Band-aid

Sep. 10th, 2011 8:44 AM

Ian came running, holding his face in his hand. "Do you know where I can find some band aids? Have you got one?" Ian asked, sounding totally shaken, or otherwise excited about something.

"What happened?" Will asked, not helping but thinking there's a story behind the nick on Ian's face and thinking it might be interesting.

"Bowie. I was shaving in front of the mirror, and he came to me, and he started TALKING to me, and I jumped startled, so erm, I cut my face... Oh, Will, he's so gorgeous!"

Will laughs.

"It took an injury to make you laugh, didn't it? Well, at least I made you laugh." Ian grins at Will, with a sense of accomplishment.

Clowns

Sep. 10th, 2011 8:15 AM

"You know what they say about clowns…" Will says reflectively.
 
"They wear bad make up?" Ian shrugs heavily, holding his large glass.
 
"Their smiles are painted on." Will provides the oh-so familiar cliché.
 
"Why are you telling *me* this?" Ian cocks his head at Will, thinking he really is way too drunk for a serious conversation now - and where did Will pull that out from anyway?
 
 "I just wanted to know if you're alright I guess, although you seem to be doing good." Will says, and Ian has a flash of realizing that maybe Will used an all too beat up phrase, but he'd actually managed to get the point across rather well, the bastard.
 
Ian chuckles. "Seriously, Will, if you think you're going to get a confession out of me, you are sorely mistaken."
 
"I didn't think so." Will says frankly, and from that point on they haven't spoken to each other that night, Ian leaving with some girl, and Will getting another couple of drinks and then going back home to sleep.

Prompt 1: Moon

Aug. 2nd, 2011 at 9:06 PM

'Under blue moon I saw you, so soon you'll take me...'

Ian scribbles his words on the notepad, concentrating. In moments like this, he can almost feel some kind of presence next him, but he knows it's not real, so he ignores it.

Right now he's all alone, which is how he prefers it. This part - the writing - is all his, and with this one he felt compelled to write the lyrics before the music, so he can properly devote himself to it and not just rely on his quick wit - which was still in good condition, thank you very much.

He can feel now, more than just Pete's drums clanking in his ears, Will's soaring or twiddling guitar parts, and Les' rhythmic bass. Rest assured, they would all have a time and a place - as he contemplates the structure of the verses, the length of each syllable, the right feel for this song - he has more or less of an idea of what this baby would sound like, and he hopes his friends won't let him down on that one. Each time he picks up a phrase, a melodic idea, a wordplay - he can feel his toes curl up. He feels his back slumped heavily over the brick wall outside where he's standing, the weight abstractly shifting from his lower back to his feet and back up - still leaning, but his legs are dangling forward in an angle. He curls his lips along the metallic end of his pencil, seemingly absent-mindedly - but he sucks gently and bites it in order to grasp onto *something* now, to know his words are coming from within, and not by any outside source. The image in his head is so striking, but clear, like gazing at your reflection in the water. 

The paper sheet is darkening before his eyes, and he needs to strain them to look at the words. He knows he's been hanging around for hours, and the night's beginning to fall. There's no use of trying to read what he'd written, everything he sees is just a smudge of greys now, and he's trying to shake off that feeling, that there are just things in life that you have no control of, and you can't will them away.

All he has left now are those images in his head, and some of his words, though he forgets them, so now his visual memory takes over, captivating him on a different level - before the night falls down and takes his soul away - No, wait, why would the night consume him? Where did that thought come from?

He shuffles his feet and moves down, until he sits with his back at the wall. Just a little dark figure crumpled over the wall at night, and if someone gives him hassle he would say he's looking for his muse, people often just think he's weird and leave him alone.

He can't be bothered to keep his eyes open - he often doesn't - and in-between dreaming about home-made cooking and football, he dreams about the moon over the Mersey river, and how magical it seemed to him when he was a kid; How gorgeous and mysterious it was to him. He could hear it call for him, whatever it means. He's sure it would call him again one day.

He wakes feeling a lot calmer, though in his mind, he estimates he hasn't been dosing off for long - his biological clock is never wrong on these things. As he puts his notepad under his arm and gets ready to leave, he can feel someone touching his shoulder, but he turns around and sees no one. He shrugs it off, huddling because he's gotten colder.

The Ten Commandments

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WIP - Ian McCulloch/Johnny Marr talking at a bar

Jul. 22nd, 2011 at 4:21 AM

"Johnny Marr! What are you doing here?" Ian asks with enthusiasm, as if he hasn't seen Johnny around before, making Johnny – no doubt – turn his head to Ian. "Are you waiting for someone?"

"No, I was with someo… Some people. They just left."

"Well, then, what were you waiting outside for? Let's go back in. Come on, it's still early."

With that, Ian puts his arm around Johnny, dragging him back into the pub.

They order drinks. After a small talk, it seems like there's something on Ian's mind that he feels the need to air.

"You know, that guy you were seeing a few years ago, that weird bloke with the hair, where is he? You know who I mean, don't you?"

"That guy… You mean Morrissey?" Johnny sighs, but keeps a small smile.

"Oi, yeah, that's the one!" Ian grins, his change in pitch could be possibly mistaken for real joy of being reminded about Morrissey's name. Johnny's not buying it, but he wishes to keep Ian entertained. "Is he still alive?" Ian asks.

"Yeah, I suppose." Johnny says, smirking. Many times people try to talk to him just to pick some pieces of info on his ex…bandmate. Ex-bandmate, yeah, and he's gotten wary of those conversations, but it's different this time – if anything, Ian's taking the piss out of people who do that.

"Noooo. Really?" Ian straightens up in his chair, concentrating his eyes on the chip in his hand. "He was a dodgy fucker, though. I never liked him."

"You didn't?" Johnny asks. He knows Ian has said less than favourable things about the Smiths, and about Morrissey in particular, but he assumes Ian's always playing it up a bit.

"I suppose I liked 'Reel Around the Fountain', it was a good one." Ian says in a serious, impassioned tone which voices his appreciation. "And the one which goes…" He sings Johnny's guitar part, perfectly.

"This Charming Man." Johnny pitches in.

"You know what I mean!" Ian looks at Johnny appreciatively.

"It was a very good vocal impression." Johnny says in return.

"Well, you wrote the tune, didn't you?" Ian asks. "Some of your tunes were good, like. Some were excellent."

Johnny nods. "Alright, cheers." Ian is feigning some kind of cool objectivity, isn't he? I bet he listens to the Smiths at home, having a good time to our songs, like everyone.

"Your singer, though-" Ian continues. "He's a bit mental. Way too much of a purist, in every way. I don't believe him. Maybe it's because I'm the complete opposite of him, I don't know."

"What do you mean?" Johnny asks. Are we still talking about Morrissey? It was a long time ago, mate, let it go. Ian must be really pissed, does he even know what *year* it is?

"He's vegetarian, he doesn't eat meat." Ian provides both info and literal definition, which are invaluable, especially to Johnny. "Will is vegetarian too; he says it's good, he believes it's healthier, you know, not eating dead things. I tell him he still smells." Ian grins proudly. Something about the timing and the way Ian delivers his childish joke makes Johnny chuckle wholeheartedly.

"The truth is, I don't know if you've heard about it, but I'm vegan." Johnny says. Although it has been dropped off in various interviews and articles (which Ian would have known if he'd bothered to read them), Johnny secretly hopes Ian doesn't know about his veganism, so that Johnny could shock and titillate Ian with that fact.

"Really? You're vegan?!" Ian asks with a mix of genuine curiosity and surprise, which pleases Johnny. "Wow, um… pfff." Ian breathes out. Johnny can't help but feel Ian's a lot more impressed than he'd expected him to be. It could be that Ian never got to talk to a vegan about veganism, or at least he hasn't been aware of any vegans around him; Johnny considers that. But maybe - Johnny thinks - there's a whole different reason why Ian is thrilled, and it involves Johnny specifically, in contrast to any other persons Ian had mentioned.

"So… um… Could you tell me what you eat?" Johnny could see Ian was searching for the right words; and although that question may be trite – Johnny would normally answer dryly 'Anything you do, except for products which cash in on the abuse and killing of animals', as the definition already implies – he wants to indulge Ian's sudden interest, so Johnny actually goes on in lengths about his favourite foods, cruelty-free products and the like.

"No way, man…" Ian squints, deep in thought. "You're looking good." Ian says decisively. "Did I ever tell you you look good?"

Johnny shakes his head, smiling weakly. He doesn't think Ian had ever told him that, and even if he had, Johnny would have had no real reason to remember it – Ian may be quick to slag off other musicians, or criticize individuals, but when it comes to talking about personal feelings or wants, he could be described as vague at best; simple and direct, but maybe too simple and not direct enough.

WIP - Will/Ian and some chocolate

Jul. 22nd, 2011 at 4:19 AM

Ian: "Omnomnom…"

Everyone looks over at Ian.

Les points, "You can't sing that over the music."

"I'm eating chocolate!" Ian declares through a mouthful.

                                  

Will looks at Les, who looks at Pete, and they all look back at Ian again.

Will: "We can see that, you've got chocolate all over your mouth."

Ian, smiling: "No, I don't, you cunt."

Will looks at Les. Les just shrugs, and plays his strings a bit.

Will: "You do."

Pete, raising up his drumsticks in defeat: "This is rubbish; I want chocolate."

Ian snorts, looking at Pete defiantly. "Get your own!"

Will chuckles to himself.

Pete: "Where did you get it?" perhaps small-talking would convince Ian to share.

Ian, sullenly: "A girl."

Will sits down, since not much playing is getting done now.

Pete looks at Ian, and arches his eyebrow. "Is it someone new?"

Will rolls his eyes at Pete disapprovingly. He figures Ian might have been teasing Pete with his last comment, like he did with the chocolate. Will doesn't think Ian got the chocolate off some girl, and even if he had, saying there was a girl who gave him chocolate isn't to say he's seeing someone else now... The last time Will had brought it up with Ian, Ian had a girlfriend. Ian wouldn't refer to her as just 'A girl', Will knows it. And if there's more than one girl – Will doesn't want to consider it, but even if there were – they shouldn't be speaking about it publicly.

Pete is unconcerned with Will's disapproval, as he goes on. "Do we know her?"

Ian licks his lips nervously, looking back at Pete. "Well, what's in it for you? Where are you going with that? You wanted me chocolate, and now you're after me girls?" He stands closer to Pete, squashing the chocolate and putting it in Pete's hand. "There you go." He begins to walk off, passing Will on his way out. Will notices Ian's hand is covered in chocolate, as Will would expect.

"Mac, you've got chocolate all over your fingers…" - A split second before he finishes talking, Ian marches back to him."Oh really? You want to suck on it, Will?"  Ian pulls Will off the chair, taking a moment to think if he wants to hit him, or put his fingers in Will's mouth not so subtly, and have him lick off all his hand clean. He's grabbing Will by the collar, moving to eye-level with him.

The two begin to scrap and Will pushes Ian down on the floor, straddling him. Ian's chocolate covered hand-print ends up on the floor as Will pins Ian's hands down.

Will didn't plan for it to go into a full-on fight, he doesn't want to hurt Ian accidentally. However, Ian's doe-in-the-headlight look indicates to Will he may have put more force into it than he'd intended to do. Will moves off Ian, and tugs on Ian's shirt for him to move up as well; lightly, so he'd understand they're no longer fighting. He tiptoes and puts a gentle kiss to Ian's cheek. Ian moves his lips and brushes them against Will's. It's OK– Will thinks to himself - it's only a kiss. He doesn't flinch when Ian prolongs the kiss; in fact he kisses back sedately, the adrenaline from their fight still in affect.  At last, Ian ends the kiss and takes a step back. Will feels the warmth from Ian's lips and body moving away slowly from his own.

"You alright, then? Do you want to finish the song now?" Will asks Ian sincerely.

Ian shrugs, putting his hand in his pocket. Damn, all out of fags. "Whatever. I'm off to buy more fags."

And just like that, he walks off.

Will looks over at Les and Pete. It only now registered to him he'd been ignoring them for a while - from the moment he and Ian and he had locked gazes and the two got entangled in each other's limbs, until the moment they rolled off each other. And then the kiss, He reminds himself.

Les, who'd taken to reading the paper in the minutes past, looks at Will – as if Les knows he witnessed a moment he shouldn't have. Will grumbles, moving over to Pete's side.

Will looks over at Pete's towel, which is hanging over a chair next to Pete at the moment – the one Pete uses to wipe himself with when they're taking a break from playing. It appears as though part of the somewhat-melted chocolate must've stuck to Pete's hand when Ian had passed it to him, and then in turn got pasted on to Pete's towel. Will wipes his hands with the clean side of the towel, just in case he got some on himself as well.

Terminal Young Thing Pt. 1

21 FEBRUARY 2011 @ 02:20 PM

When Wayne had first met James Dean Bradfield – James was looking for supporting musicians for his solo tour, and Wayne got the job – he really thought he'd hit it off well with James. He remembers James shook his hand, and complimented his hair – Wayne doesn't remember the details exactly, he had such a head-rush from meeting James Dean Bradfield.

He'd only seen pictures of him sometimes, when he was going through guitar magazines, and his expectations weren't elevated – he had set out to be professional about it, as he is when meeting any other musician.

But James was so cool in person – so warm and affectionate with everyone, and he seemed to have taken a liking to Wayne – he interviewed him for a very long time, although it didn't seem like he was scrutinizing Wayne, or trying to figure out if he really is the best option, but asking him questions out of genuine interest; And then Wayne realized, he wanted to be liked by this man.

When Wayne had told his friends about this encounter, and how happy he was that it turned out well, and how excited he was that James had liked him, and even looked him in the eye and said something – maybe it was 'Hi, great hair', right after he shook his hand, or maybe Wayne's mind just idealized what had really happened – they didn't understand it.

They thought Wayne was being odd about it, and maybe even a bit star-struck. In all fairness, Wayne had never been so fascinated by another man before, for all they knew; it did seem a bit out-of-character for him.

They told Wayne that if it had been Nicky, then they would have understood – he wore dresses; or Nicky's friend – the one who disappeared - with a fuck-load of foundation, and his stage make-up, he could be mistaken for a girl. A butch, angry goth girl, with a razor-sharp jaw… But still, they thought it would be more excusable if Wayne had been sexually confused by those two. After all, they'd crafted their image to do just that, get a reaction from your average straight bloke who never had their heterosexuality challenged that way before.

However, they didn't seem surprised that James may have hit on Wayne; they only got a kick from Wayne's reaction. The rest seemed perfectly normal to them. It made sense that everyone who's been with the Manics must be somewhat bi.

Perhaps Wayne isn't confused, perhaps he knows exactly what he wants. But talking to people he trusts about it, made him think twice about his feelings. He decides to slow down, and have a calmer, more detached approach over James Dean Bradfield. He decides to let it go, and see what happens.

Be My Baby?...

[Feb. 14th, 2011|10:57 pm]

"Happy Valentine's Day," Nicky read out his card, which was nothing but a piece of cut-out cardboard, lovingly decorated by its sender. He even drew a glittery heart, the cheeky imp! "Love, James." written in his handwriting. That round, girlish handwriting Nicky would normally tease him about.

"Thank you." Nicky said, thinking how he can't possibly accept this valentine, and actually feeling worse about this day than he already had, a dark cloud hanging over his head.

"I thought, you know, that you might appreciate the gesture." James shrugs, grinning self-consciously. As if playing it off as a gesture between friends who deeply care about each other - and love each other, yes, but not in a more than friendly way -  would make Nicky's rejection - or worse, lack or acknowledgement - easier to deal with.

"Look, I know this day isn't easy for you, for any of us, but I thought it might cheer you up."

Nicky thanks James again, tucking the note in his handbag and smiling at James. He's got smiles from now until next year, but he'll be the first to admit 'it takes a lot these days', as Richey would say. It takes something extraordinary to make an adult smile...Nicky has his own way to make himself smile. He thinks about the last time he had a genuine Valentine's Day celebration. Not last year, of course, that's when Richey's car was recovered, two weeks after Richey had gone missing. That is also on Nicky's mind, and he doesn't want to ignore it, he wants to remember it. But there's also one of his happiest memories, from the year before. Valentine's Day 1994.


Nicky had skip-stepped into Richey's Cardiff flat, whistling one of his own favourite tunes, which he woke up to every day during his finals. 'The only one I know, has gone, to take me away...'  And he'd come to take Richey away, for the day. He got him out of his clothes first, fixing him a nice, long, bubblebath. And then he got Richey his jeans and a red tee, helping him with his hair and makeup - Richey even let him put some colourless glitter, for once.  And Nicky made Richey's hair nice and fluffy, the way he likes it, not flat or drawn back like Richey'd do. Then he grabbed Richey and took him to the park, to ride one of these peddling-boats that's shaped like a swan. Richey made faces the entire time and giggled about how 'Valentine's Day is shit', but Nicky thinks Richey had a good day that day. Nicky did it because he wanted to give Richey a chance to enjoy Valentine's Day.

Maybe next year, Nicky'll get his chance to enjoy it. Then, maybe in a couple of years, or more. Maybe never.

Slinky Malinky Dog

[Jan. 21st, 2011|07:55 pm]

When Nicky got his first dog, Lucy, he wrinkled his face with disappointment and sullenness only a small child would understand, and sobbed out "But I wanted a pony!" at his mum.

A moment after, he sat down on the floor, petting the dog. The dog licked his hand and he laughed, and the tears were forgotten.

---

Nicky used to take Lucy for walks along the beach with his friend Richey and his dog, Snoopy. Richey joked about how Lucy was all girly, meaning that she was shy and timid and 'wimpy', while his dog Snoopy was a 'real boy', strong-willed and feisty like Richey himself. They had fun watching the dogs interact with each other and play-fight, while the boys made occasional comments about who they resembled.

---

One time, Lucy had some kind of stomach bug. Nicky convinced himself he was unwell too, and stayed at home all day with her, cuddling her and stroking her tummy and giving her medicine and watching TV together. By the time his mum came home from work, Nicky was asleep with his nose buried in the dog's warm coat. Even though she never allowed the dog to go on any of the beds, she couldn't help but marvel at the sight, and dared not wake up the two from their sweet slumber.

Idle Hands - Part 1

Jan. 18th, 2011 at 12:14 AM

"You remind me of someone." The teen said, grabbing Morrissey by his white T-shirt with a dangerous sexual glare.

If Morrissey's mind could form words in those seconds that boy took possession of him - literally, they would probably be-

'You remind me of someone'? What an odd way to get close to another person. Usually he's being grabbed by people who want to get close to him - not to mention get intimate with him - because it's him.That's why he wants to give that boy a shot. He'll do, for now.


If lips could bruise from kissing - Morrissey wasn't sure, at that moment - their lips would turn blue from the heated exchange the two stole in an alley, with Morrissey leaning over the wall, letting the younger man lead - not as if he had much choice.


The young boy sniffles ; Maybe he's sick - Morrissey remembers it's cold outside, now that they broke contact. The boy uses the space between them to unbuckle his belt and unbutton his jeans, revealing plaid boxers underneath. Morrissey takes his hand, enough to attract his attention again. He shakes his head, waiting for him to rearrange himself and leading him to the band's caravan.


Morrissey takes off his shirt on the way, tossing it down. "I'm a virgin, you know that." He scolds the other as they get near the bunks. "Yeah, sure you are." the boy says, utterly bored and playing with Morrissey's nipple in his hand. It's not that the boy doesn't know who the other man is - in fact, Morrissey's quite sure he's a fan - he just doesn't seem to care much. Morrissey respects that kind of individuality ( -he reminds himself, for the second time) he wouldn't have gotten just anyone into his bunk - but he figures the boy isn't impressed by that, either.

"So, have you got any condoms?" Morrissey asks as they sit on the bed, now quite far apart from one another. "Listen," the boy says, turning to him. "I haven't done it yet, with anyone... ever." He says, only a slight stutter giving in at the end of the sentence. Morrissey only now noticed how huge the boy's eyes are. His skin is a bit spotty - he notices it better now, although it registered before; Still, a pretty face, though. And he's nervous and sort of blunt. It's the way he's said it, most of all, which makes Morrissey trust him. He wanted to remind him what he'd said before about virginity, but he bites his lip and stays quiet, for the moment.

Boys

[Jan. 6th, 2011|05:32 pm]

"That backwards cap looks awful," Richey says, looking at James. "I know," James says grimly, reminding himself it was the look that was demanded of him for that photo-shoot. He didn't like that part of the job, though it was crucial, they had to look distinct for all the girls who were going to see them for the first time on a number of teen mags in the UK. Girls. He couldn't bare to imagine there are teenage blokes who are into that sort of thing...

Richey's laughing, caught up in the absurdity of this scene. He's got a wonderful laughter, not only for his bandmates and the people working around the band, but also visually. One for the girls, and boys. One for the magazines. He swings his arm around James, as if he were about to trip himself over laughing.

James has his arm secured around Richey on his one side, and Nicky on the other. Nicky is wearing sunglasses at the moment, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as if they'd been standing outside watching birds, or waiting for a thunderstorm. His toes are perked up nervously as he's standing on his heels; It's a miracle, James thinks, that he's able to support him in that pose. Sean is sitting on a stool that was set up for him - ahead of them, looking nonchalant.

The photographer captures the moment while Richey's laughter subsides gradually. A look of bewilderment takes over his face when he realises that his moment of joy had been caught on film, which changes into a sulk, forming a straight, tiny line where his mouth is. His changed expression is worth two more snaps.

"Brilliant" the photographer whispers to the band's manager. "You've got a five minutes break," Philip says "Your water bottles are waiting for you in the lounge."