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Shut Up And Let Me See Your Jazz Hands by paperclipbitch (PG-13)
Fandom: BANDOM
Pairing: Gerard/Frank (implied past Mikey/Pete)
Length: 3,850 words
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
paperclipbitch
Author Website: Masterlists
Why this must be read: Life in the zones, a wonderful Gerard-centric Killjoys AU. I really like this take on the Danger Days universe. It's vivid and intense and feels very tangible, very real. And it's at once heartbreaking and absurdly funny.
Excerpt from the story:
He sometimes thinks he prefers being Party Poison anyway. Gerard was kind of a loser. Gerard was kind of a fuck-up. Gerard doesn't remember large chunks of the years before the takeover, and fuck, but he kind of hates himself for that sometimes; this is all they have left now and he's only got a shaky grasp of what they had before.
[They don't make alcohol anymore. They make pills for every possible occasion and mood, but they don't make alcohol. None has ever turned up in the zones either; Frank and Ray complain from time to time, bitching about missing beer, but Gerard sometimes thinks it's the one good thing about this brave new world.]
Mostly, he remembers the pop culture; the movies and the books, almost all of which are gone now, and the music, which survives in the form of bootlegs in cracked jewel cases. He had an iPod, he thinks, everyone was so convinced that technology was going to be the answer, now they're running on wind-up and batteries and analogue.
"What are you thinking about?" Frank asks, looking up from a mass of wires. Frank is fucking scary; Gerard sometimes forgets this.
"iPods," he replies, because it's easier than the truth. He's not even sure what the truth is.
"God," Frank mumbles. "D'you think the girl would believe us if we told her there used to be a time when you could listen to music whenever you wanted?" he adds on a crooked half-smile.
"No," Gerard says, and: "it made music less sacred."
"Did it?" Frank asks.
Gerard thinks about the time Dr D acquired a CD of Morrissey that everyone thought was gone; he played The First Of The Gang To Die and it came back into Gerard's head that night, and he had to stumble away from everyone else and cry until it ached, sand plastered to the sticky tears on his cheeks.
"Yes," he says. "Yes."
Shut Up And Let Me See Your Jazz Hands
Pairing: Gerard/Frank (implied past Mikey/Pete)
Length: 3,850 words
Author on LJ:
paperclipbitchAuthor Website: Masterlists
Why this must be read: Life in the zones, a wonderful Gerard-centric Killjoys AU. I really like this take on the Danger Days universe. It's vivid and intense and feels very tangible, very real. And it's at once heartbreaking and absurdly funny.
Excerpt from the story:
He sometimes thinks he prefers being Party Poison anyway. Gerard was kind of a loser. Gerard was kind of a fuck-up. Gerard doesn't remember large chunks of the years before the takeover, and fuck, but he kind of hates himself for that sometimes; this is all they have left now and he's only got a shaky grasp of what they had before.
[They don't make alcohol anymore. They make pills for every possible occasion and mood, but they don't make alcohol. None has ever turned up in the zones either; Frank and Ray complain from time to time, bitching about missing beer, but Gerard sometimes thinks it's the one good thing about this brave new world.]
Mostly, he remembers the pop culture; the movies and the books, almost all of which are gone now, and the music, which survives in the form of bootlegs in cracked jewel cases. He had an iPod, he thinks, everyone was so convinced that technology was going to be the answer, now they're running on wind-up and batteries and analogue.
"What are you thinking about?" Frank asks, looking up from a mass of wires. Frank is fucking scary; Gerard sometimes forgets this.
"iPods," he replies, because it's easier than the truth. He's not even sure what the truth is.
"God," Frank mumbles. "D'you think the girl would believe us if we told her there used to be a time when you could listen to music whenever you wanted?" he adds on a crooked half-smile.
"No," Gerard says, and: "it made music less sacred."
"Did it?" Frank asks.
Gerard thinks about the time Dr D acquired a CD of Morrissey that everyone thought was gone; he played The First Of The Gang To Die and it came back into Gerard's head that night, and he had to stumble away from everyone else and cry until it ached, sand plastered to the sticky tears on his cheeks.
"Yes," he says. "Yes."
Shut Up And Let Me See Your Jazz Hands