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[25 Jan 2004|05:43pm] |
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mood |
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some sad singers just play tragic. |
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music |
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lover i don't have to love - bright eyes |
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It's been over a month WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME!(*@)
Mmmkay, this is my newest bit, likely won't get finished, written mostly just for the hell of it.
Title : [untitled]
Fandom : Korn/Deftones [for now]
Rating : PG-13 [for now]
Summary : Jonathan Davis applies for a new job, and is handed a whole new life...
( the new guy. )
Per usual, feedback = appreciated.
w3rd.
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[15 Dec 2003|08:41pm] |
For Crystal, cause she gave me the prompt.
Title: Sign
Rating: PG as of right now
Fandom : Deftones
Prompt : 'Chino and speed limit signs'
( andsuddenly-- )
Per usual, I want feedback. Like now, yo.
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[01 Dec 2003|10:39pm] |
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mood |
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don't tell me cause it hurts. |
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music |
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don't speak - no doubt |
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taproot, prompt form goldie/psycho 'spit and razorblades'
Mike is always the cute one.
Mike is always the polite one, the one who is so clean-cut it's disgusting and revolting to Steven. He calls Steven's mom 'Mrs. Richards', smiles at the cameras, always stops to talk with fans. He's a perfectly constructed puzzle that only he himself knows how to put perfectly together. Lets everyone see his pretty side, hiding the ugliness away, buried somewhere deep in his skin.
Mike is always the masochist. The one who lets the spikes dig into his neck, wrists, ankles, begging for more the entire while. Steven just smirks at him, watching from the foot of whatever surface they're using tonight, just watching, waiting for him carefully-pieced together façade to crack. That's all he needs, just one, and he'll have enough leverage to pry it open.
Mike is like a Rubik's cube. so many different sides. Steven learns this later than he should, after one particular session, after which Mike's wrists are so raw he can't stand to let them touch anything, so he's lying there with his arms up in the air, Steven laying beside him. He says 'thank you', in this voice that's so fucking familiar that Steven can't place it at first - until he remembers that he's been expecting something else. This is stereotypical Mike, back in three-D surround sound, making the situation seem that much more overexagerated, and that much more fake.
Mike is like winter. He's crisp at first, a little careless with his words, but never once slipping with his stately façade. After a while, he's ignorable. He slips cleverly into the wallpaper, leaving behind a crisp aftertaste that's distinctly him - something that makes everyone want more. But the thing is, Mike won't let them have any.
Mike is like no one else Steven has ever had before. He's in the bathroom for hours upon end, razorblade in hand, making sure every curve of his outer shell is how it should be. So vain. But the thing is, it's all tossed out the window when they're acting like they're in love, like it should be. Mike smiles at Steven when he rubs his knuckles against tour-grown stubble, nibbles his lip whilst smirking when he presses his palms flat against his chest, usually prerequisite to 'making love', the euphemism that perfect-Mike uses.
One time when they're out just walking, Mike spits on the ground and declares that he's no longer going to be so high-maintenance. No more shaving, he says, no more eyebrow upkeep, no more gel in the hair, no more nice and soft anything. I'm a changing man, he declares.
But when he locks eyes with Steven in the mirror behind him the next morning, all he can do is look away.
Mike is never one to admit he hasn't got any willpower.
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| wake me up inside. |
[04 Nov 2003|06:30pm] |
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mood |
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earth to sleepy smile. |
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music |
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sleepyhead - alkaline trio |
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deftones; prerequisite to 'In December, Abe...'
He woke up alone.
As always, in theory, always alone; he hadn’t pulled himself out of bed for a week now except for when nature called and when the fucking phone decided to ring, he wasn’t used to answering it, no, Chino had always been the social…
Chino.
He rolled over to the other side of the bed, grasping the pillow between his thinning fingers and inhaling, deep. It smelled like wax and sweat and love and everything that embodied Chino, but he wasn’t fucking there.
Ring. Ring ring fucking ring again.
“Shut up.” He murmured vaguely to the hunk of plastic on the other side of the room, but, as always, he pulled himself up, planting his feet on the floor.
The carpet was barely affected by his movement, he no longer left any sort of imprint on it, unlike the times when he’d been gently pushed back on to the bed, and he could trace their synchronized footsteps in the morning-
“Hello?” He said, unwilling to give whoever it was half a blip of emotion; pleading with them, really, to go deeper than what his words said.
“Abe, I can tell you haven’t eaten.” Chi’s voice broke through the vague underlying static that Abe had truly grown used to, the awkward pauses, awkward breaths, awkward everything since he’d-
“Are you going to wake up, or are you going to simply exist until you die?” Chi asked after more silence from Abe, who was too busy tracing his ribs with his fingertips to pay attention to the voice of his long-time friend.
“I dunno.” He murmured into the receiver, tired even though he’d just spent hours sleeping.
“Look, you know this isn’t how he’d want you to be.” He replied to the monotonous phrase, “He wouldn’t want you to become a shell of yourself, and you damn well know that.”
“He wouldn’t fucking care, he loved me for who I was.” Abe spat in reply, tired of the phonecalls, tired of the sympathy.
“It’s been four months, Abe, and the only time any of us see you is when we force ourselves to drop by and make sure you’re alive once every week or so. To a point, you’re wallowing in your own damned self-pity; you act like this isn’t hard on us at all. God knows Stef didn’t stop downing straight bottles of liquor until two weeks after, but he’s finally come to terms with it.”
The words didn’t hit Abe, he was too busy staring at the door, staring out into the hallway, watching, waiting-
“Abe, wake up. If only for our sake, would you just wake up?”
It was at that moment that he realized that Chino wasn’t coming through the door, not now, not ever.
“I loved him, Chi.” He started speaking like he was about to go on one of his post-funeral three-hour rambles about how much the man meant to him, how he only breathed for him- “But I could use a night of bar-hopping.”
With a smile, Chi replied softly, “Okay, Abe. We’ll go bar-hopping.”
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| like he is. |
[03 Nov 2003|08:41pm] |
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mood |
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hold your tongue, boy. |
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music |
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if i told you this was killing me... - the juliana theory |
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for james; chino moreno/daryl palumbo
When the tour was over, so was the affair. Chino cupped Daryl's face in his hand, brushed his cheekbone with his thumb, gave him a soft smile and a "I'll see you around".
Daryl didn't know Beck was watching the scene unfold. Honestly, to him it was like a b-romance movie. Perfectly rehearsed, not an awkward movement. Just like every time before that, when they would just exist together, and it was perfect.
But, of course, the ultimate cinimatic clichè - the situation wasn't perfect for Beck.
And even though Daryl swore up and down that it was just for the tour, when he sees the picture, he's disgusted.
And when Daryl's bent over the porcelian toilet bowl later, Beck's hand resting on the small of his back, he knows he can't blame Chino for this.
But he does anyway.
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[03 Nov 2003|08:19pm] |
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mood |
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blood in your hair. |
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music |
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mascara - deftones |
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once again for crystal, orginially posted on greatestjournal; conor oberst/chris carrabba
conor is like light. chris tries and tries and oh how he tries, but he can't quite catch him.
smirk, smirk. sellout, respectable musician. whiny bitch, intellectual fucker.
the question is, really, conor drawls, which of us belongs to which? is it me, or you, possesing said titles, said emotions, said fucking expressions.
i don't know, chris replies in a voice that conor can barely hear through the ear-deep static, maybe we're both both.
[i'm guilt-tripping myself about not finishing chino + speed limit signs. when i get the other computer back, however, maybe i'll stop. heh.]
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| their own beat. |
[02 Nov 2003|05:57pm] |
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mood |
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under my skin. |
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music |
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the dirt of the vineyard - cursive |
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chris carraba/conor oberst
Conor grabs Chris' hand, placing it on his hip as he's heading towards the kitchen, and stops him right then and there. The words left unsaid tap their tongues, but Conor holds his and lets Chris to the talking.
"Didn't you just bitch about wanting food?" Chris snaps, a little too sharp and a little too quickly; the hand that's been placed on his nape squeezes just so; the hand that’s free wraps around to the small of his back--
"Shhh." Conor whispers, and Chris watches as his eyelashes flutter and their hips collide and they just stand and sway.
less talk
more dancing
if i could pull off this sick conversation
one more night
i surely would
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[18 Oct 2003|10:56pm] |
For the Golden Girl, because I love her.
Title: Breathe
Rating: PG-13ish
Fandom: Taproot
Summary: "I think he needs a Midol smoothie."
( breathe. )
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[18 Oct 2003|04:32pm] |
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mood |
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and if the shoe fits, i'll wear it. |
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music |
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renegade - jay-z f/ eminem |
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Oh, damn, I'm back again.
Rockstars as CSIs. Yaaay.
Title: Savory
Rating: PG thusfar, no doubt higher coming up.
Fandom: In order of appearance, Taproot, The Distillers, Avril Lavigne, Korn, Slipknot, AFI, Limp Bizkit. Still to come: Deftones, Staind, System of a Down.
Summary: The LA nightshift gets two cases that become one, and change their personal views forever.
Author's Notes: Yes, ladies and gents, I really Am That Cool.
Disclaimer: I own nooothing.
( chapter one. )
Feedback would rock.
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[18 Aug 2003|01:41pm] |
OH LOOK IT'S ME AGAIN.
Incubus drabble. Written after their set at Lollapalooza, as I sat on the lawn waiting for Audioslave. True story.
( slip. )
What is it with the lack of feedback, yo? Didn't make this thing just to sit here... or did I? *ponderponderponder*
♥
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[11 Aug 2003|03:43pm] |
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mood |
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take it out on me! |
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music |
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cochise - audioslave [where's my girl. goat cheese, yo.] |
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Be damned [damned!] if I haven't abandoned this place. Seriously, I need some motivation to kick this shit back into gear. Only three journals, and I can't even take care of them. Whew.
Whee, new drabble. Salutes to ze lovely James. No fandom in particular, but there's three that I've been thinking about far (far!) too much as of late that it could fit. Name which pairing you think of when reading it in a comment below. I'm interested in seeing your opinions or something like that.
( prickle. )
Gonna be throwing a new layout on here when I feel like budging.
♥
G [who has become the equivalent of a bump on a log. ribbet.]
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[08 Aug 2003|03:53pm] |
Epic from myself an ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) ladyinsomnia
Loveletter
Chapter 1
Sam Rivers [Limp Bizkit]/Chino Moreno [Deftones]/Jerry Horton [Papa Roach]
Author's Note: We win. I [G] wrote the letter bits, as well as the very beginning and the very end. Kittie wrote the rest. Muaha.
Disclaimer: We don't own 'em.
( loveletter. )
FEEDBACK!
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| Enter Zone R |
[20 Jun 2003|01:49pm] |
Wow, kids, it's been a loooong time since this has seen the light of day. I dug it up out of my archives for your reading pleasure-- and I'm positive you'll love it.
In addition, there are two endings to this. I'll post both, one after the second-to-last chapter, one after that. You can decide which you like best.
Title: Enter Zone R
Fandom: KoRn
Warnings: Language, violence.
Disclaimer: Oh, I wish, I wish, I wish...
( prologue )
Feedback, please. I wrote this last year, but I'm thinking about re-writing bits of it.
Love,
G
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| Losing you. |
[11 Jun 2003|03:28pm] |
For anyone who hasn't read it already, this is the one blink thing that I'm somewhat proud of (I was 12 was I wrote it.. ages ago, man. trippy.
( losing you. )
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| First entry-- drabble. |
[10 Jun 2003|02:26pm] |
Rating: PG ish
Fandom: Deftones
Pairing: Chino/? (you insert the other character...)
Prompt: Clocks
( you never realized... )
It worked som much better when it was 175 words. *sigh* Feedback, please?
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| Welcome. |
[18 May 2003|01:45pm] |
You've stumbled onto the writing journal of blackstarguitar. Enjoy the... stuff.
Exactly.
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