(no subject)
I think the next thing I need to write has to be some really porny GSF. The last two I've written have been pg, what the shit is that?
Title: Sometimes It's Hard to Be a Woman
Pairing: Ian/Dallon/Brendon/Spencer, mentions of Ian/Cash
Rating: pg
Wordcount: 1359
Summary: Ian's sure he would have remembered hearing about this.
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
Author's notes: written for a request on anon_lovememe asking for Ian and Dallon dealing with the 'turning into girls sometimes' problem Panic has. Also written for the prompt 'build up of job related trauma' on my HC Bingo table.
“Shane we need to talk.” Ian’s got no idea if his voice sounds different, everyone always hears themselves differently than they really are if recorded. It’s not like it matters anyway, Shane’s going to find out in less than a minute.
“You called me, man. Go ahead.”
“You remember when I asked if there was anything I needed to know about Panic before I decided to join?”
“And I told you about their juice addiction and the random bursting into song-”
“Yeah, and I said as long as Team America was as equally represented as Beauty and the Beast, I was good.”
At any other time Shane would sing the first few lines of I’m So Ronery, but it’s clear he’s just confusing him. “Yeah, so what’s the problem? It’s a bit late to have an aversion to The Lion King, man.”
“No, trust me, it’s not the Timon and Pumba that is freaking me out. It’s the vag, Shane. I woke up this morning with a vagina, Shane. I’ve got about a hundred pictures of baby me naked at the beach to prove I am not normally a vag carrier. But it’s not just me! After I calmed down a bit I was going to start calling the band to let them know I was horribly sick and couldn’t make it. I called Dallon first, his voice was higher than a soprano, he admitted it straight up when I asked. What the fuck is going on!”
“It’s part of being Panic, man. It’ll go away.” Ian’d had his suspicions but it really doesn’t make it easier to hear.
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me? Somehow that seems higher than orange juice on the ‘shit I should know’ scale.” Jesus fucking Christ.
Shane sounds apologetic. “I thought you did know! It’s why Brent left, he couldn’t handle it.”
Shit. Well at least that explains what kind of mental patient doesn’t want to be in a famous band touring the world. And maybe “Jon and Ryan?”
“No. Spencer and Brendon told you musical differences, it was musical differences. Don’t start believing in conspiracies. Nobody was out to hide this. I can’t believe you didn’t know. You really haven’t seen the pictures of girl Zack?
“What? No!”
“Email Spencer, I know he’s got them.” Well that’s something to look forward to anyway. Although it won’t seem like much compared to having his first period, depending on how long this body stays. “It’s really not a big deal.”
“Oh yeah? My vagina begs to differ. Notice me saying my, even though I’m a male, Shane? I have a vagina.” Ian’s not sure in what world that isn’t a massive fucking deal, but whatever it is, he doesn’t want to live there.
“So did I. It’ll go away in a week.”
“What?” He’s beginning to sound like a bit of a broken record, but there is nothing about this conversation that has made sense.
“I was their crew, that’s close enough for the curse or whatever the fuck it is. Are you sure I didn’t tell you?”
Ian is fucking positive he was in no way informed of the sex switching phenomena. “No, that’s something you would remember.”
“Dude, I gotta go. But don’t worry about it, I don’t think it’s ever lasted for anyone more than a week.”
Ian says goodbye and hangs up, placing his phone on his nightstand. A week at most, he thinks. That’s... twenty times seven... a hundred and forty... like a hundred and sixty hours. He can survive that. His plan is simple, two fold. The first fold involves never getting out of bed until he can not feel his boobs when he lies on his stomach. The second fold is use any method possible to repress everything, including the way his boobs feel when he lies on his stomach.
But before he can do any of that, the special combination of over-sleeping and smoking up and distracting himself with sci fi novels, he needs to call the rest of the band and inform them he’s not available. It’s not that he thinks girls can’t play guitar, because that’s retarded. He just can’t leave the apartment, and the studio is unfortunately not inside said apartment.
He calls Spencer. He’s got a feeling that it’s the sort of event Brendon’s never phased about. Brendon probably just tosses on a bakini and decides to scientifically test if they really are flotation devices. Luckily, Spencer tends to be more sane about things. He picks up on the second ring. “Look I can’t come over for the next few days.”
Spencer sounds distinctly unimpressed. “Why not?”
“I’m sick.” No need to parade around the details, Dallon will probably tell them, and it sort of makes Ian nauseous to say it out loud.
“Ian, we all share germs anyway. We need to get some shit down.”
“I’m really sick, man,” he replies, hoping the emphasis will be enough to convince him.
“With what? If it’s a cold you’re sucking it up and coming over anyway.”
Fuck. “Spencer, I’ve come down with a case of the TITS. I’m afraid I won’t be available until I’ve recovered.” And that is the end of that fucking conversation. Ian hangs up on him and turns his phone off. There will be no more talking until he’s got an adam’s apple in his throat again.
The problem with the ‘sleep and repress’ plan is Ian is really fucking horny. Most people need to piss when they wake up, Ian needs to get off. Sometimes he jerks off, but normally he can just crawl into someone’s bunk, or call Brendon or Spencer or Dallon or some combination. One of Cash’s first moves was to show Ian the multiple benefits of friends with benefits, and from what he’s seen it’s a pretty common tour phenomenon. It’s awkward as hell to need something, even while in this body. He doesn’t know what to do with it; he has pieces that don’t fit and even his arousal doesn’t feel right, it’s somehow over his entire body rather than just his dick and balls. Christ, girls don’t even have a prostate.
A combination of exhaustion due to frustration and a handful of Nyquil get him to drift off. When he wakes up Brendon is on his bed. Of course, he doesn’t recognise him at first, it’s just a body sitting on the edge of the bed, some terrifying stalker or burglar that he scrambles away from. Scrambles too far, in fact; he tumbles off the bed. “Ow.”
“Are you okay?” Brendon’s head appears over the edge of the bed to look at him as he sprawls over his blankets.
“Fuck you! You broke into my apartment.”
“I didn’t! I have a key. Well, Spencer has a key.” Brendon quickly amends before Ian gets the chance to say that he’d never in his right mind give Brendon a spare key to anything.
“Okay, you stole from Spencer then.” A crime is crime, and either way Ian’s still got a bruised ass.
“Didn’t! He’s in the living room with Dallon. They sent me because I’m better at the cheerfulness thing. Is it working yet? Are you happy yet?” Ian glares from his position on the floor and dares Brendon to guess. “You should hurry up on that. I bet they’re already making out.”
What the fuck? “But Dallon’s a girl too. Or at least he was this morning.”
“Yeah, and Spencer and I are bi so it doesn’t really matter.”
And the thing is, on one hand, Ian can stick with the ‘this isn’t my body, I hate it and I don’t know how to use it’ thing. It’s a perfectly valid choice, it’s entirely true. But on the other hand, he can go into the living room and see what Dallon looks like as a woman, and let Spencer and Dallon see him. And chances are, even if he doesn’t know what he’s doing, they’ll show him. Ian stretches out his hand and lets Brendon pull him to his feet and into the living room.
Title: Sometimes It's Hard to Be a Woman
Pairing: Ian/Dallon/Brendon/Spencer, mentions of Ian/Cash
Rating: pg
Wordcount: 1359
Summary: Ian's sure he would have remembered hearing about this.
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
Author's notes: written for a request on anon_lovememe asking for Ian and Dallon dealing with the 'turning into girls sometimes' problem Panic has. Also written for the prompt 'build up of job related trauma' on my HC Bingo table.
“Shane we need to talk.” Ian’s got no idea if his voice sounds different, everyone always hears themselves differently than they really are if recorded. It’s not like it matters anyway, Shane’s going to find out in less than a minute.
“You called me, man. Go ahead.”
“You remember when I asked if there was anything I needed to know about Panic before I decided to join?”
“And I told you about their juice addiction and the random bursting into song-”
“Yeah, and I said as long as Team America was as equally represented as Beauty and the Beast, I was good.”
At any other time Shane would sing the first few lines of I’m So Ronery, but it’s clear he’s just confusing him. “Yeah, so what’s the problem? It’s a bit late to have an aversion to The Lion King, man.”
“No, trust me, it’s not the Timon and Pumba that is freaking me out. It’s the vag, Shane. I woke up this morning with a vagina, Shane. I’ve got about a hundred pictures of baby me naked at the beach to prove I am not normally a vag carrier. But it’s not just me! After I calmed down a bit I was going to start calling the band to let them know I was horribly sick and couldn’t make it. I called Dallon first, his voice was higher than a soprano, he admitted it straight up when I asked. What the fuck is going on!”
“It’s part of being Panic, man. It’ll go away.” Ian’d had his suspicions but it really doesn’t make it easier to hear.
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me? Somehow that seems higher than orange juice on the ‘shit I should know’ scale.” Jesus fucking Christ.
Shane sounds apologetic. “I thought you did know! It’s why Brent left, he couldn’t handle it.”
Shit. Well at least that explains what kind of mental patient doesn’t want to be in a famous band touring the world. And maybe “Jon and Ryan?”
“No. Spencer and Brendon told you musical differences, it was musical differences. Don’t start believing in conspiracies. Nobody was out to hide this. I can’t believe you didn’t know. You really haven’t seen the pictures of girl Zack?
“What? No!”
“Email Spencer, I know he’s got them.” Well that’s something to look forward to anyway. Although it won’t seem like much compared to having his first period, depending on how long this body stays. “It’s really not a big deal.”
“Oh yeah? My vagina begs to differ. Notice me saying my, even though I’m a male, Shane? I have a vagina.” Ian’s not sure in what world that isn’t a massive fucking deal, but whatever it is, he doesn’t want to live there.
“So did I. It’ll go away in a week.”
“What?” He’s beginning to sound like a bit of a broken record, but there is nothing about this conversation that has made sense.
“I was their crew, that’s close enough for the curse or whatever the fuck it is. Are you sure I didn’t tell you?”
Ian is fucking positive he was in no way informed of the sex switching phenomena. “No, that’s something you would remember.”
“Dude, I gotta go. But don’t worry about it, I don’t think it’s ever lasted for anyone more than a week.”
Ian says goodbye and hangs up, placing his phone on his nightstand. A week at most, he thinks. That’s... twenty times seven... a hundred and forty... like a hundred and sixty hours. He can survive that. His plan is simple, two fold. The first fold involves never getting out of bed until he can not feel his boobs when he lies on his stomach. The second fold is use any method possible to repress everything, including the way his boobs feel when he lies on his stomach.
But before he can do any of that, the special combination of over-sleeping and smoking up and distracting himself with sci fi novels, he needs to call the rest of the band and inform them he’s not available. It’s not that he thinks girls can’t play guitar, because that’s retarded. He just can’t leave the apartment, and the studio is unfortunately not inside said apartment.
He calls Spencer. He’s got a feeling that it’s the sort of event Brendon’s never phased about. Brendon probably just tosses on a bakini and decides to scientifically test if they really are flotation devices. Luckily, Spencer tends to be more sane about things. He picks up on the second ring. “Look I can’t come over for the next few days.”
Spencer sounds distinctly unimpressed. “Why not?”
“I’m sick.” No need to parade around the details, Dallon will probably tell them, and it sort of makes Ian nauseous to say it out loud.
“Ian, we all share germs anyway. We need to get some shit down.”
“I’m really sick, man,” he replies, hoping the emphasis will be enough to convince him.
“With what? If it’s a cold you’re sucking it up and coming over anyway.”
Fuck. “Spencer, I’ve come down with a case of the TITS. I’m afraid I won’t be available until I’ve recovered.” And that is the end of that fucking conversation. Ian hangs up on him and turns his phone off. There will be no more talking until he’s got an adam’s apple in his throat again.
The problem with the ‘sleep and repress’ plan is Ian is really fucking horny. Most people need to piss when they wake up, Ian needs to get off. Sometimes he jerks off, but normally he can just crawl into someone’s bunk, or call Brendon or Spencer or Dallon or some combination. One of Cash’s first moves was to show Ian the multiple benefits of friends with benefits, and from what he’s seen it’s a pretty common tour phenomenon. It’s awkward as hell to need something, even while in this body. He doesn’t know what to do with it; he has pieces that don’t fit and even his arousal doesn’t feel right, it’s somehow over his entire body rather than just his dick and balls. Christ, girls don’t even have a prostate.
A combination of exhaustion due to frustration and a handful of Nyquil get him to drift off. When he wakes up Brendon is on his bed. Of course, he doesn’t recognise him at first, it’s just a body sitting on the edge of the bed, some terrifying stalker or burglar that he scrambles away from. Scrambles too far, in fact; he tumbles off the bed. “Ow.”
“Are you okay?” Brendon’s head appears over the edge of the bed to look at him as he sprawls over his blankets.
“Fuck you! You broke into my apartment.”
“I didn’t! I have a key. Well, Spencer has a key.” Brendon quickly amends before Ian gets the chance to say that he’d never in his right mind give Brendon a spare key to anything.
“Okay, you stole from Spencer then.” A crime is crime, and either way Ian’s still got a bruised ass.
“Didn’t! He’s in the living room with Dallon. They sent me because I’m better at the cheerfulness thing. Is it working yet? Are you happy yet?” Ian glares from his position on the floor and dares Brendon to guess. “You should hurry up on that. I bet they’re already making out.”
What the fuck? “But Dallon’s a girl too. Or at least he was this morning.”
“Yeah, and Spencer and I are bi so it doesn’t really matter.”
And the thing is, on one hand, Ian can stick with the ‘this isn’t my body, I hate it and I don’t know how to use it’ thing. It’s a perfectly valid choice, it’s entirely true. But on the other hand, he can go into the living room and see what Dallon looks like as a woman, and let Spencer and Dallon see him. And chances are, even if he doesn’t know what he’s doing, they’ll show him. Ian stretches out his hand and lets Brendon pull him to his feet and into the living room.