hogwarts gone wild

Oh, Harry Potter.

Harry Potter.

You're demanding and abusive and your sometimes contradictory canon occasionally makes me want to kick puppies in the head, but I love you and I'll never, ever leave you. I may consider it now and again, particularly on cold, windswept nights when the rain is battering at my windows and you've drank away the rent money again and my inability to finish a story has left me feeling tired and undesirable, but I'll never actually do it. I tried that one time, I really did, but I made it as far as the corner liquor store before realising that you really do love me, almost as much as I love you, even if you have an awfully funny way of showing it.

I'm sorry about the terrible things I said the other night. I was angry. I didn't mean it. How about I make lunch while only wearing knickers? After we eat, we can watch The Breakfast Club and cuddle on the couch.

*

Here. Have some recs of the Bandom persuasion:

Everyday Mysteries in the Summertime is one of the first Bandom fics I read. It's also one of the first AU's I read -- it is, in fact, the AU that made me realise I should give the whole Bandom AU genre a fair shot. It's a Mikey/Pete wherein Gerard and Mikey work at a gas station, and its full of wonderful things like Frank and heat and ordinary tedium, and I loved it. Loved. When I finished it, the only thing I wanted -- other than to have written it myself -- was for there to me more of it to read.

Yes, well. wax_jism is an evil genius. The other morning I woke up Nightswimming, a deliciously hot and deliciously long Frank/Gerard sequel. This involves rain and ordinary tedium, and Gerard drinking too much and Frank trying to navigate around his mother's boyfriend, and it is simply spectacular.

Then:

A day or so later, jjtaylor wrote Buy Handmade. This is another AU, a Frank/Gerard wherein Frank and Mikey work as IT consultants and Gerard is, essentially, Gerard, but also there is Bob and Ray and fresh-baked bread.

This. Wow. The only thing I can say about this is that it's flawless. The sex is hot like burning, and the slow, delicious build-up is even hotter. This fic also slapped me up the side of the head, to the point that I had to go sit on the couch and veg for awhile. Frank spends the opening run nursing a resentful dissatisfaction about his job, and it's the same, exact resentful dissatisfaction I've had about -- well, all my jobs. And, for the exact same reasons: Frank realises he wants make things. He wants to work with his hands. He wants to create, and yeah, I realised that about myself a long time ago. I'd just never thought about it like that -- like, coherently -- and it was a little startling and awesome to see it all laid out in print. I hate my current job less that I've hated the others because at the end of the day I am working with my hands to some degree, but there's no real creativity behind it. When all is said and done, I'm dishing out espresso and milk to faceless people who, for the most part, don't care who's making their drink, as long as it gets made.

We got tipped out at the coffee shop today, and I may have spent a good third of my meagre earnings on a My Chemical Romance poster, like the thirteen year-old girl I secretly am.

It's just. I love My Chemical Romance. Love. They are beautiful and angry and honest and I want to take all of them home with me.

But. If we assume for a moment that I didn't already love them like burning, well. It only would've been a matter of time, because I would've had no defence whatsoever against The Black Parade.

( omfg )

Dude. MARCHING BAND UNIFORMS.

I have a bullet-proof kink regarding flak jackets. No, really. It's die-hard.

I really enjoy bandom fics set on tour, or fics where the characters spend large amounts of time in their van/on their bus, and that's nothing but self-indulgent nostalgia. They remind me of the years I wasted tooling around the Great American Countryside with all my worldly possessions in a duffel bag and a snare drum for a pillow. I miss that. I miss everything about it. Well, almost everything -- I don't miss the way a charter bus bathroom can stink so effortlessly, and I don't miss living off Doritos and Cup-O-Noodle -- but my point remains. And now I have pictures of one of my most favourite bands ever wearing single side-stripe pants and flak jackets.

adsfasdlfkjalsdjf

Here, have a picture of Gerard Way with his hand down his pants:

( i've never wanted to be a pair of jeans so bad in my life )

Also, this is what Gerard looks like with his tongue in Frank Iero's mouth:

( oh. wow. um. )

Or, we could talk about that time Frank humped Gerard's face.

( earsex is how mpreg happens )

While I have you here, I threw my name in the hat at the Feedback Meme.