sneak peeks…

05/05/2009 at 14:18 (writings) (decaydance, patrick stump, peterick, rydon, slash, writings)

…of what I’m writing:

*Rydon

*°*°*°*°Ten years ago°*°*°*°*

Which is the favourite school activity of every student? The break.
And when you’re a child who attends the kindergarden,you wait impatiently for the playtime,to go out and play in the garden.
Brendon Urie goes out in the garden,but he doesn’t play with the other kids anymore since when he met Ryan,Ryan Ross,a cute boy around his age with big honey eyes almost covered by his brunette bangs,skinny and quiet; the contrary of Brendon,hyperactive,chatterbox,with sweet big eyes as dark as his messy hair.

When the sun found the moon
She was drinking tea out in a garden
Under the green umbrella trees
In the middle of summer

*Peterick

Ok. He’s may being regretting this.
Why has he decided to come to this filthy bar,crowded with not so recommendable people, who’re high and drunk already at six in the afternoon,who’re almost twice or three times himself both for height and weight -at least some of them-,who’re full of tattoos and piercings in the most unthinkable points,surrounded by a steady white-light grey cloud of smoke.

But his friend Joe asked him to totally check his band out.
Friend? oh,yeah,right,because Patrick and Joe met randomly in a border and connected immediately. Patrick was surprised of himself,him being so shy but going along so well with a guy he’s just met -in a border! i mean,wtf?-,who doesn’t have a lot of things in common with him but their love for music and a few other things. And don’t forget that the guy smokes,yes. Pot. And so? Patrick has always refused whenever Joe offered him a joint.

*girl! Patrick Stump

Daily routine: shutting the bitchy buzzing of the alarm clock at 7 in the morning -luckily the school is close-,rubbing eyes,stretching the limbs,searching blindly for the glasses,putting the legs outta the bed and reaching sleepily the bathroom.
It’s 7.05 of a cloudy monday morning,and that’s when the news of the day hoovers in the bathroom,the mirror is the witness: Patrick Martin/Vaughn Stump has turned in a fucking girl.

*whore! William Beckett

Somebody calls me whore,others escort,others even sweetheart,others don’t call me at all.
In any case,that’s what I do: I sell my body for money.
I was only sixteen when I started,I practically lived on the streets since when my parents kicked me out because I was a drug-addicted. And a pimp “discovered” me,fascinated by my sharp hips and my femenine figure.
Thanks to him I don’t live on the streets anymore,he sort of saved my life in his own way,and the onliest way I know to pay this debt is to help him make a fortune in this business.
He owns the “Guilty Pleasure”,his name is Gabe and he satisfies every sort of client: hetero,gay and lesbians,s/m,dominators and slaves,and the list goes on. You just have to pay and we -whores,escorts,hookers,sweethearts- will take care of you.

*Peterick

Light.
And Pete wakes up abruptly,sweaty. No,there isn’t anything,his room is still dark;he squints his eyes to look at the clock,it’s 6 in the morning: he has another hour or so,but he can’t lay down again,he can’t stay still.
So he starts pacing around his messy room,stumbling now in his guitar case,now in a toy of his dog,now in a pair of trousers abandoned on the floor: he hasn’t switched the light on.
He opens blindly the closet and the drawers,emptying them as if he was looking for something,with no luck.
Pete starts tapping at the walls,brushing his fingers over the rough walls and the smooth posters that adorn his room,then he stops in front of the door and turns facing the window,the curtains moving a bit for the drafts.

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