Writer's Block
Title: Writer's Block
Characters: Jeff, OFC
Pairings: Greg/Jeff, Chip/Jeff
Genre: Crack
Rating: PG(ish)
Author's Notes: I read a Scrubs fanfic over on fanfiction.net a couple years ago, and I just had to adapt it to this fandom, and Jeff was begging for it to be done to him. Who am I to refuse? Crackiness at its finest!
If you want to read the original, you can find it here.
I don't own anything or anybody, so don't sue! Though my birthday is coming up...
Cross-posted to wl_fanfiction
I was walking backstage after a taping of IAG, feeling pretty good about the show, about my life, about everything. I saw Chip and Greg down the hall and raised a hand in salute, when, suddenly, everything froze. Not like in a game of Freeze Tag, or anything, everything just well and truly froze. That’s when I noticed my upraised arm fading away, quickly followed by the rest of my body. What the fuck?!?
All of a sudden, I was standing in a dark room, the only light emitting from a small table lamp, illuminating a young woman curled up on a sofa with her laptop. “Who are you? Where am I? What’s going on!?!”
She simply looked up at me and smiled. “I’m having a bit or writer’s block. Maybe you could help me. I’ve found the best way to get over a writer’s block is to let the characters tell the story.” She stood up, and walked over to me, a twinkle in her blue eyes. She was actually pretty, in a plain, country girl kind of way. Her nose tipped up, and freckles sprayed across her nose. She also had a nice pair of b---
“Hey! I’m not going to write what you think of me! First, you’re not my type, and I’m not interested. Second, this isn’t about me, it’s about you. So cut it out.” I lowered my gaze, slightly chagrinned, but mostly to hide the smirk I couldn’t help appearing. She blew a strand of hair out of her eyes, then continued, “So, let’s see, what would you prefer?” She grabbed her laptop, and started typing. “How about this one?”
Before I could say anything or demand any answers, the dark room disappeared, and a park, what looked to be Central Park, appeared around us. “What are we doing here? How did we get here? I’m supposed to be in Las Vegas!” The girl just ignored me, her focus on something down the path. I quickly saw what she was looking at…ME! I watched as I walked toward, well, myself.
Jeff walked down the path, whistling some meaningless tune, enjoying the day. He didn’t have to be at the theater until tonight, he could just explore the city at his leisure till then. It was nice, really, to have solitary time. With so many co-stars, there was always someone wanting your attention. Just as he came to a bend in the path, two teenagers in baggy hoodies jumped out in front of me, demanding my wallet.
“Hey, wait a minute! Did I just get stabbed by muggers? What the hell is going on here?”
The woman looked contemplative, then nodded. “You’re right. That’s too abstract. I wouldn’t have anywhere to go with that one. Come on.” She hit a few more key, and the park faded, a dingy, smoke-filled bar appearing in its place. I saw myself in a corner booth, obviously having had too much to drink.
Jeff uncurled himself from the booth, and staggered to the bar, following a path he had taken a dozen times that night. “Wild Turkey, straight. Put it on my tab.” The bartender refused the request, waving the already hefty bill in front of him. The inebriated Jeff grabbed a bottle, broke it over the bar, and yelled, “I said give it to me, now!”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! First of all, I don’t get drunk, and second, I would never threaten anybody with a broken bottle, for Christ’s sake!”
The woman chewed the inside of her lip, watching the now frozen me with the bottle raised in the air. “I suppose you’re right, that’s a little out of character, I guess. Though you do get written as drunk a lot.” She glanced at me, the shook her head. “Never mind. What about…Oh, I know! How about a torture fic?”
I barely had time to register what she had said when we were in a dark room, probably a basement. I saw myself stretched out on a crude bed of sorts, tied at the ankles and feet.
Jeff lay, his eyes closed, praying for the end. Whatever lay in the afterlife had to be better than this. The wounds where she had whipped him the day before (or was it two days ago? It was so hard to tell time in this place) still lay raw and oozing, undoubtedly infected. The leather straps cut into his wrists, blood running down his arms.
“THAT’S ENOUGH! You are a sick person!” I felt the urge to cover this strange woman’s eyes so she wouldn’t see my…well, my very exposed, very sore looking…you get the idea.
“Actually, you get kidnapped and tortured a lot. Would you consider yourself a particularly vulnerable person? I think you get tortured more than anyone else. But don’t worry, it’s character building. You always discover something about yourself or your costars that you were unaware of before.
“I’m not very good at writing torture fics, though. Maybe…” Another few taps on the keys, and we were in a hospital room. I could just see myself laying in bed, surrounded by a conclave of people, mostly my fellow actors, some crew, some family.
Jeff lay weakly in the bed, the monitors and life-giving machines beeping and humming in the background. Looking around, he could see his entire life represented in the faces of his visitors. It was a good life, a successful life. A short life. He didn’t want to die so soon, but at least he had done what he loved, and made people laugh while he was here. A small smile played over his lips as he closed his eyes one final time.”
“That’s it? You just killed me, just like that?” I stared at my prone body, shocked and horrified at what I had just witnessed.
“Well, there are a lot of ‘Jeff is sick’ fics out there, too. I gave you cancer once. It was pretty sad. It made everybody cry when you died. I guess the vulnerability thing again.”
“Don’t you have anything happy? These are all so awful!”
She sighed, “I suppose we could do a fluff. But angst is so much fun! Ok, what do you think of this one?”
The hospital faded, and I was back in the MGM Grand. Thank God! I started to back away from the strange woman. Maybe whatever trip I was on was wearing off, and I could get away from the madness. Then I noticed myself walking down the hall again. Damnit. “What’s going on n--?” Before I could finish the thought, I saw Greg walking toward the other me. Hold on, why was he looking at me like that? Why was I looking at him like that? Holy shit! “They’re kissing each other! Eew!”
The girl was watching the other me make out with Greg with what could only be described as an unnatural interest, unblinking, fascinated.
I had had enough. “What’s going on here? I’m not gay! And Greg? Eew!”
The woman rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. Anything we write is slash. And you end up with Greg a lot. Trust me, that’s mild. You should see what you and Chip do.”
I felt sick, but I had to ask. “What do Chip and I-“ I hadn’t finished the question, when we were suddenly in a bedroom. I was naked and stretched across the bed, a blindfold over my eyes, and some sort of silk around my wrists and ankles.
Jeff lay prone on the bed, the thrill of not knowing when the next strike would come keeping his nerves on high alert. He heard the disembodied voice of Chip floating somewhere above me. “You were a bad boy, weren’t you? Weren’t you?” “Yes!” “Yes, what?” “Yes, sir!” “That’s what I thought.” A sharp crack fell across my back, making me hiss at the pain. “Do you know how we punish bad boys around here?” Jeff nodded, and was greeted with another whip lash across his back. “Speak when spoken to!” “Yes, sir! I was a bad boy, and I should be punished!” Three quick lashes, and Jeff was almost crying out. Then, nothing. He waited for the next blow, but it didn’t come. Just when he was about to ask what was going on, he simultaneously felt a belt tightening around his throat, and Chip entering him from behind, the sharp, unexpected pain from both actions making him yell out.
I stared at the scene in front of me with my jaw hanging open. I could never look at Chip the same way again. That was just freaky.
“I’m not a big fan of those fics, either. Too intense.” I was still at a loss for words, what I had just seen replaying in my mind. “Never mind, I think I might have found my muse again. Thanks for your help, you’ve been great.”
I was back in the hallway again, but the (crazy?) woman was gone, and I saw Greg and Chip at the end of the hall once again. I made eye contact with both of them, let out a yelp, and quickly turned the opposite way. No way could I talk to either of them. Ever again.
Just as I turned the corner, I ran into a woman. Not just any woman. The woman of my dreams! She was tall, she was shapely, she had long, black curls falling down her back. Her huge brown eyes looked up at me adoringly. I glanced up briefly, silently thanking the woman. Maybe this was repayment for making me see all those things. Without a word, I gathered the woman into my arms, kissing her passionately. She pulled me close, grinding her hips into mine. I felt her…wait a minute! Women don’t have one of those!
I glared at the ceiling. “You bitch!”
Characters: Jeff, OFC
Pairings: Greg/Jeff, Chip/Jeff
Genre: Crack
Rating: PG(ish)
Author's Notes: I read a Scrubs fanfic over on fanfiction.net a couple years ago, and I just had to adapt it to this fandom, and Jeff was begging for it to be done to him. Who am I to refuse? Crackiness at its finest!
If you want to read the original, you can find it here.
I don't own anything or anybody, so don't sue! Though my birthday is coming up...
Cross-posted to wl_fanfiction
I was walking backstage after a taping of IAG, feeling pretty good about the show, about my life, about everything. I saw Chip and Greg down the hall and raised a hand in salute, when, suddenly, everything froze. Not like in a game of Freeze Tag, or anything, everything just well and truly froze. That’s when I noticed my upraised arm fading away, quickly followed by the rest of my body. What the fuck?!?
All of a sudden, I was standing in a dark room, the only light emitting from a small table lamp, illuminating a young woman curled up on a sofa with her laptop. “Who are you? Where am I? What’s going on!?!”
She simply looked up at me and smiled. “I’m having a bit or writer’s block. Maybe you could help me. I’ve found the best way to get over a writer’s block is to let the characters tell the story.” She stood up, and walked over to me, a twinkle in her blue eyes. She was actually pretty, in a plain, country girl kind of way. Her nose tipped up, and freckles sprayed across her nose. She also had a nice pair of b---
“Hey! I’m not going to write what you think of me! First, you’re not my type, and I’m not interested. Second, this isn’t about me, it’s about you. So cut it out.” I lowered my gaze, slightly chagrinned, but mostly to hide the smirk I couldn’t help appearing. She blew a strand of hair out of her eyes, then continued, “So, let’s see, what would you prefer?” She grabbed her laptop, and started typing. “How about this one?”
Before I could say anything or demand any answers, the dark room disappeared, and a park, what looked to be Central Park, appeared around us. “What are we doing here? How did we get here? I’m supposed to be in Las Vegas!” The girl just ignored me, her focus on something down the path. I quickly saw what she was looking at…ME! I watched as I walked toward, well, myself.
Jeff walked down the path, whistling some meaningless tune, enjoying the day. He didn’t have to be at the theater until tonight, he could just explore the city at his leisure till then. It was nice, really, to have solitary time. With so many co-stars, there was always someone wanting your attention. Just as he came to a bend in the path, two teenagers in baggy hoodies jumped out in front of me, demanding my wallet.
“Hey, wait a minute! Did I just get stabbed by muggers? What the hell is going on here?”
The woman looked contemplative, then nodded. “You’re right. That’s too abstract. I wouldn’t have anywhere to go with that one. Come on.” She hit a few more key, and the park faded, a dingy, smoke-filled bar appearing in its place. I saw myself in a corner booth, obviously having had too much to drink.
Jeff uncurled himself from the booth, and staggered to the bar, following a path he had taken a dozen times that night. “Wild Turkey, straight. Put it on my tab.” The bartender refused the request, waving the already hefty bill in front of him. The inebriated Jeff grabbed a bottle, broke it over the bar, and yelled, “I said give it to me, now!”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! First of all, I don’t get drunk, and second, I would never threaten anybody with a broken bottle, for Christ’s sake!”
The woman chewed the inside of her lip, watching the now frozen me with the bottle raised in the air. “I suppose you’re right, that’s a little out of character, I guess. Though you do get written as drunk a lot.” She glanced at me, the shook her head. “Never mind. What about…Oh, I know! How about a torture fic?”
I barely had time to register what she had said when we were in a dark room, probably a basement. I saw myself stretched out on a crude bed of sorts, tied at the ankles and feet.
Jeff lay, his eyes closed, praying for the end. Whatever lay in the afterlife had to be better than this. The wounds where she had whipped him the day before (or was it two days ago? It was so hard to tell time in this place) still lay raw and oozing, undoubtedly infected. The leather straps cut into his wrists, blood running down his arms.
“THAT’S ENOUGH! You are a sick person!” I felt the urge to cover this strange woman’s eyes so she wouldn’t see my…well, my very exposed, very sore looking…you get the idea.
“Actually, you get kidnapped and tortured a lot. Would you consider yourself a particularly vulnerable person? I think you get tortured more than anyone else. But don’t worry, it’s character building. You always discover something about yourself or your costars that you were unaware of before.
“I’m not very good at writing torture fics, though. Maybe…” Another few taps on the keys, and we were in a hospital room. I could just see myself laying in bed, surrounded by a conclave of people, mostly my fellow actors, some crew, some family.
Jeff lay weakly in the bed, the monitors and life-giving machines beeping and humming in the background. Looking around, he could see his entire life represented in the faces of his visitors. It was a good life, a successful life. A short life. He didn’t want to die so soon, but at least he had done what he loved, and made people laugh while he was here. A small smile played over his lips as he closed his eyes one final time.”
“That’s it? You just killed me, just like that?” I stared at my prone body, shocked and horrified at what I had just witnessed.
“Well, there are a lot of ‘Jeff is sick’ fics out there, too. I gave you cancer once. It was pretty sad. It made everybody cry when you died. I guess the vulnerability thing again.”
“Don’t you have anything happy? These are all so awful!”
She sighed, “I suppose we could do a fluff. But angst is so much fun! Ok, what do you think of this one?”
The hospital faded, and I was back in the MGM Grand. Thank God! I started to back away from the strange woman. Maybe whatever trip I was on was wearing off, and I could get away from the madness. Then I noticed myself walking down the hall again. Damnit. “What’s going on n--?” Before I could finish the thought, I saw Greg walking toward the other me. Hold on, why was he looking at me like that? Why was I looking at him like that? Holy shit! “They’re kissing each other! Eew!”
The girl was watching the other me make out with Greg with what could only be described as an unnatural interest, unblinking, fascinated.
I had had enough. “What’s going on here? I’m not gay! And Greg? Eew!”
The woman rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. Anything we write is slash. And you end up with Greg a lot. Trust me, that’s mild. You should see what you and Chip do.”
I felt sick, but I had to ask. “What do Chip and I-“ I hadn’t finished the question, when we were suddenly in a bedroom. I was naked and stretched across the bed, a blindfold over my eyes, and some sort of silk around my wrists and ankles.
Jeff lay prone on the bed, the thrill of not knowing when the next strike would come keeping his nerves on high alert. He heard the disembodied voice of Chip floating somewhere above me. “You were a bad boy, weren’t you? Weren’t you?” “Yes!” “Yes, what?” “Yes, sir!” “That’s what I thought.” A sharp crack fell across my back, making me hiss at the pain. “Do you know how we punish bad boys around here?” Jeff nodded, and was greeted with another whip lash across his back. “Speak when spoken to!” “Yes, sir! I was a bad boy, and I should be punished!” Three quick lashes, and Jeff was almost crying out. Then, nothing. He waited for the next blow, but it didn’t come. Just when he was about to ask what was going on, he simultaneously felt a belt tightening around his throat, and Chip entering him from behind, the sharp, unexpected pain from both actions making him yell out.
I stared at the scene in front of me with my jaw hanging open. I could never look at Chip the same way again. That was just freaky.
“I’m not a big fan of those fics, either. Too intense.” I was still at a loss for words, what I had just seen replaying in my mind. “Never mind, I think I might have found my muse again. Thanks for your help, you’ve been great.”
I was back in the hallway again, but the (crazy?) woman was gone, and I saw Greg and Chip at the end of the hall once again. I made eye contact with both of them, let out a yelp, and quickly turned the opposite way. No way could I talk to either of them. Ever again.
Just as I turned the corner, I ran into a woman. Not just any woman. The woman of my dreams! She was tall, she was shapely, she had long, black curls falling down her back. Her huge brown eyes looked up at me adoringly. I glanced up briefly, silently thanking the woman. Maybe this was repayment for making me see all those things. Without a word, I gathered the woman into my arms, kissing her passionately. She pulled me close, grinding her hips into mine. I felt her…wait a minute! Women don’t have one of those!
I glared at the ceiling. “You bitch!”