Summary: A bit of an immaturity kink fic (though no sex) between adults. I actually made Will cute this time, I was tired of the old trope. Will POV
Disclaimer: Not real, and not too big on realism, if you'd like to know.
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2. Gender: Fluid
3. Birthday: 24 - 02 - 1984
4. Where do you live and/or time zone: Israel, not sure.
5: What are you studying/What are you working as: Theology/Unemployed
6. What makes you happy/hobbies: finding new interests and doing things I like makes me happy. My obsessions include Echo & The Bunnymen (band), point and click quests from the 90s, sci-fi and much more.
7. An interesting fact about you: the reason some of my ficlets have voice-hearing in them is because I was mislabelled as hearing them by professionals, and I find the subject interesting. I think that without fully understanding why I write mental problems the way I do, people might find that/me offensive.
8. Are you in love/have a crush at the moment: I have someone, but unfortunately, the last crush I had was based on one of my own fictional characterisations :/
9. Favorite place to be: at a concert
10. A word to describe yourself: questioning
1. Favorite Fandom(s): (If you aren't a fandom person- leave some favorite books or something of that sort). Book - Dorian Gray. I haven't really considered myself a part of really active fandom since 2002, but I'll read things for works or real people I already know if I like the writing style.
2. OTP/OT3: As in 'this actually happened, in my POV, and I'm into it' - Richey/James from the Manic Street Preachers. 'Just really interests me' pairing - Ian/Will from Echo & The Bunnymen. 'Didn't imagine this one would work for me, but it did' - Richey Edwards/Pete Doherty.
3. Celebrities you flail over: Ian McCulloch, Johnny Marr, and others.
4. Favorite music: EATB, The Smiths, Bowie - and more (I feel bad if I make a list and I forget something)
1. One thing you like about LJ: There's depths to discover.
2. Two things you like about yourself: Writing (makes me feel good about myself), having relationships (romantic and nonromantic).
3. What does your username mean/what is the significance behind it? It's a quote from Echo & The Bunnymen's The Killing Moon (good song - honestly), I thought it sounded cheekily homoerotic out of context.
Pairings: (Autoerotic-) Ian McCulloch/Johnny Marr, unrequited Ian/Will in my head.
Summary: The Ian McCulloch and Johnny Marr tape sessions - the slashy version.
Disclaimer: Half arsed headcanon, a bit absurdist on purpose.
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Summary: The voices talk to Ian. Sometimes he talks back. Most importantly, Will's there with him, and he's not going to leave him alone with his demons.
Disclaimer: Fiction. The badly-written kind of fiction, even.
I know what's wrong with me. "My mind, it's empty", you say loudly.
- Your mind isn't empty, it's just full of all the wrong things. That's all you care about, drinking, and doing drugs, and shagging. You used to be someone special. You used to stand for something, even when you didn't believe in anything, you were what the people needed. You gave them something back, you created ideas to inspire them. Ever wondered why things don't go right - the way it used to be - anymore? Maybe you should look back on all the choices you've made...
Will looks at you, and you know he's noticed how you've gone quiet. You know he knows that you are in the midst of an internal conflict. He knows the voices are not going to go away, they're a part of you, and it's just as well. "It's 'them', isn't it, they're torturing you again..." He says with a bitter lack of surprise. Just sadness. "It would probably help if you cut down on the bevvy-"
You curl up on your other side - whimpering.
Christ, the walls here are thin, I can hear him scream a room away. That's why I turn up the stream, trying to drown out his voice with the sound of running water.
"Could you stop with that 'oribble noise? I don't want to hear no more soddin' water sounds coming from there or I swear I'll…"
Well, if it doesn't stop, I might as well talk back to it. "At least one of us is taking a shower." I say, in the loudest, clearest voice I could muster, hoping that if he recognizes my assertiveness I could successfully get him to shut up.
"Good for you!" - He fires back and I can hear the offense in his voice, while I get up and dry myself and put on my clothes. "I'm just trying to get some sleep, and I asked you to turn that fucking thing down, it wasn't so hard, was it? I'm going back to sleep."
Since it's 9AM, I decide not to let him off so easily and soon I'm standing by the door to his room, hoping we could work through his bad mood over a cup of cocoa in the lobby. I know he's going to hear me if I talk to him here, in the meantime, and at least we won't need to raise our voices at each other, as I'm starting to feel for everyone else on this floor.
"You might want to try getting out of bed sometimes, it's called living." I say in a mild speaking tone, but I know he can hear how close I am. "In fact, I think it's almost time for our sound-check, I thought you might wanna come and join us…" I'm not counting on it, but it won't hurt to try to get him to do it.
"FUCK sound-check," he says, and his voice leaves no place to wonder what he thinks about it right now.
"As you please. However, I need to go because I have this band… You don't have a band, do you? I figured you don't, because you never do sound checks… My band's looking for a singer, did I tell you? Someone who can sing as good… *Better* than you."
He's out of bed as fast as a rocket, wearing little blue boxers over his long legs, and more glaringly – standing at the door with his hard-on. "You're not going to do it, are you? Don't even joke about it…"
"I wasn't joking." I say, turning and walking off at a perfect timing.
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!"
"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.
"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.
'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.
[ table: 50_elements ]
Pairings: Mostly Ian/Will, but if you squint, there are others
Summary: the lj comm hurt_comfort suggests the ten commandments for a prompt table. I'm tired, so I thought - why not do something cracky?
Disclaimer: The people I'm writing about don't do these things, OK?
Warning: Character death. He was already dead when we arrived at the scene, though. :P
Thou shalt not bear strange gods before me
Eric's, November 1978.
Ian is doing his hair in the ladies' bathroom, where the only mirror was. He can feel Will breathing on the back of his neck, so Ian turns his head to acknowledge him. Will adjusts Ian's collar gently in front of the mirror.
"Time for us to go on stage, Duke." Will says, his voice reflecting near-boredom.
"Would you stop calling me Duke, Will?" Ian whispers nervously. "I told you, my name isn't Duke. I'm Ian."
After a long moment of reflection, and going on stage to set up the drum machine, Will comes back with a retort. "I don't understand. If you don't want to be Duke, why do you go on dressing up and doing your hair like Bowie's Thin White Duke?"
Instead of getting irritated, Ian looks at Will and smiles. "You know nothing about fashion, do you, Will?"
[Reference: The myth lives on.]
Thou shalt not take the name of Thy Lord God in vain
"Oh God... Oh God... Oh God, Will!"
Will looks back at Ian with a glint in his eye. "If I were a religious man, I'd be offended by how much you abuse his name during an orgasm."
Keep holy the Sabbath Day
Julian Cope, looking down at Ian, who's presently lying down on Julian's sofa with his head on one armrest, and his legs dangling off the other. "Are you going to recline on my sofa all day, McCull?"
Ian, opening one eye at Julian. "It's Saturday. It's my God-given right to rest," - He moans.
Julian is outraged. "You're not even Jewish." He scowls.
Ian closes his eye, his features looking agonized as if he's faking an headache. "Piss off, you hippy turd." He growls back at Julian.
[Reference: See 'The Crucial Three']
Honor thy father and thy mother
"Where did you get those lips from, your mam or your dad?"
Ian looks up at Will, speaking to him slowly and irritably. "I'm giving you a blowjob. Could you please leave my parents out of it?"
Thou shalt not kill
Ian puts his hand on his hips, looking at the bodybag in the trunk. "Where do we bury Bono?"
"You just can't keep out of trouble when I'm not around..." Will looks back at him accusingly.
[Inspiration: loosely based on http://mirror.uncyc.org/wiki/Echo_%26_t
Thou shalt not commit adultery
"For fuck's sake, Ian, you just got married..." Will opens his eyes at Ian disbelievingly.
"I don't see what it has to do with my question on whether or not you'd like to do watersports with me." Ian pouts.
Thou shalt not steal
"Fucking Julian Cope!" Ian shrieked.
[ Reference: http://nardwuar.com/vs/ian_mcculloch/
Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor
"Hello, Johnny? It's Ian McCulloch. I'm calling you from a pay-phone, I wanted to tell you that the demo tapes we did got stolen from my car this morning. Yeah, I'm really sorry... Alright, I'll talk to you later, I've got to run home. I think I left a fish cooking in the oven, I gotta hang up. Bye... Watcha doing, Will?... No, don't touch that. Heh... Awwhh... Stop messing with my nipple! I told you I'm calling Johnny. Oh crap, I put the phone down, didn't I?... Dammit."
Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife
"Do you want to, you know, split the cab and go somewhere private?"
Will crosses his arms, looking silently at Ian.
"What about your wife, is she up for a quickie?"
"I'm going to kill you, one of these days..." Will mumbles.
Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's goods
"Did you see my '...Waiting For The Man' single, Ian?"
Ian was sat on the floor, looking at the sleeve.
"You can't take it. It's not my fault you keep losing your copy."
[ I'm Waiting For The Man ]
"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.
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.
Rating: Safe for anyone who knows the canon
Pairing: James/Nicky, with past Nicky/Richey
A/N: Happy Valentine's day!
Warnings: This is actually angst!fic, with a side-serving of schmoop, sorry. AU-ish, in the sense of Nicky-had-a-relationship-with-Richey-
Disclaimer: Don't own them. Don't want to. This is as 'real' as my other ones, hopefully. Title is after that Vanessa Paradis song everyone likes, except Richey. There's also a quote from The Charlatans - The Only One I Know in this fic. Thanks to Marilyn for linking me to Nicky's anecdote about having it on his alarm during finals!
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Answer: Because they aren't and never have been willing to suck the cock of satan like every global superstar since the 80s has.
- dang youtube, trying to get me to write devil/james
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crack, the Devil/ a Manic Street Preacher, racism, bestiality... idek.