wildestranger (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wildestranger) wrote2008-03-28 12:19 am
wildestranger) wrote2008-03-28 12:19 am
Entry tags:
my warped brain, let me show you it
I have written 1000 words of thesis today which, on the one hand, is good but, on the other hand, is half of what I was supposed to write. I blame the Regency AU and Spencer Smith's riding crop, and the fact that these things have forced me (Yes, forced! With a poignard to my throat!) to think about how such a Spencer might make Brendon come in his breeches, using only the riding crop and his voice.
It has also been pointed out to me today that I'm a pervert. This is surely not news to anyone.
However, since you lot seem to enjoy my perversity, I figure I might share some thoughts with you. More specifically, some imagined conversations which brought me great amusement.
Random Interviewer: So, how are you today?
Pete Wentz: Patrick exists and all is well in the world!
RI: Have you been enjoying the nice weather, then?
Pete: Patrick makes the sun shine!
RI: How's the new record going?
Pete: Patrickplayseveryinstrumentintheworldandhasthevoiceofanangelheisatotalmusicalgenius!
RI: Um. So, you're dating Ashlee Simpson, how's that going for you?
Pete: It's cool, we're having fun.
Also, I would really love to hear a conversation between Gerard Way and Ryan Ross about clothes. Gerard would be all supportive of Ryan's strange clothing choices, cause you need to express yourself even if it makes you funny-looking! And Ryan would be all, um, you wear the same black jeans until they break. And black shirts. And hoodies. And Gerard would say yes, they express the darkness of my inner soul and shit! Then Pete would join in, and Gerard and Ryan would unite in mocking his fashion sense.
Okay, it was funny when I first thought it.
Here, have a snippet from the Regency AU.
Gerard, Lord Way, the most famous poet of his time, was being driven to exile by his ungrateful country. The scandal had hit two months earlier and grew more insurmountable every day: rumours of sodomy and incest, former mistresses coming forth with complaints of unnatural congress, and servants giving evidence of unlawful embraces between Lord Way and his brother. His poems, which had been praised for their exquisite sensitivity and their portrayal of masculine friendship, were now condemned as signs of perverted degeneracy. The young men, who had flocked to his poetry readings wearing black velvet and sporting dark kohl around their eyes (the Orientalist fashion that Lord Way had helped to create), were now most keen to avoid any marks of effeminacy. They were burning his books on Albemarle Street. At least the bad weather prevent that.
Augustus, Lord Way’s hamster, was staring mournfully at the window, and the foul weather outside. At least, Gerard thought so. It was sometimes hard to tell with Augustus.
There was a knock on the half-open door and Brian Schecter, his chamberlain, walked in.
“All is ready, my lord. As soon as the weather clears, we may go. Unless you would prefer to wait until tomorrow.”
Gerard turned to look out the window. The hail continued, angry little pellets smashing against the glass. He imagined they were his countrymen, come to take revenge on him for his attack on English morals.
“No. I want to get out of this dismal place. Even a country inn is better than this.”
Schechter coughed delicately. “Excuse me, my lord, but a country inn would not be a good idea in the current climate. You might get recognised and, well. I’m afraid you are all too recognisable at the moment.”
As Gerard opened his mouth to speak, Schechter continued. “And no, a disguise wouldn’t help. Your proclivities are too well-known, my lord.”
Gerard pursed his mouth. It was possible that attending a demi-monde ball dressed as a courtesan had been a bad move, in retrospect. Still, it had also been a courageous artistic gesture. Mikey had said so. And that little Ross boy had asked him how he’d got the dress, and clearly taken notes.
It has also been pointed out to me today that I'm a pervert. This is surely not news to anyone.
However, since you lot seem to enjoy my perversity, I figure I might share some thoughts with you. More specifically, some imagined conversations which brought me great amusement.
Random Interviewer: So, how are you today?
Pete Wentz: Patrick exists and all is well in the world!
RI: Have you been enjoying the nice weather, then?
Pete: Patrick makes the sun shine!
RI: How's the new record going?
Pete: Patrickplayseveryinstrumentintheworldandhasthevoiceofanangelheisatotalmusicalgenius!
RI: Um. So, you're dating Ashlee Simpson, how's that going for you?
Pete: It's cool, we're having fun.
Also, I would really love to hear a conversation between Gerard Way and Ryan Ross about clothes. Gerard would be all supportive of Ryan's strange clothing choices, cause you need to express yourself even if it makes you funny-looking! And Ryan would be all, um, you wear the same black jeans until they break. And black shirts. And hoodies. And Gerard would say yes, they express the darkness of my inner soul and shit! Then Pete would join in, and Gerard and Ryan would unite in mocking his fashion sense.
Okay, it was funny when I first thought it.
Here, have a snippet from the Regency AU.
Gerard, Lord Way, the most famous poet of his time, was being driven to exile by his ungrateful country. The scandal had hit two months earlier and grew more insurmountable every day: rumours of sodomy and incest, former mistresses coming forth with complaints of unnatural congress, and servants giving evidence of unlawful embraces between Lord Way and his brother. His poems, which had been praised for their exquisite sensitivity and their portrayal of masculine friendship, were now condemned as signs of perverted degeneracy. The young men, who had flocked to his poetry readings wearing black velvet and sporting dark kohl around their eyes (the Orientalist fashion that Lord Way had helped to create), were now most keen to avoid any marks of effeminacy. They were burning his books on Albemarle Street. At least the bad weather prevent that.
Augustus, Lord Way’s hamster, was staring mournfully at the window, and the foul weather outside. At least, Gerard thought so. It was sometimes hard to tell with Augustus.
There was a knock on the half-open door and Brian Schecter, his chamberlain, walked in.
“All is ready, my lord. As soon as the weather clears, we may go. Unless you would prefer to wait until tomorrow.”
Gerard turned to look out the window. The hail continued, angry little pellets smashing against the glass. He imagined they were his countrymen, come to take revenge on him for his attack on English morals.
“No. I want to get out of this dismal place. Even a country inn is better than this.”
Schechter coughed delicately. “Excuse me, my lord, but a country inn would not be a good idea in the current climate. You might get recognised and, well. I’m afraid you are all too recognisable at the moment.”
As Gerard opened his mouth to speak, Schechter continued. “And no, a disguise wouldn’t help. Your proclivities are too well-known, my lord.”
Gerard pursed his mouth. It was possible that attending a demi-monde ball dressed as a courtesan had been a bad move, in retrospect. Still, it had also been a courageous artistic gesture. Mikey had said so. And that little Ross boy had asked him how he’d got the dress, and clearly taken notes.
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:DDD
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AS A COURTESAN. LOL DOES NOT COVER THE WAY I AM CACKLING. THE ROSS BOY TOOK NOTES.
<3
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\o/ Gerard's Orientalist fashions! Ryan taking notes! I am so excited for this fic, I can't even DEAL. ♥
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♥
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roflmao
♥