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1st_eggokageSo that Halloween picspam is still forthcoming (DOES ANYONE EVEN ACTUALLY CARE, PROBABLY NOT) but I am sick like fuck (i may or may not look as zombified as my icon at the moment) and totally delusional and decided Ginny should do a ficbits post! And she demanded I do likewise. SO HERE. WORKS IN PROGRESS.
The one where Frankie and Gee are fumbly awkward teenage lesbians.
"I think I'm not dreaming," Gee says dazedly when Frankie breaks the kiss to gasp for breath, because her mouth is stupid and does not always consult her actual brain before speaking.
Frankie giggles – and how much does Gee love her fucking giggle, seriously? – but her smile is less smirk and more gleeful grin when she says, "You dream about me?"
"Only for like, the last year," Gee says, because she sucks at lying to Frankie.
And it really is true. Sometimes it's in the abstract (fingers lips tongues teeth everywhere, leaving her breathless and miserable in the morning), sometimes it's clearer (a fuck-you smirk going soft against her mouth and inked hands pressing her wrists to the wall), sometimes it doesn't make any sense (that one time when she was Cassie Cain and Frankie was Helena Bertinelli and they fought crime all over Gotham and made out on rooftops), but it's always, always Frankie.
Except it's never been Frankie like this. Dream-Frankie's smile was never this bright (going past gleeful now into downright brilliant), her weight on top of Gee was never this solid (little and wiry, but tough enough that Gee knows she can keep her pinned to the bed), her skin never felt this warm under Gee's touch (hot enough that she can tell Frankie's blushing a little too when Gee reaches up to touch her cheek), and this is real.
The one where Pete Wentz's bartskull and Avenged Sevenfold's deathbat walk into a bar...
Just looking at the two of them, you wouldn't really think they were friends.
One's more streamlined, as hard as she tries (and often succeeds) at being the most edgy thing around. She's got that short dykey haircut with the emo bangs that change color from week to week. She's got the ancient well-loved hoodie, and the sneakers that are worn out more on one side from the weird way she stands. She's got the tattoos (his tattoos, except the one of her, that's just too fucking meta), and she's probably got the scars too, if anyone wanted to look.
The other's pure rock and roll, one hundred percent danger and dark corners. She's the kind of girl who grew up watching Romero movies on late-night TV and was Beetlejuice for Halloween. She's a lot taller, a lot more intimidating, a whole lot less broken. She's got the tattoos too (their tattoos, including the ones of her, because fucking Christ, she's that important to all of them).
They're both wearing too much eyeliner.
The one where Cash is kinky and Vicky-T fixes everything.
They've tried to sixty-nine in the past, but it always feels really fucking awkward, and Cash complains because he can't get the right angle, so Singer usually just lets him have her mouth as long as he goes down on her afterward. Cash is stupidly good at giving girls head, and Singer isn't too enthusiastic about Cash (who is kind of big) actually fucking her pussy (which is... kind of not), but blowjobs are fine. Blowjobs are more than fine, because Singer discovers that she kind of likes watching Cash fall apart like that, likes watching him going vulnerable and desperate because of her.
The one where Twitter made me write crackpairings.
They're having a night in, just the two of them – Ryland hasn't seen him since Victoria's party, and that was only for a few minutes, so damned if he's not going to get some cuddle time. Ryan puts on that pout he probably learned from Brendon and insists that because Ryland blew him off, it's his turn to pick the movie, and that's how Ryland gets stuck on Ryan Ross's couch, watching some really dull French film he can't even remember the title of.
Ryan, of course, is fascinated and can't tear his eyes away from the screen. Ryland can't help but feel a little neglected.
The one where Ashlee and Pete are Bonnie and Clyde.
They're in all the papers. CRIMINAL COUPLE STRIKES AGAIN, the headlines shout, and WENTZ AND SIMPSON EVADE CAPTURE IN BANK HEIST. Ashlee thinks it's an absolute scream, and saves all the ones she can get her hands on, even if she wishes their mugshots were a little more flattering.
"You look awful, baby," she tells Pete, straightening out the front page of today's Tribune (the actual Chicago Tribune! She's so proud of them) against the steering wheel so he can see. "They've made you look like you lure little kids into the back of vans with candy."
Pete raises an eyebrow at her, at their car, at the lollipop in his mouth, and grins.
She giggles and slugs him in the shoulder. "You know what I mean."
The one where Gerard turns into a cat on Projekt Rev.
Gerard is in the middle of a very nice dream about Christina Ricci and a flock of butterflies and like, this weird forest full of violins, when he is rudely awakened by someone yelling his name. And not in a good way. More like a "what the fuck, we've got sound check" kind of way. Which means it's probably Frank, and they are probably going to be late.
"Shit, okay, I'm up," Gerard yells back.
Or tries to.
Because that's totally what he means to say, but it comes out as a sort of indescribable yowly noise of sleepy irritation.
Frank pulls the curtain aside, and Gerard was right, because he says, "Gee, what the fuck, we've got sound check–"
And then he stops. Gerard stops making yowly noises too, because what the hell, why is Frank suddenly a giant.
Frank stares at him for a moment. Then, slowly, he says, "Gerard?"
"Mew!" Gerard says.
"Oh, fuck," Frank says sincerely.
The one where Cobra Starship are genderswapped and Vicky-T's life is still hard.
Most people probably think Victor's really fucking lucky. The sole guy in a band of four gorgeous girls? Come on. It's probably like having his own harem or whatever, right?
This, of course, is a huge lie, and these people have not ever lived with four girls, and do not understand how much it sucks. And even if they have lived with four girls, it doesn't count, because whatever four girls they lived with were not Gabriela Saporta, Alexa Suarez, Ryland Blackinton and Natalie Novarro, all of whom are completely crazy.
Gabby drinks like a fish and swears like a sailor and still maintains that they're all on a mission from the Cobra. Alexa and Ry have that fucking best friend telepathy thing they do way more intensely than any girls Victor's ever met. And Natalie... well, okay, Nat's pretty quiet and Victor probably does love her best, but if Gabby knew she'd never let them hear the end of it, and Ry would put on her best Guy Ripley voice and make wedding announcements, and then Petra Wentz would tweet something stupid and the internet would explode.
The one where I inflict my actual real life college problems on Brendon and Spencer.
"My place or yours?" Spencer says, his breath hot over Brendon's ear, making him shiver even more in the cold.
"I think Jon's asleep," Brendon says, just as Spencer continues, "Although your place would probably be best, Ryan'll kill me if I kick him out when he's got that huge poetry thing to do."
"...Well, fuck," Brendon says.
"I think we've got the opposite problem," Spencer says, and presses closer against Brendon's back. "Jesus christ, it's cold."
Brendon is torn between snuggling back against Spencer's warmth and shoving him away, because oh man, that's definitely Spencer's dick hard against his ass, and this is seriously not helping.
The one where Gabe gets sex pollened and his band tops him because they are caring friends like that.
Gabe's not stupid. He's a fucking dinosaur of the scene, okay, he knows what you don't do at a party, even if it is a party of your own hosting. But he didn't even put his drink down when that one girl asked for a picture, just handed it to her friend. Shit, he didn't take his eyes off it for more than a second.
"And that's when you got roofied," Alex says. "Nice fucking job, Gabanti."
Gabe's bandmates are assholes. "Oh, sure, blame the victim," he says, wounded. "Fuck you guys, that's real progressive." It's getting harder and harder (oh god) to focus, what with how he can feel his body going all loose and pliant, warmth spreading under his skin and touching every nerve.
Fuck, he was there the last time this happened to Pete, he knows how this goes.
I also have drabbles! Ones that are far too short and cracky to warrant posting anywhere else.
This document was totally called "porn! at the hush sound."
Regardless of how many rooms they get, they always just end up piling into one bed. Which is what they're doing now – the four of them completely naked, Darren's head in Greta's lap, Chris resting on Darren's chest, Bob sitting behind Greta and braiding her hair. Greta has commandeered the TV remote and is flipping through channels at random.
Chris is half-asleep, lulled by Darren stroking his hair, when Greta says, "Hey, look, porn!"
Darren cranes his neck to see. "Lesbian porn," he says, happily.
"Ooh, look at the brunette," Greta says.
Bob squints. "She looks like Chris."
Chris is too tired to do much more than glare back at him.
They sit in relative silence for a few minutes, watching, because Greta's still got the remote and it doesn't look like she's relinquishing it any time soon.
Greta says, "She kind of does look like you, Chris. Chrissy."
Chris looks at her. She's got that little sparkle in her eyes.
"Round two?" Darren suggests.
Greta turns off the TV.
I should probably watch Dexter, too.
There's a box waiting outside Frank's apartment when he gets home from work that night.
It's not postmarked – someone's scrawled Frankie on it in black Sharpie, that's it. It could totally be a bomb. Or like, drugs.
He brings it inside anyway, sets it on the kitchen counter, and promptly goes to take a shower and forgets all about it.
It isn't until he wanders in to make breakfast the next morning that he actually opens the box. There's a large glass jar, with a folded piece of paper on top of the lid that says read me first!.
happy valentine's day, it says, xoxo g.
The glass jar is full of formaldehyde.
There's a human heart inside it.
Frank's not sure when he reached the point where this kind of thing started being sweet.
SO MANY ELJAY CUTS. /flops down dead
The one where Frankie and Gee are fumbly awkward teenage lesbians.
"I think I'm not dreaming," Gee says dazedly when Frankie breaks the kiss to gasp for breath, because her mouth is stupid and does not always consult her actual brain before speaking.
Frankie giggles – and how much does Gee love her fucking giggle, seriously? – but her smile is less smirk and more gleeful grin when she says, "You dream about me?"
"Only for like, the last year," Gee says, because she sucks at lying to Frankie.
And it really is true. Sometimes it's in the abstract (fingers lips tongues teeth everywhere, leaving her breathless and miserable in the morning), sometimes it's clearer (a fuck-you smirk going soft against her mouth and inked hands pressing her wrists to the wall), sometimes it doesn't make any sense (that one time when she was Cassie Cain and Frankie was Helena Bertinelli and they fought crime all over Gotham and made out on rooftops), but it's always, always Frankie.
Except it's never been Frankie like this. Dream-Frankie's smile was never this bright (going past gleeful now into downright brilliant), her weight on top of Gee was never this solid (little and wiry, but tough enough that Gee knows she can keep her pinned to the bed), her skin never felt this warm under Gee's touch (hot enough that she can tell Frankie's blushing a little too when Gee reaches up to touch her cheek), and this is real.
The one where Pete Wentz's bartskull and Avenged Sevenfold's deathbat walk into a bar...
Just looking at the two of them, you wouldn't really think they were friends.
One's more streamlined, as hard as she tries (and often succeeds) at being the most edgy thing around. She's got that short dykey haircut with the emo bangs that change color from week to week. She's got the ancient well-loved hoodie, and the sneakers that are worn out more on one side from the weird way she stands. She's got the tattoos (his tattoos, except the one of her, that's just too fucking meta), and she's probably got the scars too, if anyone wanted to look.
The other's pure rock and roll, one hundred percent danger and dark corners. She's the kind of girl who grew up watching Romero movies on late-night TV and was Beetlejuice for Halloween. She's a lot taller, a lot more intimidating, a whole lot less broken. She's got the tattoos too (their tattoos, including the ones of her, because fucking Christ, she's that important to all of them).
They're both wearing too much eyeliner.
The one where Cash is kinky and Vicky-T fixes everything.
They've tried to sixty-nine in the past, but it always feels really fucking awkward, and Cash complains because he can't get the right angle, so Singer usually just lets him have her mouth as long as he goes down on her afterward. Cash is stupidly good at giving girls head, and Singer isn't too enthusiastic about Cash (who is kind of big) actually fucking her pussy (which is... kind of not), but blowjobs are fine. Blowjobs are more than fine, because Singer discovers that she kind of likes watching Cash fall apart like that, likes watching him going vulnerable and desperate because of her.
The one where Twitter made me write crackpairings.
They're having a night in, just the two of them – Ryland hasn't seen him since Victoria's party, and that was only for a few minutes, so damned if he's not going to get some cuddle time. Ryan puts on that pout he probably learned from Brendon and insists that because Ryland blew him off, it's his turn to pick the movie, and that's how Ryland gets stuck on Ryan Ross's couch, watching some really dull French film he can't even remember the title of.
Ryan, of course, is fascinated and can't tear his eyes away from the screen. Ryland can't help but feel a little neglected.
The one where Ashlee and Pete are Bonnie and Clyde.
They're in all the papers. CRIMINAL COUPLE STRIKES AGAIN, the headlines shout, and WENTZ AND SIMPSON EVADE CAPTURE IN BANK HEIST. Ashlee thinks it's an absolute scream, and saves all the ones she can get her hands on, even if she wishes their mugshots were a little more flattering.
"You look awful, baby," she tells Pete, straightening out the front page of today's Tribune (the actual Chicago Tribune! She's so proud of them) against the steering wheel so he can see. "They've made you look like you lure little kids into the back of vans with candy."
Pete raises an eyebrow at her, at their car, at the lollipop in his mouth, and grins.
She giggles and slugs him in the shoulder. "You know what I mean."
The one where Gerard turns into a cat on Projekt Rev.
Gerard is in the middle of a very nice dream about Christina Ricci and a flock of butterflies and like, this weird forest full of violins, when he is rudely awakened by someone yelling his name. And not in a good way. More like a "what the fuck, we've got sound check" kind of way. Which means it's probably Frank, and they are probably going to be late.
"Shit, okay, I'm up," Gerard yells back.
Or tries to.
Because that's totally what he means to say, but it comes out as a sort of indescribable yowly noise of sleepy irritation.
Frank pulls the curtain aside, and Gerard was right, because he says, "Gee, what the fuck, we've got sound check–"
And then he stops. Gerard stops making yowly noises too, because what the hell, why is Frank suddenly a giant.
Frank stares at him for a moment. Then, slowly, he says, "Gerard?"
"Mew!" Gerard says.
"Oh, fuck," Frank says sincerely.
The one where Cobra Starship are genderswapped and Vicky-T's life is still hard.
Most people probably think Victor's really fucking lucky. The sole guy in a band of four gorgeous girls? Come on. It's probably like having his own harem or whatever, right?
This, of course, is a huge lie, and these people have not ever lived with four girls, and do not understand how much it sucks. And even if they have lived with four girls, it doesn't count, because whatever four girls they lived with were not Gabriela Saporta, Alexa Suarez, Ryland Blackinton and Natalie Novarro, all of whom are completely crazy.
Gabby drinks like a fish and swears like a sailor and still maintains that they're all on a mission from the Cobra. Alexa and Ry have that fucking best friend telepathy thing they do way more intensely than any girls Victor's ever met. And Natalie... well, okay, Nat's pretty quiet and Victor probably does love her best, but if Gabby knew she'd never let them hear the end of it, and Ry would put on her best Guy Ripley voice and make wedding announcements, and then Petra Wentz would tweet something stupid and the internet would explode.
The one where I inflict my actual real life college problems on Brendon and Spencer.
"My place or yours?" Spencer says, his breath hot over Brendon's ear, making him shiver even more in the cold.
"I think Jon's asleep," Brendon says, just as Spencer continues, "Although your place would probably be best, Ryan'll kill me if I kick him out when he's got that huge poetry thing to do."
"...Well, fuck," Brendon says.
"I think we've got the opposite problem," Spencer says, and presses closer against Brendon's back. "Jesus christ, it's cold."
Brendon is torn between snuggling back against Spencer's warmth and shoving him away, because oh man, that's definitely Spencer's dick hard against his ass, and this is seriously not helping.
The one where Gabe gets sex pollened and his band tops him because they are caring friends like that.
Gabe's not stupid. He's a fucking dinosaur of the scene, okay, he knows what you don't do at a party, even if it is a party of your own hosting. But he didn't even put his drink down when that one girl asked for a picture, just handed it to her friend. Shit, he didn't take his eyes off it for more than a second.
"And that's when you got roofied," Alex says. "Nice fucking job, Gabanti."
Gabe's bandmates are assholes. "Oh, sure, blame the victim," he says, wounded. "Fuck you guys, that's real progressive." It's getting harder and harder (oh god) to focus, what with how he can feel his body going all loose and pliant, warmth spreading under his skin and touching every nerve.
Fuck, he was there the last time this happened to Pete, he knows how this goes.
I also have drabbles! Ones that are far too short and cracky to warrant posting anywhere else.
This document was totally called "porn! at the hush sound."
Regardless of how many rooms they get, they always just end up piling into one bed. Which is what they're doing now – the four of them completely naked, Darren's head in Greta's lap, Chris resting on Darren's chest, Bob sitting behind Greta and braiding her hair. Greta has commandeered the TV remote and is flipping through channels at random.
Chris is half-asleep, lulled by Darren stroking his hair, when Greta says, "Hey, look, porn!"
Darren cranes his neck to see. "Lesbian porn," he says, happily.
"Ooh, look at the brunette," Greta says.
Bob squints. "She looks like Chris."
Chris is too tired to do much more than glare back at him.
They sit in relative silence for a few minutes, watching, because Greta's still got the remote and it doesn't look like she's relinquishing it any time soon.
Greta says, "She kind of does look like you, Chris. Chrissy."
Chris looks at her. She's got that little sparkle in her eyes.
"Round two?" Darren suggests.
Greta turns off the TV.
I should probably watch Dexter, too.
There's a box waiting outside Frank's apartment when he gets home from work that night.
It's not postmarked – someone's scrawled Frankie on it in black Sharpie, that's it. It could totally be a bomb. Or like, drugs.
He brings it inside anyway, sets it on the kitchen counter, and promptly goes to take a shower and forgets all about it.
It isn't until he wanders in to make breakfast the next morning that he actually opens the box. There's a large glass jar, with a folded piece of paper on top of the lid that says read me first!.
happy valentine's day, it says, xoxo g.
The glass jar is full of formaldehyde.
There's a human heart inside it.
Frank's not sure when he reached the point where this kind of thing started being sweet.
SO MANY ELJAY CUTS. /flops down dead
Tags:
- bandom: college shenanigans au,
- bandom: dexter au,
- bandom: genderswap au,
- bandom: inok girlverse au,
- boypiles! at the disco,
- fangs up!,
- fic,
- floppy hair and guyliner and tight jeans,
- hushies!,
- i am the biggest ashleewife,
- i turn things into people,
- lesbians!,
- marching band of the damned,
- musta stabbed her fifty fuckin' times,
- singer the littlest fangirl,
- six degrees of wentz,
- the world needs more genderswap,
- this is an rps warning,
- too many aus,
- too many tags,
- twitter is god's gift to rps,
- writerosity
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no subject
Date: 2010-11-08 04:45 am (UTC)1. TEENAGE LESBIAAAANS omg they are my favorites. Gee your ridiculous fantasies are my favorite thing.
2. HAND-DRAWN OTP OF MY HEART, OKAY. Just. Hoodies! Tattoos! Deathbat failing at being intimidating! <33333
3. I only vaguely remember the premise of this. But I approve of all girl!Singers.
4. ...I REALLY don't remember the premise of this. But then again there are a lot of tweets that I wish I had saved in case I needed something to write about.
5. Eeeeeee bank-robbing otp! I want them to have ALL OF THE ADVENTURES and then retire to Uruguay, okay.
6. KITTIES. THERE SHOULD BE KITTIES ALL OF THE TIME. And then idk Bob turns into a puppy.
7. Victor's liiiiife. This ends in him topping the hell out of everyone, right? Because I like that plan.
8. YOUR LIFE IS HARD. BUT HILARIOUS. I SHOULD PROBABLY FEEL BAD NOW.
9. Gabe getting sex pollened should happen way more often. I mean, yeah, sure, William Beckett exists, but sometimes role reversal is awesome. Especially when it means Gabe gets fucked.
10. GRETA. Greta is my favorite. Just. "Hey, look, porn!" I WANT TO HUG HER.
11. *_________* Gerard, stop perpetuating my serial killer kink. It's not healthy. Like, at all.
And you totally should watch Dexter because DEXTER and RITA and DEB. You'll like Deb! Deb went undercover as a hooker! Also she's kind of hot!
And if it means more dexter!Gerard then I AM TOTALLY DOWN WITH THAT.
no subject
Date: 2010-11-08 05:51 am (UTC)3. The premise was. There was no premise it was about Cash getting fucked with Singer's strap-on.
4. this (http://twitter.com/infinityonRy/status/24092739108) and also this (http://twitter.com/thisisryanross/status/24161587164).
7. NOPE GABBY DOES ALL OF THE TOPPING PRETTY MUCH. And Nat kind of tops Victor.
10. I KNOW OH MY GOD. Hushiesssssssssss why don't more people write you alllllllll.
11. I'LL GET AROUND TO DEXTER AT SOME POINT FFFFFFFFF.
no subject
Date: 2010-11-08 05:59 am (UTC)4. AHAHAHA OH YEAH, oh my god, our canon. It is amazing.
7. BUT VICTOR. TOPPING EVERYONE. HOW CAN YOU RESIST THIS.
Natalie topping Victor is kind of adorable though.
11. DO I HAVE TO PICSPAM DEB TO CONVINCE YOU.
Aaaand a Dexter wearing gloves for your time.
no subject
Date: 2010-11-09 05:04 am (UTC)okay okay.
I pick Frankie/Gee as fumbling teenagers and I pick BonnieandClyde!Ashlee/Pete and I pick genderflipped Cobras and sex-pollened Gabe and kitty!Gerard.
And I don't know who Cash and Singer are but I really loved that snippet so I pick them too.
ETA: OH AND THE ONE ABOUT PETE WENTZ/AVENGE SEVENFOLD IDK I DIDN'T GET IT BUT I LIKED IT LOTS TOO.