[fanfiction] a bunch of random-ass snippets
No, really. Very random collection of snippets.
Fandom/Pairings: Bandom; mild Frankie/Gee
Rating: PG for Passing Gay
Pre-Notes: Teeny-tiny genderswapped INOK-verse for 1st_eggokage.
Disclaimer: Based on some real people, but surprise! They're not girls.
Summary: “If we're going to be in a band,” Gee huffs, “we have to look awesome.”
right amount of leather
“If we're going to be in a band,” Gee huffs, “we have to look awesome.”
Mikey pulls out one of her earbuds and blinks at Gee, “What?”
“If we're going to be in a band,” Gee repeats, slightly louder this this, “we have to look awesome.”
Frankie kicks a rock across the art, “How do you propose we do that?”
There's a devilish glint in Gee's eyes when Frankie looks up and Frankie gulps. That look never means anything good and the last time she'd seen it, they'd spent six hours wandering from thrift store to thrift store and Frankie's feet had never hurt so fucking much.
Gee licks her lips, “Jackets.”
Mikey raises an eyebrow, but sticks her earbud back in it-which is pretty much the same thing as agreeing to whatever half-baked plan is in Gee's head. Frankie opens her mouth to complain, but then Gerard has pulled a piece of paper from somewhere and is doodling with the pencil she sometimes had tucked behind her ear. She babbling about jackets and cuts and fabrics and image-Frankie crumbles. She's not very good at saying no to Gee in the first place, but she's especially bad at it when it's denying something that makes Gee so fucking happy. With a sigh, Frankie scoots closer to Gee so she can see what's she talking about.
Fandom/Pairings: GlamRPF; mild Adam/Tommy
Rating: PG for Passing Gay
Pre-Notes: Originally posted to
fic_promptly here.
Disclaimer: Based on some real people and real events. Not true, though.
Summary: "Honey," Adam sighs, "we are on Miami beach and you're wrapped up in a towel. Why?"
beachy keen (because bad puns are everyone's friend)
"Honey," Adam sighs, "we are on Miami beach and you're wrapped up in a towel. Why?"
It's ridiculous, really. Tommy's covered by the white and blue-striped towel they bought somewhere earlier on the trip pulled close around him, his face pretty much the only thing visible from his slightly hunched position.
"Cold," is the only thing Tommy says before hunching over even more.
"I told you to bring a shirt," Adam frowns before holding his arms out, "Come here."
There's a couple of second where Tommy tries to figure out how to move the few feet over to Adam without losing heat from his blanket before he just gives up and quickly deposits himself in Adam's lap. They're quiet for a moment, Adam's arms wrapped around Tommy, before Adam laughs (though it's more like a giggle) and Tommy tilts his head, inquiring.
"You do realize that you're going into the water later, right? I'm not taking no for an answer."
Adam knows that Tommy is frowning internally at him, but he doesn't care because Tommy's pressing his lips to Adam's. It's a good day.
Fandom/Pairings: Leverage; mild Parker/Hardison
Rating: PG for Passing Gay
Pre-Notes: Originally posted to
fic_promptly here.
Disclaimer: Not mine. I wish I was as cool as Parker, though.
Summary: "Huh," Parker says, "how exactly did you get stuck like that?"
Happens Every Time
Parker peered up at him, tilting her head to the left, and then to the right as if she was trying to work out how to get him down. Or, more likely, how to get him down without alerting people to their presence and without damaging her rig. It was, she had told him before they started the job, brand-new.
"Huh," Parker says, "how exactly did you get stuck like that?"
The thing is, Hardison didn't know how he got stuck like that. Parker's rigs had a way of being too complicated for him to understand and all he had done was what he had told him to do. Parker was inching her way back up to him and she peered at his rig, poking it until she sighed.
"You're all tangled up. If I just . . ."
Parker yanked at something, and Hardison went flying downward. He prided himself on the fact that he didn't yell. This time, at least. Parker zipped down gracefully, stopping next to him and smiling.
"See? Totally fine. Now, let's do what we came here to do."
Fandom/Pairings: Glee&High School Musical; G-g-gen.
Rating: G for Glee!
Pre-Notes: This snippet is never going anywhere, mostly because I scribbled it during class, but I like it.
Disclaimer: Not mine. I wish Sam Evans was Ryan's cousin, though.
Summary: He doesn't want to be Troy, he just wants to be liked by people.
Not Troy
The thing about Sam's family is that they're fucking insane. He's from Albuquerque originally, but he doesn't want to tell people that. He doesn't even want to tell people that his cousin's are sort of famous - Ryan, sometimes his best friend, is skyrocketing up in the choreography world and Ryan's sister is gaining notoriety as a movie star. They've always been big on performing, and Sam has mostly absorbed it by osmosis. He's always been more of a sports guy, though, and he's from a school where it's okay to be both. Here, at this new school, it's pretty clear that it's not.
So, as much as he wants to join Glee, he doesn't. When he calls Ryan (in New York), Ryan makes sad noises about that but tells him, quite firmly, that he can make his own choices but his choices shouldn't be influenced by other people. Sam gets that, he does, but he doesn't need to get lynched at this new school. He's no Gabriella, and he's not Ryan. Sam is just a guy that likes sports (but not basketball) and belonging. He doesn't want to be Troy, he just wants to be liked by people.
Glee is not really the way to have that happen. Ryan breaks from the phone to yell at his dancers and then comes back to the phone. Sam knows that Ryan wants to sing at him, but he won't because Sam is still sort of weirded out by that.
"Sam," Ryan says seriously, "You know I love you and I respect your decisions, but I feel like you're missing out on an opportunity."
Sam laughed, "You're starting to sound like my mother, Ry."
"I am much more fabulous than your mother, Sam."
Fandom/Pairings: Bandom; vague Panic GSF
Rating: PG-13.
Pre-Notes: There's a larger story behind this, which will be written eventually. For reference: 2-11 is Brendon, Uncensored is Spencer, White Album is Ryan, and Photo Finish is Jon.
Disclaimer: Based on real people, but this never happened.
Summary: White Album and Photo Finish are fucking out there in the Dead Zone and he hasn't seen them in a week and he's fucking worried dammit!
losing the feeling of being unique
Static.
“2-11 to White Album. 2-11 to White Album.”
More static.
“2-11 to White Album. Answer me, goddamnit!”
2-11 sets the radio down on the table and sighs. Fucking White Album, never fucking answering radio calls. A hand touches his shoulder and 2-11's got his ray gun pointed at the owner entirely on reflex. It's just Uncensored, though, so 2-11 lowers his ray gun and avoids Uncensored's eyes.
“He's not fucking answering.”
“You know how he gets,” Uncensored says, lightly resting a hand on 2-11's face, “he's probably okay. Photo Finish will look out for him.”
The slight waver in Uncensored's voice is only barely noticeable. 2-11 envies that, he can't keep his voice even when the people he loves are in danger. He swallows, and leans forward to rest his head on Uncensored's chest. They'll need to move again soon-being a Killjoy means being on the run, always-but for the moment they're okay. Only they're not, because White Album and Photo Finish are fucking out there in the Dead Zone and he hasn't seen them in a week and he's fucking worried dammit!
“Shhh,” Uncensored rubs circles onto his back, “shh. It'll be okay, you'll see. It's almost time.”
Taking a shaky breath, 2-11 composes himself, pulling away from Uncensored and offering a shaky smile. He turns back away to face his radio and flicks it back on.
“Good evening,” 2-11 says, “this is 2-11 with a special tune for all you motorbabies listening in . . .”
As he speaks into the microphone, 2-11 hopes with every fiber of his being that White Album and Photo Finish are listening. He hopes they're okay, doesn't know how he'd deal with not having them around. Behind him, Uncensored grips his shoulders and 2-11 knows he's hoping the same thing.
This entry originally posted here. Original entry currently has
comments. :D
Fandom/Pairings: Bandom; mild Frankie/Gee
Rating: PG for Passing Gay
Pre-Notes: Teeny-tiny genderswapped INOK-verse for 1st_eggokage.
Disclaimer: Based on some real people, but surprise! They're not girls.
Summary: “If we're going to be in a band,” Gee huffs, “we have to look awesome.”
right amount of leather
“If we're going to be in a band,” Gee huffs, “we have to look awesome.”
Mikey pulls out one of her earbuds and blinks at Gee, “What?”
“If we're going to be in a band,” Gee repeats, slightly louder this this, “we have to look awesome.”
Frankie kicks a rock across the art, “How do you propose we do that?”
There's a devilish glint in Gee's eyes when Frankie looks up and Frankie gulps. That look never means anything good and the last time she'd seen it, they'd spent six hours wandering from thrift store to thrift store and Frankie's feet had never hurt so fucking much.
Gee licks her lips, “Jackets.”
Mikey raises an eyebrow, but sticks her earbud back in it-which is pretty much the same thing as agreeing to whatever half-baked plan is in Gee's head. Frankie opens her mouth to complain, but then Gerard has pulled a piece of paper from somewhere and is doodling with the pencil she sometimes had tucked behind her ear. She babbling about jackets and cuts and fabrics and image-Frankie crumbles. She's not very good at saying no to Gee in the first place, but she's especially bad at it when it's denying something that makes Gee so fucking happy. With a sigh, Frankie scoots closer to Gee so she can see what's she talking about.
Fandom/Pairings: GlamRPF; mild Adam/Tommy
Rating: PG for Passing Gay
Pre-Notes: Originally posted to
fic_promptly here.
Disclaimer: Based on some real people and real events. Not true, though.
Summary: "Honey," Adam sighs, "we are on Miami beach and you're wrapped up in a towel. Why?"
beachy keen (because bad puns are everyone's friend)
"Honey," Adam sighs, "we are on Miami beach and you're wrapped up in a towel. Why?"
It's ridiculous, really. Tommy's covered by the white and blue-striped towel they bought somewhere earlier on the trip pulled close around him, his face pretty much the only thing visible from his slightly hunched position.
"Cold," is the only thing Tommy says before hunching over even more.
"I told you to bring a shirt," Adam frowns before holding his arms out, "Come here."
There's a couple of second where Tommy tries to figure out how to move the few feet over to Adam without losing heat from his blanket before he just gives up and quickly deposits himself in Adam's lap. They're quiet for a moment, Adam's arms wrapped around Tommy, before Adam laughs (though it's more like a giggle) and Tommy tilts his head, inquiring.
"You do realize that you're going into the water later, right? I'm not taking no for an answer."
Adam knows that Tommy is frowning internally at him, but he doesn't care because Tommy's pressing his lips to Adam's. It's a good day.
Fandom/Pairings: Leverage; mild Parker/Hardison
Rating: PG for Passing Gay
Pre-Notes: Originally posted to
fic_promptly here.
Disclaimer: Not mine. I wish I was as cool as Parker, though.
Summary: "Huh," Parker says, "how exactly did you get stuck like that?"
Happens Every Time
Parker peered up at him, tilting her head to the left, and then to the right as if she was trying to work out how to get him down. Or, more likely, how to get him down without alerting people to their presence and without damaging her rig. It was, she had told him before they started the job, brand-new.
"Huh," Parker says, "how exactly did you get stuck like that?"
The thing is, Hardison didn't know how he got stuck like that. Parker's rigs had a way of being too complicated for him to understand and all he had done was what he had told him to do. Parker was inching her way back up to him and she peered at his rig, poking it until she sighed.
"You're all tangled up. If I just . . ."
Parker yanked at something, and Hardison went flying downward. He prided himself on the fact that he didn't yell. This time, at least. Parker zipped down gracefully, stopping next to him and smiling.
"See? Totally fine. Now, let's do what we came here to do."
Fandom/Pairings: Glee&High School Musical; G-g-gen.
Rating: G for Glee!
Pre-Notes: This snippet is never going anywhere, mostly because I scribbled it during class, but I like it.
Disclaimer: Not mine. I wish Sam Evans was Ryan's cousin, though.
Summary: He doesn't want to be Troy, he just wants to be liked by people.
Not Troy
The thing about Sam's family is that they're fucking insane. He's from Albuquerque originally, but he doesn't want to tell people that. He doesn't even want to tell people that his cousin's are sort of famous - Ryan, sometimes his best friend, is skyrocketing up in the choreography world and Ryan's sister is gaining notoriety as a movie star. They've always been big on performing, and Sam has mostly absorbed it by osmosis. He's always been more of a sports guy, though, and he's from a school where it's okay to be both. Here, at this new school, it's pretty clear that it's not.
So, as much as he wants to join Glee, he doesn't. When he calls Ryan (in New York), Ryan makes sad noises about that but tells him, quite firmly, that he can make his own choices but his choices shouldn't be influenced by other people. Sam gets that, he does, but he doesn't need to get lynched at this new school. He's no Gabriella, and he's not Ryan. Sam is just a guy that likes sports (but not basketball) and belonging. He doesn't want to be Troy, he just wants to be liked by people.
Glee is not really the way to have that happen. Ryan breaks from the phone to yell at his dancers and then comes back to the phone. Sam knows that Ryan wants to sing at him, but he won't because Sam is still sort of weirded out by that.
"Sam," Ryan says seriously, "You know I love you and I respect your decisions, but I feel like you're missing out on an opportunity."
Sam laughed, "You're starting to sound like my mother, Ry."
"I am much more fabulous than your mother, Sam."
Fandom/Pairings: Bandom; vague Panic GSF
Rating: PG-13.
Pre-Notes: There's a larger story behind this, which will be written eventually. For reference: 2-11 is Brendon, Uncensored is Spencer, White Album is Ryan, and Photo Finish is Jon.
Disclaimer: Based on real people, but this never happened.
Summary: White Album and Photo Finish are fucking out there in the Dead Zone and he hasn't seen them in a week and he's fucking worried dammit!
losing the feeling of being unique
Static.
“2-11 to White Album. 2-11 to White Album.”
More static.
“2-11 to White Album. Answer me, goddamnit!”
2-11 sets the radio down on the table and sighs. Fucking White Album, never fucking answering radio calls. A hand touches his shoulder and 2-11's got his ray gun pointed at the owner entirely on reflex. It's just Uncensored, though, so 2-11 lowers his ray gun and avoids Uncensored's eyes.
“He's not fucking answering.”
“You know how he gets,” Uncensored says, lightly resting a hand on 2-11's face, “he's probably okay. Photo Finish will look out for him.”
The slight waver in Uncensored's voice is only barely noticeable. 2-11 envies that, he can't keep his voice even when the people he loves are in danger. He swallows, and leans forward to rest his head on Uncensored's chest. They'll need to move again soon-being a Killjoy means being on the run, always-but for the moment they're okay. Only they're not, because White Album and Photo Finish are fucking out there in the Dead Zone and he hasn't seen them in a week and he's fucking worried dammit!
“Shhh,” Uncensored rubs circles onto his back, “shh. It'll be okay, you'll see. It's almost time.”
Taking a shaky breath, 2-11 composes himself, pulling away from Uncensored and offering a shaky smile. He turns back away to face his radio and flicks it back on.
“Good evening,” 2-11 says, “this is 2-11 with a special tune for all you motorbabies listening in . . .”
As he speaks into the microphone, 2-11 hopes with every fiber of his being that White Album and Photo Finish are listening. He hopes they're okay, doesn't know how he'd deal with not having them around. Behind him, Uncensored grips his shoulders and 2-11 knows he's hoping the same thing.
This entry originally posted here. Original entry currently has
comments. :D