pants to match

* weird fact: I prefer not to read GSF fic. Or, like, poly-love fic or whatever you want to call it. I don't believe in it, so I don't really enjoy it? I make exceptions for certain authors, but I generally steer clear, which is, like, virtually unheard of in bandom, what with all the Panic foursome love, but. Yeah. I like gen fic in which they're cuddly and stuff, but I don't really buy whatever GSF is selling.

* I can't stop sneezing.

* ever get friended on Facebook by people you allegedly went to highschool with, yet you have no recollection of them at all? Of course, I remember, like, five people I went to highschool with - it was sort of a blur. I only like to relive those moments in fic form.

* Bob/Joe fic is at about 5k words? Not spectacular, but at least I'm still chugging away at it.

Gerard’s, “Hello,” is kind of groggy.

“Dude, you know Bob, right?” Joe manages. “My neighbor?”

“What the—Joe?”

“Gerard Way, man, help me out here. I need Bob’s number.”

Joe is going to call Bob and inform him of the fact that he’s flashing the whole world his dick, specifically Joe. Joe feels like this is the nice neighborly thing to do.

“Um.” There’s a noisy yawn. “Cop Bob? Yeah, okay, hang on—”

“Cop Bob?” Joe's brain stutters a sec while Bob scratches at his stomach and then turns to give Joe an awesome view of his ass.

Gerard rattles off numbers and Joe has to ask him to repeat it twice before he hangs up, because cop Bob? Naked cop Bob? Do cops normally look like hobos living out of their cars? Of course, Bob doesn’t look like a hobo crack whore at the moment. He looks like someone that Joe would very much like to climb. Or something. Joe is so fucked.

* After I finish this one, I'm totally running with the battle of the bands one again