Fic: A Tilt of Many Whirls (gen)
Title: A Tilt of Many Whirls
Bands: MCR + Brian
Note: For schmoop_bingo amusement park and au_bingo high school AU.
turlough pointed out, rightly so, that MCR at an amusement park had a lot of potential for hilarity, although the sweetness might have been lost in the high school douche baggery. I hope you like it anyway! Also I utterly fail at picking squares that are in bingo-like positions.
---
Gerard was watching the white line outside his window with his tongue poking out, eyes flashing between that and the car on the other side of them so fast he was going to give himself eyeball whiplash. Frank told him as much, helpfully, and got a "fuck off, motherfucker" for his troubles.
"See if I ever show you some fucking concern again," Frank whined before giving Gerard a wet willy.
Gerard flinched and the van jerked forward before he slammed on the breaks. He tried to swat Frank away but before he could, Bob's forearm wrapped around Frank's chest and slammed him back into his seat.
"What did we say about fucking with the driver?" Bob said like he was talking to a very stupid child. Frank rolled his eyes but the forearm moved up around his neck and Bob shoved himself so he was mostly over the back of the bench, in perfect position for giving Frank a noogie. "What did we say, Frankie?"
"Not to do it!" Frank answered, even as he was laughing and trying to claw at where he thought Bob's face probably was.
The car jerked to a stop and Gerard threw it into park. "Perfect," he declared. "Let's go, motherfuckers." The five of them tumbled out of the minivan.
Frank spun around, intending to launch some retaliation at Bob's face, but then he got distracted by the van. All that effort to find a spot where Gerard could pull through and he was still cockeyed in the space with the ass end still hanging over both the back and side line.
"Dude," Frank cackled. "Dude, that's the shittiest fucking parking job I've ever seen."
"Fuck off," Gerard said defensively. "Like you could do any better."
"Helen Keller could do better."
"Helen Keller could do your mom better," Gerard shot back.
"That doesn't even make sense dude," Frank said.
"Dude, whatever, you're walking home."
"If you ladies are done," Ray yelled over his shoulder. "Could we get in the park before it fucking closes?"
A mom walked by with two kids right as he said this. She gave him a dirty look and he stammered out an apology.
Mikey snapped a picture obnoxiously close to Ray's face. He opened up his phone and started clicking away at the keyboard.
"Hey, don't send that to Alicia!" Ray squawked.
"I'm not," Mikey said simply.
"Oh." Ray's arms dropped back to his sides.
Mikey's pace picked up vaguely in the direction of the main entrance. "I'm sending it to Christa."
"Hey!" Ray shouted shrilly. "Get back here, motherfucker!"
Frank launched himself at Bob's back; Bob grumbled about it but didn't even bother trying to dump him. Frank stuck his face in Bob's neck and took an obnoxious whiff. "You smell like coconut. Did your mommy make you put on sunscreen? Pussy!"
"Fuck off, don't come whining to me when you're a fucking lobster."
"I'll show you a fucking lobster!" Frank pinched Bob vaguely in the area of his nipples, cackling at Bob's outraged roar even as he dumped Frank on his ass. A family of four took a wide arc around them, the parents steadfastly ignoring them. The little girl clinging to her dad's hand stared at Frank over her shoulder, though; he made a stupid face at her and she giggled.
Frank scrambled upright to catch up to Gerard and Bob. Ray and Mikey were still ahead of them; Ray was trying to hold Mikey in a headlock while grabbing at the phone Mikey was waving wildly away from him.
Gerard slugged Ray in the shoulder when he caught up. "Leave him alone."
Ray let Mikey go, although unhappily. Mikey made sure to keep Gerard between them. He pocketed his phone, but Frank was pretty sure he caught Mikey hitting send before he did. He gave Mikey a thumbs up.
Brian was at the ticket booth, apathetically taking credit cards and tearing the pre-purchased stubs people offered him.
"Hey," he said when it was their turn in line.
"You gonna let us in for free?" Frank asked hopefully. He flicked the brim of Brian's hat just because he could.
Brian slapped his hand away, hard, and righted his hat. "No," he said simply. "Pay the fuck up."
Bob handed him the five tickets they had bought from Brian the day before at school. "When do you get off?"
"Like 3. I got lunch in two hours though."
"Where's Bert working?" Gerard asked.
Some old douche bag behind them made an impatient noise; Brian steadfastly ignored him so Frank glared for him.
"Tilt-A-Whirl. Don't ride it 'til he's gone, he'll try to make you hurl."
"That sounds like a challenge," Frank said gleefully.
Brian rolled his eyes. "Whatever. You're holding up my line, douche bags." He bumped fists with Ray and nodded at Mikey as he sent them on their way.
---
“Brian warned you,” Ray said unsympathetically.
“Nrrgh,” Frank informed him before his stomach revolted again and he leaned back over the trashcan. He was vaguely aware of Mikey’s shoes nearby when he was done. “I swear to God if you send a picture to anyone I will throw up on your shoes, Mikeyway,” he said. Or, well, he was going to before it was lost in a fresh tide of misery and upchuck.
Mikey’s shoes didn’t go away, though. He held out a bottle of water at arm’s length. Frank swiped it and chugged enough to get the taste out of his mouth, swallowed some when his stomach seemed like it might not protest too badly.
“You wanna pussy out and go home?” Mikey offered.
“Fuck you,” Frank grinned with forced maniacal glee. “I wanna go again.”
“Dude,” Ray protested.
“Dude!” Frank agreed.
“No,” Bob said, like anyone asked his opinion. Frank spit the last mouthful of the water at him from between his teeth. Bob balked and darted the stream. “Keep your throw up spit to yourself, pigfucker.”
“Keep your opinions to yourself, motherfucker.”
Gerard jogged up to their trashcan, beaming. “Bert told me how to beat the bottle toss game! Wanna win a goldfish?”
“Hell yeah,” Frank agreed readily. He didn’t push the issue of going on the Tilt-a-Whirl again.
---
“Free Goldie!” Frank chanted from over Bob’s shoulder. They passed some younger kids from band; one of them raised a fist in solidarity.
“You’re going to get us kicked out,” Bob told him again.
“Did you see the looks on those fishes’ faces? They’re miserable.”
“They’re fish,” Ray stressed.
“Fish are friends, Ray. Right Mikey?”
“Viva la revolucion,” Mikey agreed distractedly.
“Viva la revolucion!” Frank cheered.
“Why do you encourage him?” Bob asked.
Mikey looked up from his phone and shrugged. “It’s fun?”
Frank scrambled out of the fireman’s carry Bob had him in. Gerard was still at the bottle toss booth gesturing animatedly at the kid behind the counter.
“Brian’s gonna meet us at the funnel cake booth,” Mikey said. “He can get us free toppings.”
“What kind of toppings?” Ray asked.
“Don’t look a gift topping in the mouth, Ray.”
Gerard rejoined them, then. He had a plastic bag in his hands that he thrust out-carefully-at Frank. “Here.”
Frank accepted the bag dumbly. It was the most miserable of the miserable goldfish, the one with what looked like it had a growth in its eyeball. “You-but I thought that motherfucker wasn’t going to give it up.”
Gerard shrugged. “You won a fish fair and square, he can’t deny that.”
Frank grinned at him. He cradled the bag against his chest, to keep the fish from jostling. “Thanks.”
Gerard looked a little pink, but that might have been the wicked sunburn he was working on. “It’s, like, your inalienable right for beating a fucking rigged game out here, dude.”
“Do you even have a fishbowl?” Ray asked.
“It probably doesn’t matter,” Bob said. “That thing looks like it’ll be belly up by the time we get home.”
“Hey!” Frank cried, ready to defend his new pet’s honor.
“It kind of does,” Mikey told him. “You might want to ask if you can trade it out for one a little less pathetic.”
“No way,” Frank answered vehemently. “Even if he is gonna die soon, he should have a decent fucking life.” He looked to Gerard for support; just like he thought, Gerard was nodding.
“Whatever,” Ray said. “How are you going to go on rides with a fish?”
“Oh.” Frank’s face fell. “I don’t know.”
“We’ll take turns,” Gerard offered.
“Yeah! We’ll take turns.” Frank smiled at Ray with all his teeth.
“Come the fuck on,” Bob said. “I want some fucking funnel cake.”
“Funnel cake?” Gerard asked, delighted.
---
They hung out at the park until the last possible minute, when the five of them plus Brian crammed back into the van. Gerard was staring at the side of it before he got in, though.
“Dude, come on,” Ray said.
“I think there’s a scratch on the door.” Gerard squinted at it. “Who the fuck scratched my car?”
“I think it’s probably from when you almost took out the wall at Taco Bell last week,” Mikey volunteered.
“Oh.” Gerard accepted this gamely. He got in and turned it on, cranking the anemic AC as high as he could and telling Mikey which Misfits CD to look for before he threw it into drive and took off. There were no other cars around, but he still managed to almost hit a lamp post.
“Shit, dude, how did you get a license?” Frank demanded, one hand braced against the back of Gerard’s seat and the other clutching Goldie protectively.
“Whatever, shut up.”
“You might want to turn on your headlights,” Bob suggested mildly. “Since it’s dark out and everything.”
“Duh,” Gerard said. He looked at the dash. “Um.”
“Oh my god you don’t know where your lights are?” Brian groaned. “Fuck, I wish I got a ride with Jepha.”
“Open the door, Ray,” Frank said. “We can give him a running start.”
Gerard turned on the headlights, finally. “There we go, motherfuckers. Let’s get out of here.”
This entry was originally posted at Dreamwidth. You can also comment there using OpenID.
comments there.
Bands: MCR + Brian
Note: For schmoop_bingo amusement park and au_bingo high school AU.
turlough pointed out, rightly so, that MCR at an amusement park had a lot of potential for hilarity, although the sweetness might have been lost in the high school douche baggery. I hope you like it anyway! Also I utterly fail at picking squares that are in bingo-like positions.
---
Gerard was watching the white line outside his window with his tongue poking out, eyes flashing between that and the car on the other side of them so fast he was going to give himself eyeball whiplash. Frank told him as much, helpfully, and got a "fuck off, motherfucker" for his troubles.
"See if I ever show you some fucking concern again," Frank whined before giving Gerard a wet willy.
Gerard flinched and the van jerked forward before he slammed on the breaks. He tried to swat Frank away but before he could, Bob's forearm wrapped around Frank's chest and slammed him back into his seat.
"What did we say about fucking with the driver?" Bob said like he was talking to a very stupid child. Frank rolled his eyes but the forearm moved up around his neck and Bob shoved himself so he was mostly over the back of the bench, in perfect position for giving Frank a noogie. "What did we say, Frankie?"
"Not to do it!" Frank answered, even as he was laughing and trying to claw at where he thought Bob's face probably was.
The car jerked to a stop and Gerard threw it into park. "Perfect," he declared. "Let's go, motherfuckers." The five of them tumbled out of the minivan.
Frank spun around, intending to launch some retaliation at Bob's face, but then he got distracted by the van. All that effort to find a spot where Gerard could pull through and he was still cockeyed in the space with the ass end still hanging over both the back and side line.
"Dude," Frank cackled. "Dude, that's the shittiest fucking parking job I've ever seen."
"Fuck off," Gerard said defensively. "Like you could do any better."
"Helen Keller could do better."
"Helen Keller could do your mom better," Gerard shot back.
"That doesn't even make sense dude," Frank said.
"Dude, whatever, you're walking home."
"If you ladies are done," Ray yelled over his shoulder. "Could we get in the park before it fucking closes?"
A mom walked by with two kids right as he said this. She gave him a dirty look and he stammered out an apology.
Mikey snapped a picture obnoxiously close to Ray's face. He opened up his phone and started clicking away at the keyboard.
"Hey, don't send that to Alicia!" Ray squawked.
"I'm not," Mikey said simply.
"Oh." Ray's arms dropped back to his sides.
Mikey's pace picked up vaguely in the direction of the main entrance. "I'm sending it to Christa."
"Hey!" Ray shouted shrilly. "Get back here, motherfucker!"
Frank launched himself at Bob's back; Bob grumbled about it but didn't even bother trying to dump him. Frank stuck his face in Bob's neck and took an obnoxious whiff. "You smell like coconut. Did your mommy make you put on sunscreen? Pussy!"
"Fuck off, don't come whining to me when you're a fucking lobster."
"I'll show you a fucking lobster!" Frank pinched Bob vaguely in the area of his nipples, cackling at Bob's outraged roar even as he dumped Frank on his ass. A family of four took a wide arc around them, the parents steadfastly ignoring them. The little girl clinging to her dad's hand stared at Frank over her shoulder, though; he made a stupid face at her and she giggled.
Frank scrambled upright to catch up to Gerard and Bob. Ray and Mikey were still ahead of them; Ray was trying to hold Mikey in a headlock while grabbing at the phone Mikey was waving wildly away from him.
Gerard slugged Ray in the shoulder when he caught up. "Leave him alone."
Ray let Mikey go, although unhappily. Mikey made sure to keep Gerard between them. He pocketed his phone, but Frank was pretty sure he caught Mikey hitting send before he did. He gave Mikey a thumbs up.
Brian was at the ticket booth, apathetically taking credit cards and tearing the pre-purchased stubs people offered him.
"Hey," he said when it was their turn in line.
"You gonna let us in for free?" Frank asked hopefully. He flicked the brim of Brian's hat just because he could.
Brian slapped his hand away, hard, and righted his hat. "No," he said simply. "Pay the fuck up."
Bob handed him the five tickets they had bought from Brian the day before at school. "When do you get off?"
"Like 3. I got lunch in two hours though."
"Where's Bert working?" Gerard asked.
Some old douche bag behind them made an impatient noise; Brian steadfastly ignored him so Frank glared for him.
"Tilt-A-Whirl. Don't ride it 'til he's gone, he'll try to make you hurl."
"That sounds like a challenge," Frank said gleefully.
Brian rolled his eyes. "Whatever. You're holding up my line, douche bags." He bumped fists with Ray and nodded at Mikey as he sent them on their way.
---
“Brian warned you,” Ray said unsympathetically.
“Nrrgh,” Frank informed him before his stomach revolted again and he leaned back over the trashcan. He was vaguely aware of Mikey’s shoes nearby when he was done. “I swear to God if you send a picture to anyone I will throw up on your shoes, Mikeyway,” he said. Or, well, he was going to before it was lost in a fresh tide of misery and upchuck.
Mikey’s shoes didn’t go away, though. He held out a bottle of water at arm’s length. Frank swiped it and chugged enough to get the taste out of his mouth, swallowed some when his stomach seemed like it might not protest too badly.
“You wanna pussy out and go home?” Mikey offered.
“Fuck you,” Frank grinned with forced maniacal glee. “I wanna go again.”
“Dude,” Ray protested.
“Dude!” Frank agreed.
“No,” Bob said, like anyone asked his opinion. Frank spit the last mouthful of the water at him from between his teeth. Bob balked and darted the stream. “Keep your throw up spit to yourself, pigfucker.”
“Keep your opinions to yourself, motherfucker.”
Gerard jogged up to their trashcan, beaming. “Bert told me how to beat the bottle toss game! Wanna win a goldfish?”
“Hell yeah,” Frank agreed readily. He didn’t push the issue of going on the Tilt-a-Whirl again.
---
“Free Goldie!” Frank chanted from over Bob’s shoulder. They passed some younger kids from band; one of them raised a fist in solidarity.
“You’re going to get us kicked out,” Bob told him again.
“Did you see the looks on those fishes’ faces? They’re miserable.”
“They’re fish,” Ray stressed.
“Fish are friends, Ray. Right Mikey?”
“Viva la revolucion,” Mikey agreed distractedly.
“Viva la revolucion!” Frank cheered.
“Why do you encourage him?” Bob asked.
Mikey looked up from his phone and shrugged. “It’s fun?”
Frank scrambled out of the fireman’s carry Bob had him in. Gerard was still at the bottle toss booth gesturing animatedly at the kid behind the counter.
“Brian’s gonna meet us at the funnel cake booth,” Mikey said. “He can get us free toppings.”
“What kind of toppings?” Ray asked.
“Don’t look a gift topping in the mouth, Ray.”
Gerard rejoined them, then. He had a plastic bag in his hands that he thrust out-carefully-at Frank. “Here.”
Frank accepted the bag dumbly. It was the most miserable of the miserable goldfish, the one with what looked like it had a growth in its eyeball. “You-but I thought that motherfucker wasn’t going to give it up.”
Gerard shrugged. “You won a fish fair and square, he can’t deny that.”
Frank grinned at him. He cradled the bag against his chest, to keep the fish from jostling. “Thanks.”
Gerard looked a little pink, but that might have been the wicked sunburn he was working on. “It’s, like, your inalienable right for beating a fucking rigged game out here, dude.”
“Do you even have a fishbowl?” Ray asked.
“It probably doesn’t matter,” Bob said. “That thing looks like it’ll be belly up by the time we get home.”
“Hey!” Frank cried, ready to defend his new pet’s honor.
“It kind of does,” Mikey told him. “You might want to ask if you can trade it out for one a little less pathetic.”
“No way,” Frank answered vehemently. “Even if he is gonna die soon, he should have a decent fucking life.” He looked to Gerard for support; just like he thought, Gerard was nodding.
“Whatever,” Ray said. “How are you going to go on rides with a fish?”
“Oh.” Frank’s face fell. “I don’t know.”
“We’ll take turns,” Gerard offered.
“Yeah! We’ll take turns.” Frank smiled at Ray with all his teeth.
“Come the fuck on,” Bob said. “I want some fucking funnel cake.”
“Funnel cake?” Gerard asked, delighted.
---
They hung out at the park until the last possible minute, when the five of them plus Brian crammed back into the van. Gerard was staring at the side of it before he got in, though.
“Dude, come on,” Ray said.
“I think there’s a scratch on the door.” Gerard squinted at it. “Who the fuck scratched my car?”
“I think it’s probably from when you almost took out the wall at Taco Bell last week,” Mikey volunteered.
“Oh.” Gerard accepted this gamely. He got in and turned it on, cranking the anemic AC as high as he could and telling Mikey which Misfits CD to look for before he threw it into drive and took off. There were no other cars around, but he still managed to almost hit a lamp post.
“Shit, dude, how did you get a license?” Frank demanded, one hand braced against the back of Gerard’s seat and the other clutching Goldie protectively.
“Whatever, shut up.”
“You might want to turn on your headlights,” Bob suggested mildly. “Since it’s dark out and everything.”
“Duh,” Gerard said. He looked at the dash. “Um.”
“Oh my god you don’t know where your lights are?” Brian groaned. “Fuck, I wish I got a ride with Jepha.”
“Open the door, Ray,” Frank said. “We can give him a running start.”
Gerard turned on the headlights, finally. “There we go, motherfuckers. Let’s get out of here.”
This entry was originally posted at Dreamwidth. You can also comment there using OpenID.
comments there.