11:55:52 GMT