SuRGe BSB (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
http://users.livejournal.com/_mydecember_/) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
crack_van2007-05-31 10:41 pm
http://users.livejournal.com/_mydecember_/) wrote in crack_van2007-05-31 10:41 pm
godspeed us to sea by one900 (R/NC-17)
Fandom: MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE RPS
Pairing: Frank/Gerard
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
one900/radiotape
Author Website: writing journal
Why this must be read: This fic is one of the best pieces of fiction I've ever read. Not just fanfiction, any kind of fiction. It's an AU - a mob AU. The characterization (always important in an AU) is fantastic, the dialogue is excellent, the pacing is great - I could talk about how wonderful this fic is all day long. Why don't you go read it instead?
"Hm." Gerard pauses, and then abruptly asks, "Why does Ray trust you, Frank?"
They’re off the bridge by now, moving towards the more sparsely populated part of the area. Frank suddenly realizes that he’s been incredibly stupid.
(His first thought is oh Jesus, it’s over already. He wonders if Gerard will even bother to bury him.
His second thought is about the gun that’s still pressing into the small of his back, but now that he considers it, they’re probably loaded with blanks.
His third thought is talk, you dumb fuck.)
"Because Bob put a word in for me," he finally replies, forcing himself to make eye contact with Gerard. "Because I’m not a fucking squealer."
Gerard laughs a little and rubs a hand over his mouth. "Yeah." He repeats himself, a little more loose and relaxed this time. "Yeah, yeah, no, I really do hope you’re not. ‘Cause you seem like a nice guy, Frank. You know? I just wanted to ask you face to face. Ray doesn’t hire new people often, but you said you knew Bob, right?"
Frank nods, probably more times than necessary, and Gerard continues: "Right, and Bob’s cool, he’s a cool guy. Listen, you have nothing to worry about. We’re just going to make sure that a couple shipments make their way out. You weren’t scared, were you?" He’s smirking a little.
"No, man. Come on." Except he kind of was. Gerard seems slightly off-kilter, like the type to play Russian roulette with a smile on his face.
"Mm hmm. Don’t try to pull some dumb shit now, because your gun’s filled with blanks." Gerard grins as he pulls a sharp right and the car rumbles over patches of loose gravel before coming to a stop between some trees and the water.
Shit shit shit. The word goes around Frank’s mind like a merry-go-round. You almost broke after the first day. Gerard’s talking to him, he realizes, and he blinks, leaning forward to pay attention. Count these boxes coming in. Count those going out. Okay.
They return to the same spot the next day, and the day after that. Frank gets comfortable enough to start taking his shoes off to rest his sock-clad feet on the dashboard. He finds that Gerard seems to be perpetually unruffled: a calm observer rather than a hardened psycho, and maybe a little crazy in a way that's more camp than anything. Frank hopes – to God, Allah, Yahweh, motherfucking Lao Tzu or who the fuck – that this is because it’s not that bad of an occupation and maybe he’ll only get ankle deep in shit.
It’s counting. He can do counting.
It’s not going to be that bad.
godspeed us to sea
Pairing: Frank/Gerard
Author on LJ:
one900/radiotapeAuthor Website: writing journal
Why this must be read: This fic is one of the best pieces of fiction I've ever read. Not just fanfiction, any kind of fiction. It's an AU - a mob AU. The characterization (always important in an AU) is fantastic, the dialogue is excellent, the pacing is great - I could talk about how wonderful this fic is all day long. Why don't you go read it instead?
"Hm." Gerard pauses, and then abruptly asks, "Why does Ray trust you, Frank?"
They’re off the bridge by now, moving towards the more sparsely populated part of the area. Frank suddenly realizes that he’s been incredibly stupid.
(His first thought is oh Jesus, it’s over already. He wonders if Gerard will even bother to bury him.
His second thought is about the gun that’s still pressing into the small of his back, but now that he considers it, they’re probably loaded with blanks.
His third thought is talk, you dumb fuck.)
"Because Bob put a word in for me," he finally replies, forcing himself to make eye contact with Gerard. "Because I’m not a fucking squealer."
Gerard laughs a little and rubs a hand over his mouth. "Yeah." He repeats himself, a little more loose and relaxed this time. "Yeah, yeah, no, I really do hope you’re not. ‘Cause you seem like a nice guy, Frank. You know? I just wanted to ask you face to face. Ray doesn’t hire new people often, but you said you knew Bob, right?"
Frank nods, probably more times than necessary, and Gerard continues: "Right, and Bob’s cool, he’s a cool guy. Listen, you have nothing to worry about. We’re just going to make sure that a couple shipments make their way out. You weren’t scared, were you?" He’s smirking a little.
"No, man. Come on." Except he kind of was. Gerard seems slightly off-kilter, like the type to play Russian roulette with a smile on his face.
"Mm hmm. Don’t try to pull some dumb shit now, because your gun’s filled with blanks." Gerard grins as he pulls a sharp right and the car rumbles over patches of loose gravel before coming to a stop between some trees and the water.
Shit shit shit. The word goes around Frank’s mind like a merry-go-round. You almost broke after the first day. Gerard’s talking to him, he realizes, and he blinks, leaning forward to pay attention. Count these boxes coming in. Count those going out. Okay.
They return to the same spot the next day, and the day after that. Frank gets comfortable enough to start taking his shoes off to rest his sock-clad feet on the dashboard. He finds that Gerard seems to be perpetually unruffled: a calm observer rather than a hardened psycho, and maybe a little crazy in a way that's more camp than anything. Frank hopes – to God, Allah, Yahweh, motherfucking Lao Tzu or who the fuck – that this is because it’s not that bad of an occupation and maybe he’ll only get ankle deep in shit.
It’s counting. He can do counting.
It’s not going to be that bad.
godspeed us to sea