Shameless indulgence ftw!

[foxxcub]

Okay, so I've had sort of a crappy last 24 hours and I desperately need something to make me LOL/smile/*heartclutch*/scrinchy face. In the interest of exploiting what this fandom does best (i.e. AUs!) and taking the popularity of wolfshirts into consideration, I bring you

A Whole New World: A Bandom AU Meme!

Think of this as wolfshirts in meme form! Comment with any AU idea you might've had floating around in your head and put it into fic form. It can be as complex or simple as you'd like.
Any length, pairing, and scenario is welcome! Go nuts!


(maleyka, I expected more Harry Potter 'verse, kthx. *beams*)

Comments

[jezrana.livejournal.com]

Okay, so there's this something. Maybe it's like the Blue Meanies in Yellow Submarine, or maybe it's more like the Nothing in The Neverending Story. But either way, it's the enemy of happiness and color and creativity and music, and it's turning the world into a gray, silent, unhappy place.

Cue bandom having to literally save the world through their music. It's just like Yellow Submarine in this respect--you play or sing loud enough and joyfully enough at the whatever-it-is, and it's forced into retreat.

Fall Out Boy are the ones who figure it out, because Yellow Submarine is one of Joe's favorite movies to watch while he's high and Pete figures that hey, the Beatle Strategy couldn't hurt to try, right? Once they've realized that it works, they spread the word to the other bands.

MCR totally picks up the idea and runs with it and spearheads the cause, because this is what Gerard Way's been prepping for his whole life, he just didn't know it yet. They break out the Black Parade uniforms and lament the fact that they burned the float.

Cobra Starship is briefly conflcted, because it's not supposed to be their mission to save the world, but hey, if the world is ending, they're throwing the party, which naturally means music and dancing, so six of one, half-dozen of the other.

...And that's I'll I've got for now because I have to not be late for work. *scampers*

ETA: ...And this is not really in fic form, is it. >.> I'll play around with it at work, see what I come up with.

[druidspell.livejournal.com]

OMFG. I keep wanting more fic where MCR ACTUALLY SAVES LIVES WITH THEIR MUSIC, and this would be the perfect AU. Ever.
And Cobra! They're conflicted! Saving the world's not really their thing, but if the world ends they'd be singing and dancing anyway!

kid!band verse!

[foxxcub.livejournal.com]

Brendon doesn't normally like to rat people out, but he totally caught Jon and Spencer holding hands yesterday. They saw him catch them, too, and Spencer dropped Jon's hand and turned this really bright shade of pink as he pretended to look at a thread on the sleeve of his hoodie.

Ryan and Brendon show up early to Jon's house the next day for practice, but Jon's mom (awesome as she is) says that Jon's got to finish his homework before they get started. However, they're welcome to hang out in the basement until he's done, and would they like some cookies?

So now Brendon's sprawled on the carpeted floor of Jon's basement, looking at Spencer's kit upside down as he inhales his chocolate chip cookies (real ones, not from a tube! Jon's mom is awesome, seriously).

"I saw Jon and Spencer holding hands yesterday," he says, like it's a huge secret he's letting Ryan in on. Which, it is, actually, and Brendon's never the one with all the secrets. He feels special.

Ryan doesn't look up from where he's sitting cross-legged on the floor across from Brendon, picking out some weird chord on his acoustic that's almost bigger than all of Ryan's upper body. "Yeah, I know," he replies casually.

Brendon sits up, pouting. "You do?" All feelings of being special whoosh out of him.

"Duh, they do it all the time. Spence thinks he's being all 'stealthy' - " Ryan does those little bunny ear motions with his right hand. " - but he's totally not."

Brendon is crushed. And something else, too, something else that kind of makes him wish he had a Jon to hold hands with in between songs when he thinks no one is looking.

Thirty minutes later, Jon's downstairs and Spencer finally arrives, and Brendon watches them like a hawk, because, well. He thinks Ryan's wrong, Spencer is stealthy.

But Jon doesn't even walk up to Spencer's kit at all, and after running through their newest song three times (Ryan wants him to sing the word "presumptuous", but Brendon can't sing words he can't even pronounce, geez), Brendon huffs out a frustrated breath and suddenly marches up to Ryan and grabs his hand by the wrist, holding it up.

"Hi, hello, look!" He says loudly. "Look at me, I'm holding Ryan's hand!"

Ryan frowns at him. "No you're not, that's my wrist." He tries to pull out of Brendon's grip, but Brendon shakes his head.

"I'm holding your hand, Ryan. In front of them." He flails his hand at Jon and Spencer, quite serious.

Jon looks really confused. "Um. Okay?"

"Is this like when you wanted to play act that Beatles song?" Spencer asks, clearly not messing with confusion and going straight into exasperation. "'Cause, seriously, that's annoying."

Brendon bites his lip and finally just blurts out, pointing a finger at the two them, "You guys hold hands! And - and I missed it! Spencer's stealthy!" He says it all in one breath.

Jon pulls at his bangs, mouth scrinched up to the side. "So...you're...not?"

Spencer's beaming.

Ryan finally extracts his hand from Brendon's grasp and says, "Can we just play, please? You don't even wanna hold my hand, anyway, so it's not the same thing at all. And Spencer's not stealthy, you're just unobservant."

The instant glare Spencer gives him makes Jon giggle.

Brendon puts his hands on his hips and juts his chin out at Ryan. "Maybe I do. Want to, I mean. Would you care? Then it'd totally be the same thing."

Ryan blinks. "I." It's the first time Brendon's seen him speechless. "Uh. No?"

"Awesome." He grabs for Ryan's hand and folds their fingers together, his grin bright and full of teeth and glee. Then he promptly looks over his shoulder and sticks his tongue out at Spencer.

Spencer hits his snare, hard. "Okay, music now, please." But he's pink around his cheekbones, and smiling shyly at Jon, who makes a stupid face at him before smiling back.

Brendon catches every second of it. Ryan's right - completely not stealthy at all.

Re: kid!band verse!

[achika-chan.livejournal.com]

hahaha, quick edit there. But how adorable is KidBand!Panic?

Highschool AU

[achika-chan.livejournal.com]

"So you know Brent was totally in love with you, right?" Brendon said, looking at Spencer over their homework.

Spencer rolled his eyes.

"Kinda hard to miss that. But he moved to fucking Indiana, so it's not like it matters."

"I was just saying."

"Whatever."

They both looked up when the library door opened.

"Ryan!" Brendon greeted loudly. The librarian glared at him.

"Hey." Ryan said, sitting across from Spencer. "What time is it?"

"1:30. Also, there's a clock right over your shoulder." Spencer said.

"So, countdown time." Ryan said to Brendon. Brendon laughed and nodded.

"10. 9. 8. 7. 6. 5. 4. 3. 2. 1." They chanted under their breath. Spencer glared at the both of them.

"That's getting really annoying." Spencer muttered. The library door opened again, and in walked a group of boys.

One of the group looks around before catching sight of the three of them. He smiles and waves before being pulled to the back of the library by the really tall boy in the group. Spencer smiles back, blushing a little.

Brendon heaves a dramatic sigh. "That Jon Walker, he's soooooo dreamy."

Ryan nods. "I wonder if he'd go steady with me?"

Spencer glares at them.

"I hate you both. So. Very. Much."

Ryan and Brendon burst out laughing.

"You know you love us. Not as much as you love Jon, though."

"Seriously, Spence. Ask him out. He's crazy about you."

Spencer glanced back at Jon and his friends.

"No. Now stop it. I don't tease you two."

"That is a LIE, Spencer Smith and God will strike you down!" Brendon gasped in mock horror, scooting even further away.

Spencer rolled his eyes and went back to his math problems.

Re: Highschool AU

[trippypeas.livejournal.com]

*flails* sooo cute..Go on Spencer!! He loovvesss you!!

House crossover!

[figletofvenice.livejournal.com]

More a crossover than an AU? But still. (This has been sitting on my harddrive for awhile, trying to convince me to turn it into a real fic? Like Pinocchio! Which sort of hasn't happened yet. Too many other WIPs.)


"I'm obviously not sick," Ryan says, as deadpan as always, even with the annoying hospital gown tied up in the back, a green that only looks good on corpses. He tries to cross his arms over his chest, but the IV gets in the way, and he sighs instead, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, because spasming on the floor is totally normal for you," Spencer quips from the chair in the corner. Ryan raises his eyebrows. "Look, when you do do it, normally intelligible words come out. Usually about Brendon and how much you'd like to cook his liver."

"I only said that once."

"Shut up, both of you," House says from the doorway, waving his cane at them. He turns to Wilson, who's standing beside him. "Aren't there any really painful tests we can do on him? That should quiet him down, right?"

"Um," Wilson says, "I don't think you've done an LP yet."

"Oh, good," House says, already limping away, "someone find Chase, he does what I say whether or not there's a reason for it." Wilson shrugs at Ryan and Spencer before following House down the hall.

"That's my doctor?" Ryan asks, as incredulous as he can sound without vocal expression.

"Yup," Spencer says, picking up a magazine that appears to be for pregnant women. He makes a disgusted face and puts it back down. "Try not to die."


+


Spencer is actually pretty worried. He’s just really, really good at not showing it. Unless, of course, you happen to be Ryan.

“Seriously, Spence, go to the hotel and, like, sleep, or something. I’m not going to die the minute you leave.”

“You might,” Spencer says, shrugging, and makes no move to stand from where he’s curled in a ball on one of the assorted chairs.

“I guess, but probably not,” Ryan says. He’s paler than usual, yes, but so far, there’s been no organ failure, which is usually a good sign. And less coughing up blood.

“I’m fine,” Spencer says. Bob and Gerard had driven Jon and Brendon back to the hotel a few hours ago, but Spencer hadn’t even bothered responding when they’d asked him if he wanted to go. Apparently, he’d thought that the answer was all kinds of obvious.

“Suit yourself,” Ryan says, trying to shrug. He’s actually pretty happen that Spencer’s still here, seeing as hospitals scare the living fuck out of him, and really the only thing keeping him here at all is the, oh, imminent death that will probably happen if he leaves. In Ryan’s experience, nothing good ever happens in hospitals. Well, except Spencer’s birth. He’s pretty happy that Spencer was born.

Glancing over, Spencer’s eyes are closed, so he figures that it’s safe to tell him,

“Y’know, thanks. For, like. Being alive. And staying here with me.”

“Not your best friend for nothing,” Spencer mumbles. Ryan closes his eyes and tries not to feel too touched.


Ta da! The end. Well, not really, but that's all I have. So. :D

Re: House crossover!

[makesomelove.livejournal.com]

SPENCER'S BIRTH OMG THE PRECIOUS

Oh man, I want House to yell at them all so much. *___*

Rihanna/Travis 1950s highschool romeo+juliet-esque AU.......

[dreamofthem.livejournal.com]

....any takers?!

wishpaper, heartequals, and violentfires totally had a hand in this AU. I may or may not be the first to attempt to write in it.


It's not that Rihanna is a pushover, no way. She's totally up for women's rights and feminism and stuff too. She thinks the class system sucks, and she's sick to death of the society parties that her parents throw every season. So when her parents tell her she can't see Travis anymore, that if they catch him near the house again they'll call the cops, it definitely isn't backing down to say, 'okay'.

Explaining this to Travis, via Patrick, in the back of Geometry class, is not so easy.

"Patrick," she whispers, "I just don't want him to get hurt."

She's being sincere. She really means it. Why drag the romance on when she knows it can't really last. She can't marry the guy, after all. Not unless she wants her parents to throw her out.

Patrick scrawls something on the corner of his work.

Rhi, it says, travie thinks his life is over... i think it's a little redundant to talk about people being hurt.

Patrick's the nicest guy - apart from Travis - that Rihanna's ever met, but that doesn't stop him being a blunt little bitch when he's a bit mad at you.

What can she do though. "What can I do?" She whispers, "Patrick, I can't-"

The teacher is glaring across the room and she stops talking. When his back is turned again, she carries on. "-I can't do this, Patrick, I can't. Please, just tell Travis..."

Patrick shakes his head. "Tell him yourself," he says, and gets back to work. End of the conversation, says the back of his head.

Re: Rihanna/Travis 1950s highschool romeo+juliet-esque AU.......

[rawkenr0ll.livejournal.com]

:0


BRILLIANT.

[r1cepudding.livejournal.com]

Earlier on today, in fact, wax_jism and I were knocking around the idea for a story where all of MCR are rejects at a doll factory.

Gerard is a Bratz doll, but they got his mouth wonky and his eyes are too big and his nose is too pointy, and he looks really creepy from certain angles. And also a little like a dude. Also he gives off this weird air of feminist rage that makes the kids uncomfortable.

Mikey is a cowboy doll with his legs on the wrong way round, so he's permanently knock-kneed.

Ray is a troll doll, but for some reason his hair came out curly and instead of sticking straight up in a point it is completely spherical and eats everything in sight.

Frank is an Action Man who inexplicably came out two inches tall, and Bob is a Tiny Tears who can't cry.

They all get dumped in the reject bin, at the bottom of which they form a plan to take over the world. Frank is really tiny but really fierce, and he's always trying to beat up the other dolls who make fun of them, but the regular-size Action Men can just plant one hand on the top of his wee head and he gets stuck there, flailing his tiny fists in mid air.

Gerard goes back to the Bratz section of the factory a lot, and tries to colour in pants and longer skirts and reasonable shirts on the dolls, and leaves tiny copies of The Female Eunuch for them to read. Ray and Bob don't actually believe he's a dude, or that Mikey is his brother.

"You're a cowboy doll," Ray says for the millionth time. "How can you be a bratz doll's brother?"

"I just am," Mikey insists, and it's true that they do seem to know a lot about each other. Mikey also backs Gerard up that when they eventually turn into Real Boys (after...doing a quest or something) he will, in fact, be male. Bob has a hard time believing it, but he likes Gerard and wants to make him happy, so he tries to be encouraging.

Frank really hopes Gerard is going to be a dude, because being crotch-high to all the other Action Men has really left no room for confusion when it comes to Frank's sexuality. He wouldn't mind being crotch-high to Gerard, he thinks. He's also heard rumours that when you become human, you have something more exciting in your pants than a smooth mound that says 'TAIWAN' on it. He's very enthusiastic about this possibility, even though Ray and Bob say it's a myth.

Then, I don't know, Mikey the Knock-Kneed cowboy has an affair with Pete the defective jack-in-the-box who biffs you in the face when you let him out, but they break up when Pete falls in love with Patrick, a music box that's been rejected because it was part of an experimental argyle patterned line that didn't ever really get off the ground.

"He doesn't even have a face!" Mikey cries to Gerard. "How can he love a cube without a face more than me?"

Gerard pats his shoulder soothingly. It's true that Patrick the music box doesn't have a face, but Pete has never seemed happier than when he's snuggled up against his argyle corners, just listening.

Andy is a doll of Animal from the Muppets, rejected because instead of, "BEAT DRUMS!" or "WOMAN!", when you press his tummy he yells, "FUCK THE ESTABLISHMENT!" or "LENTILS RULE!"

Joe is a Mr. Potato Head who *always looks stoned*, no matter what face you put on him.

Then Mikey falls in love with Alicia, a goth barbie who just looked a little *too* edgy, and then they go on a quest of some sort and become human, and live happily ever after.

Gerard totally did turn out to be a dude, Ray discovered product, Bob cried a single tear of happiness upon turning human, Patrick turned out to not only have a face, but an *adorable* face, and Mikey and Gerard were absolutely brothers, no doubt about it. (Mikey was still knock-kneed, and Gerard still took The Female Eunuch with him everywhere).

Frank was still short, by the way, but oh *boy* was he right about the thing in his pants.

(Look, I don't know. I'm ill, humour me. Half of this is wax's fault anyway!)

[calathea.livejournal.com]

*FLAILS WILDLY*

BEST AU EVER!

[kthxrawr.livejournal.com]

x-men au!

When they bring Brendon in, they give him a choice: he accepts the extra security measures the government wants on him, or they give him a shot and send him back home.

They don't expect him to make the choice blindly. He spends a weekend in a hotel room, reading through the papers they've provided. He reads about how 80% of all mutants given the shot live normal lives. [Side effects include, but are not limited to, headaches, nausea, vomiting blood and death.] He reads that with the chip, they can track his location precisely to within half a meter, that it's possible for it to give feedback on its host's current conditions. That with the chip - they will always know where he is. All plans to leave the school grounds must be approved a week in advance, gloves must be worn 24 hours a day.

Brendon thinks of the look on his mother's face when she realised he was a shapeshifter.

He has the chip put in. His parents don't get in contact with him again.

-

When Brendon's 18, they give him another choice. He can stay at the school and help out with looking after the younger kids. He can have a shot and, this time, have his memory wiped too. Or he can go along with what the government want him to do.

He’s far too dangerous unchecked, they say.

He goes with the government and is taught how to become a spy. All he has to do is touch someone - or even just something with the tiniest trace of dna on it - and he can copy their face. With the chip, they always know exactly where he is, so there's no chance of him ever going rogue. It’s the perfect job.

-

His first partner is a guy called Frank Iero. Frank's a few years older, a little shorter and can make things explode.

Brendon likes him already.

[marginaliana]

Oh oh oh oh! I love this! Brendon refusing to be other than who he is, even if that means he's got to make some other compromises. More, someday?

Prostitution AU

[fixmein-45.livejournal.com]

I have a lot more written but it's not finished and I just wanted to post a bit to see what people's reactions would be, so here are some snippets from it.


Patrick doesn’t know a lot about prostitution outside of his own little world. In his world Gabe and William run the busiest couple of blocks in the city. He’s glad he left Chicago behind as he doesn’t have to worry about family or old friends seeing him. In this world he has no family and the only people he could call friends are the others working for Gabe and William.

He remembers the first time he met Gabe. He remembers the words that showed Gabe believed in the business. “Remember,” he had said. “Remember – Prostitution is revolution. You can hate me after you pay me.” The words had rolled seamlessly off Gabe’s tongue and Patrick could hear a faint melody behind them, as if it was a line from some popular song everyone knew. But it wasn’t. Patrick knew all the hits, catching them from radios in diners and cars. Even in this world Patrick is connected to his past life through music.

The first time Patrick stands on a corner, wearing tight enough jeans and some band shirt he threw on in a haste, he has more offers than he expected. He can feel the glares of the other boys and girls on the corners. New meat excites the customers and they all want a taste.

Nobody knows how old Patrick is, except William and Gabe, and he doesn’t offer the information to anyone else. Brendon asks one day, a couple weeks after Patrick’s arrival. Patrick just repeats the question back to Brendon, who immediately answers and begins to ramble on about his recent birthday. Brendon doesn’t realize he never got an answer until he’s retelling the story to Spencer later that night.

A couple days after Patrick moves in Brendon shows up at his door at five in the morning. Patrick knows Brendon just finished his shift and the way his eyes look so forlorn makes Patrick worry something happened to him during the night. Brendon disputes the idea then proceeds to tell Patrick about his love for his roommate, Ryan, and how he had thought Ryan felt the same. He was planning to profess his love that morning, but when he got home he found Ryan in bed with some “horse faced Mexican”.

Patrick is surprised at the harshness he never knew the innocent and naïve Brendon could possess. Brendon says he just can’t go back and could he stay with Patrick for a couple nights? Patrick can’t resist Brendon and relents. A couple nights turn into a couple weeks and eventually Brendon has moved out of the apartment him and Ryan once shared and now lives with Patrick.

Re: Prostitution AU

[kittygrenade.livejournal.com]

I am loving this so far!
Please finish it! ♥

[maleyka.livejournal.com]

Ahahahaha, there will totes be more bandom at Hogwarts! ♥ ♥ But for now, have random, barely started Tudor AU. I don't even know, dude.

***

Night came early on those last October days, and all the candles in the secretary's rooms were lit. They bathed the walls in an unsteady, yellow light, distorting the patterns that had been carefully carved into the wood panelling. For all their efforts they could not reach into the farthest corners, and so the shadows lingered there, like a dusky lining around the golden centre of the room.

Patrick lowered his quill to the desk top, careful not to drip ink onto the finished page, and flexed his aching fingers. Even with the candles he had to squint a little to make out the clean, spidery lines of his handwriting that sprawled across the parchment; another Royal Proclamation reminding the people that His Majesty's hares were, in fact, to be left for His Majesty himself to hunt, if in a few more words. Chances were, Patrick reflected as he rolled his neck and winced at the audible cracking sound, that it would be met with as little regard as the previous three had.

He looked up, startled, when Christopher stepped up and pulled the page toward himself, sprinkling sand over the drying ink with a practiced flick of his wrist.

"Quite fancy for tonight," Patrick observed, when the shiny sleeve of Christopher's doublet brushed his cheek, slippery. "Perhaps you should be at the play rather than here?"

His voice was light, joking, but Christopher merely yanked the parchment up by one corner and blew away last grains of sand, rather harder than Patrick felt this proclamation deserved. "Of course not," Christopher said. "Why would I wish to attend the performance if I can be here instead, attending to you?" He gave Patrick a smile that made him look as though he were sucking on a particularly juicy lemon.

Patrick sighed. His shoulders were sore, and he barely suppressed a groan when he shifted on his hard chair. "The country does not run itself."

Christopher slapped the finished page down on another desk, ready to be signed and sealed. "Yes," he said surly. "I understand it is of grave importance to put an end to poaching in the king's gardens right now. It could not possibly wait until morning."

He glanced at Patrick, and even in the flickering light, Patrick thought he could see his face soften a fraction. "I should light a fire," Christopher said. "The heat will help your back."

Patrick waved him off, even though he could barely move his arms without sharp stabs of pain along his spine. "This court spends too much money on firewood," he said gloomily. "We need to conserve."

"So you would start by freezing yourself to death?" Christopher said, clearly exasperated, waving his hands about. The draft from his overlarge sleeves sent the papers near him fluttering; he looked as though he could spread his arms and fly clear to France. Patrick was no friend of the new fashions, even though he found a certain grim satisfaction in the fact that they made everyone look equally ridiculous, regardless of blood or money.

It was chilly in the chamber. Patrick pulled his cloak tighter around himself. Christopher, who wasn't even wearing one, had to be freezing.

"Very well," he said reluctantly. "I suppose there'll be no harm done if you go to this thing for an hour or two…"

He was interrupted by the sound of trumpets that nearly had him jumping out of his seat with alarm, followed by a distant cry: "The king! Make room for the king!"

Patrick muttered a heartfelt curse as he laboriously rose into a standing position, but it was lost among the stomping of many feet outside. Before he knew it, the doors were pulled open, and the herald's trumpets sounded a last, deafening note.

Ungainly from long sitting, Patrick's knee hit the stone floor somewhat harder than he had intended, and he bit down on the inside of his cheek. "Your Grace," he managed. "What an unexpected delight and honour."

When he looked up, King Peter was surveying the room with a frown. "My God, man," he said, idly tossing an apple from hand to hand. "It's like a cave in here. Light a fire, Master Faller."

[foxxcub.livejournal.com]

\o/ \o/ \o/

THIS FILLS ME WITH GLEE, I SHALL FORGIVE THE WAIT ON HP AU.

Mall Santa AU! [1/2]

[lucentvictrola.livejournal.com]

I was actually talking about this with sweetrecovery a couple nights ago!

Gerard Way, mall staff extraordinaire, normally does the window-painting and artistic ventures at the mall, but this Christmas, Brian, who's the manager of the mall, puts him in charge of the whole Santa thing. Well, more like he flails around, freaking out about the holiday season, and points at a random someone who just happens to be Gerard. He doesn't have time to figure out who'd do the best job, he's too busy managing holiday shit and keeping Gerard's brother, Mikey, from burning down the candle shop he works in and lighting his cashier, Bob, on fire! His life, so hard. So Gerard's put to the task of hiring and building the Claus cottage and things.

Gabe Saporta isn't really the type of guy you'd hire to be a Santa at the mall. He has permanent bedroom eyes and is high a vast majority of the time. But Gerard is insistent on being racially and culturally diverse, and Mikey likes him, so he's in. He shows up to his first day of work in a garishly red hoodie, red pants that somehow clash, and his (boy)friend Bill's sparkly Victoria's Secret Santa hat, and spends the time waiting for the mall to open pulling some of the feyer elves into his lap and asking them what they really want for Christmas. Gerard kind of almost has an aneurysm, because that, combined with the fact that he still has the whole roof of the Claus cottage to paint, is just too much! But Mikey takes Gabe into the bathroom and calms him down somehow. Gerard doesn't really want to know what he did.

The other two Santas he hires are Travis and Pete, who are similarly unsuited to Santa-ing. But they're charismatic, like Gabe, and Mikey especially likes Pete. Gabe and Travis get along really well, and Gerard's cultural diversity mission comes into play. Each Santa has a Mrs. Claus assigned to them. Gabe has Victoria (or Vicky-T, but never Vicky), who is pretty much him without a dick. Her yappy little dog drives Gerard insane, but he manages not to stomp on its head in the interest of keeping his staff.

Travis has Greta, and they're pretty much the sweetest couple ever. Travis is surprisingly nice to the kids, grinning at them and giving him high-fives, and Greta is the sweetest Mrs. Claus to ever exist. She's certainly the favorite of Tom, who comes in to take photos for the local paper. He starts coming to that mall more often, tagging along with his friend Jon, who is an elf. Pete's Mrs. Claus was Alicia, at first, but she kept scaring the children, so she had to go back to working at Hot Topic. Now he has Lyn-Z, who also scares the kids, but Gerard loves her little outfits and feminist standpoint!

There's kind of a ridiculous amount of elves. Most of them only work short shifts, then go back to their usual job. Then there's the regulars, who actually have specific jobs to perform. Ryan and Spencer are the camera elves. Only one of them is actually needed, but the last person who tried to seperate those two was never seen again. Everyone's pretty sure that they ate his soul. So they both sulk behind the camera, occasionally pulling out the bitchface on pushy mothers, and sullenly hold up little reindeer puppets and tell the kid to say 'Santa' or 'candy' or 'surreptitious'.

There's also Andy (but everyone calls him The Butcher, partly because there's another Andy, who works in the vegan foods store, and partly because not many of them actually know his real name), who is the 'bodyguard'. He basically herds everyone into the line and makes sure the moms don't get into catfights. It's pretty much impossible to get him to wear clothes besides short shorts and flipflops, but Gerard manages it. Another regular elf is Patrick, who sings Christmas carols with his guitar, and sometimes Greta, when her shift's over. He's pretty much Pete's favorite person ever; Pete makes special requests and listens happily, and hits on him when his shift is over. Patrick, however, is completely oblivious.

Re: Mall Santa AU! [1/2]

[lucentvictrola.livejournal.com]

Brendon is one of the non-regular elves. He normally works in the Disney store, but when they need him, he comes over to help out. He's kind of the happiest elf ever, always grinning wide and harmonizing along with Patrick. His job is usually to hand out candy canes, but he eats more than he gives to the kids. His pillow lips are constantly stained red. Jon is his favorite co-elf. Jon is just a nice guy, always smelling like lotion and coffee and peppermint, and availiable for the best bear-hugs and snuggling. He works at the Starbucks in the food court, and brings in coffee for everyone on cold mornings. He gets plain coffee for most of the elves, but for Spencer, he always brings a peppermint mocha and a little baby penguin cookie. Spencer kind of has a (not-so-)secret crush on Jon.

Bill is definitely the favorite elf of the Santas. Gabe and Travis are always trying to pull him into their laps. He smacks their hands away and acts all giggly and bashful, but he's certainly not bashful later those nights. He has the perfect legs for the ridiculous elf tights, and towers over almost everyone. And he's extremely girly. When they were looking for a new Mrs. Claus, Bill filled in for a few days, and nobody noticed anything odd, except for the workers.

There's also Bob Morris, who's a childhood friend of Greta. He used to have a sort of one-sided crush on her, which caused lots of angst. He'd agonize about her swooning over that photographer guy, and sulk the day away. But then he goes into the candle shop across from the Claus cottage, and meets Bob Bryar. He looks at his blue eyes, his strong arms, his lip ring, and falls head-over-heels straight away.


I might make a whole fic out of this at some point, but I'm not too inspired plot-wise at the moment.

[elfiepike.livejournal.com]

i have this idea of writing an epic hush sound-centric noir. it will involve the Docks, and a Special Investigation, and maybe patrick will be a detective and gabe will own a speakeasy, but he's not the killer. (possibly i'm using this as an excuse to watch more noir flicks.)



they met at the docks because that's where the body was found. bob was running late, mostly because he couldn't get the taxi driver to take him further than pier 17, but bob couldn't blame him after the hubbub the newspapers had made of the situation. FIVE DEAD AT THE DOCKS, the headlines read.

bob speed-walked the last few steps. he could see a small crowd gathered around the gate to the dry docks. greta's blond hair was like a bright flag in the midst of the rest of the dark uniforms and gray coats.

"mr. morris," she said when she noticed him approaching, "it's good to see you again, although the circumstances could be better."

"that's why i keep telling you to come along on friday nights," bob answered, and nodded to the others present. he recognized detective stump and officer smith, but the others were new to him. "i understand that there's reason to believe this situation has ties to the special investigation?"

"it's mostly that they wrote your name over all the walls inside," greta said. "you'd better check it out."

[lucentvictrola.livejournal.com]

OMGOMGOMG BEST IDEA EVER.

I love this idea! And you have the perfect tone for it.

The City Is at War (The Cobra Starship Fights The Man, aka Music is Outlawed AU)

[marksykins.livejournal.com]

...I don't even know. Um, hi! This is a great idea. :)

--

Nate got up on his tiptoes and peered through the peephole, cracking the door open but leaving it on the chain when he saw who it was.

"Password?"

Travis leaned up against the doorframe and rolled his eyes. "Nate, what the hell? You know it's just me and Bill."

"Password?" Nate repeated in a bored voice.

William propped his chin up on Travis's shoulder. "Gabe Saporta is the most degenerate individual on the planet."

Nate smiled a little but he didn't open the door.

"Fine," William drawled. "Cobra Starship."

At that, Nate closed the door, sliding the chain out of place to let Travis and William inside.

"So still the end of the world?" Travis asked, looping his arm around William's waist.

"And we're throwing the party," Nate said and winked. He locked the door again and waited for the next arrivals.

--

Downstairs the party was in full swing, bassline pumping, music to William's ears. It had been about five years since The Takeover, people living in fear of the government's ban on anything that might be considered fun. William remembered movies, remembered singing in sweaty little clubs that were underground in name only, his band finally getting some recognition right before the end.

Gabe was one of the first casualties of the scene. When Midtown had refused to comply with the governmental decrees, still playing shows in supposedly condemned buildings but really abandoned venues, the police wanted to arrest all of them but Gabe took all of the blame onto himself. William had only been seventeen then, but of course the news made its way to Chicago. It was Gabe Midtown, arrested and gone.

It felt like the final nail in music's coffin.

Only Gabe had escaped. No one knew how he did it; he never talked about it, only the mission. He'd gathered up the first musicians that seemed willing, called them his band of brothers (and one fine little sister), and now their word was spreading. People from the old scene heard first, word spreading from person to person, underground party to underground party. William found himself crammed in the backseat of vans, subjecting himself to full inspection at every state line and praying that his forged paperwork would keep just one more time. If any of them were caught they'd be dead, but honestly William thought it was worth it. The Takeover had killed them all a little already.

When the party was in full swing, sweaty bodies packed together from wall-to-wall, new faces and old dancing to songs that had before faded to dim memories mixed with shockingly new and original material, Gabe leapt on stage and quieted the crowd. The prisons hadn't left him unmarked, a jagged scar down one cheek and possibly more hidden under his hat and hoodie, but his sheer determination every time he did this gave William hope that his only scars were physical.

"I had a dream," Gabe said, a playful grin stretched across his face, "where a cobra from the future visited me and told me that it was our duty to take the music back. To take it all back, consequences be damned, and dance until the end of the world. So who's with me?"

Pete Wentz -- And God, William didn't know how he'd survived all of these years without being dragged in, he'd probably been hiding in his bandmates' basements -- yelled from the back, "Less talk, more action, Saporta!"

"I'll give you action," Gabe said and grabbed his crotch.

A ripple of laughter moved through the crowd, and it was like the last five years were melting away.

"Fangs up, bitches!" Gabe yelled.

They could do this. William put up his hands, looked at Gabe and the people pressed all around him, and believed.

Re: The City Is at War (The Cobra Starship Fights The Man, aka Music is Outlawed AU)

[jezrana.livejournal.com]

:D :D :D! Yes plz.

It's all Grey's Anatomy's fault, pt 1

[walking-paradox.livejournal.com]

Okay, so this idea was born from my love for white coats and the talks with anatomy assistants about hospital romances (which I've found out are very frequent XD) and maybe a little coffee overdose. And the need to write something for the first time in about 3 years, so yeah, be gentle ^___^



“I really, really hate these things,” Frank speaks into the kiss as he struggles with the small white buttons of the white coat. “Next time, don’t wear anything at all, okay?” Frank says as he gives up on the buttons and starts biting the curve of Gerard’s jaw line, his hands wandering over Gerard’s chest, the material feeling rough under his fingertips.

“I don’t think running around naked in the operating room would be considered proper hospital etiquette,” Gerard half moans the last part as Frank bites the skin right above his left collar bone. “I don’t think the patients would appreciate that.”

Gerard grabs the front of Frank’s blue scrub, his hands twisting in the material, and in a swift motion has Frank pinned to the wall. Frank smirks as he pushes a leg between Gerard’s legs, “Kinda in a hurry today, aren’t we?”

“Gotta be in the OR in 25 minutes,” Gerard says and catches his lips; the kiss is rough and wet and Frank arches his back, trying to get as much contact with Gerard’s body as he can. He kisses back just as rough, running one hand through Gerard’s hair while the other continues its struggle with those goddamn white buttons that seem to be against him today.

Gerard laughs, it’s a breathless laugh almost muted by squished lips, as Frank lets out an exasperated sigh when the fourth button down decides it will not be opening ever.

“For a surgeon resident, you lack vast quantities of patience,” his hands travel from Frank’s chest to lift up the front of Frank’s scrub, hands running over the skin of his abdomen and moving towards the lower back and Frank thinks that even the little patience he maybe had left is slowly dieing right there under Gerard’s fingertips.

“And you’re a fucking tease with really bad white coats.”

The coat thing may not be the truth as Frank thinks that Gerard with his white crisp coat and his probably painted-on jeans and his ID tag hanging from the front pocket of said jeans is probably the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

Nails dig deep into Frank’s lower back as Frank slowly rubs between Gerard’s legs, making his moan deep in his throat and Frank thinks that he is going to die from pleasure right then and there, that single sound coupled with Gerard’s skin on his own almost enough to send him over the edge.

Both men suddenly jump as a beeping noise fills the room. Frank groans and lets his head bang on the wall behind him. Sometimes, he thinks that God does not want him to get laid. Or maybe the hospital chief ever since he ran in on him and Gerard in the supply closet that one time. The memory of Brain almost having an aneurysm and then giving them the keep-your-sex-life-safe talk almost makes him forget the annoyance of hell’s pagers.

Re: It's all Grey's Anatomy's fault, pt 2

[walking-paradox.livejournal.com]

“Fuck,” Gerard mutters as he pulls his pager out of his pocket, staring at the small screen. “It’s Mrs. Parsons,” he says and looks up. “Dr. Toro is operating on her now. Endometrioid cyst, didn’t even twitch under the anti-inflammatory drugs, and Mrs. Parsons has been driving us crazy so we gotta get this thing over already,” he sighs and pouts, an action that makes Frank want to kiss him so bad which he does in the end. He was never the one to not follow impulses, in and out of the operating room.

“So you’re leaving me,” Frank runs his lips lightly over Gerard’s, “for an ovary, are you?” He bites lightly at the corner of Gerard’s mouth where he can still taste the cigarettes from that morning, along with subtle hints of Gerard’s aftershave.

“No,” Gerard’s voice is low, as he presses closer to Frank, “I’m leaving you for a chance to assist a laparoscopic surgery first hand,” he grins as Frank rolls his eyes in mock annoyance.

“But Toro is always a little late, so,” Gerard grins as he lets his hands travel down Frank’s sides to rest on his hips, fingers lightly stroking the skin visible over the waistband of the blue hospital pants, “we’ve still got about 10 more minutes left.”

Frank doesn’t even bother with a verbal answer as he crashes their lips together, his hands already in Gerard’s hair pulling lightly, his tongue teasing the inside of Gerard’s mouth.

Suddenly another beep sounds in the quiet of the room.

“Fucking pagers!” Frank yells as he digs into his pocket and pulls out his own pager, his Misfits keychain dangling from it. Gerard lets out a melodramatic sigh and lets his head fall on Frank’s shoulder. “It’s Ellis, the pulmonary fibrosis in room 308. I told them to page me if his coughing or fever got worse,” Frank says and Gerard makes an indistinct sound.

“Why did I chose this job again?” his voice is muffled by Frank’s shoulder.

“So you can have hot quick sex with me in the surgeons’ room, that’s why,” Frank says and Gerard lets out a tired laugh, his hair brushing softly over Frank’s cheek with the small movement. “And because you can stare at my ass looking hot in these sexy, sexy scrubs all day.”

Gerard lifts his head up and kisses Frank lightly on the lips. “Yeah, you do have a point.”

“I always do. So, how ‘bout we continue from where we left off tonight? You, me, pagers drowning in the toilet?”

“That sounds like heaven right now. Throw in some take-away and a hot shower and it’s a deal.”

“Only if we can fool around in the shower.”

“Mmm, deal!”

Frank grins and leans in for a kiss but stops when both pagers start screaming at the same time.

“Okay, I get it, no sex in the hospital rooms!” Frank throws his hands up in surrender as Gerard steps back, pager already in his hands. He turns off the thing and looks up at Frank; his cheeks still pink from before and his lips full and Frank smiles.

“Coming, Dr. Way?”

Gerard smiles back as he opens the door, arranging the collar of his coat before he gestures toward the hallway. “After you, Dr. Iero.”

The O.C AU, Brendon/Ryan

[rock-my-town.livejournal.com]

This is my first time participating in a Meme! So I wrote more than expected...enjoy! (http://slowlike-decay.livejournal.com/1513.html#cutid1)

"America's Next Top Model" AU.

[sweetrecovery.livejournal.com]

I co-wrote it with notthegnomes and it got too long for a comment, so I posted it here (http://rivelare.livejournal.com/12187.html) at my writing journal. \o/ (It's very cracky, by the way.)

(1/2)

[flash-indie.livejournal.com]

So, I've got this whole au idea that I haven't even actually started writing yet. Like, seriously.


So, so, so, here’s the thing. Patrick works in this seedy little music shop and really, it’s sorta bad, the area and all, but the job is something he loves. Filing, categorising music and he can play whatever he wants all day long and he loves to people watch - loves to see who likes what, if the oldies ever conform to stereotypes and actually buy jazz and classical or if (and he’s seen this too fucking much) go for Sex Pistols and the Clash and even some of the newer stuff, Green Day and the Horrors and the Arctic Monkeys. He likes doing that, likes seeing the littler people come in, the older, the families, the students.

He lives in the apartment above the shop with Gabe Saporta! And Gabe doesn’t actually work there all the time (sometimes he helps out) - he’s actually like, one of those guys that goes to elementary schools with weird animals. Snakes and insects and lizards and stuff. He’s a bit of a freak, but is surprisingly awesome.

Gabe and Patrick can’t actually remember how they met, but Patrick thinks it was a one night stand that turned into Gabe never leaving. Whatever. They’re not an item or anything, but they fuck sometimes when Patrick’s right hand gets boring.

So one day at the store, this guy comes in, and he’s sorta short and dirty and he’s bizarrely hot, like, all dark skin and darker eyes and Patrick’s sorta like hey, hey. He wants to see what the guy buys.

Only not, because the guy brings the new Spice Girls album up to the counter, and he grins at Patrick (and dude, why the fuck isn’t he embarrassed?). Patrick makes a comment, and the guy just replies with a sorta, “I save all my classy taste for my reading list.” and he’s off, and huh, okay.

But the guy, Pete, he comes in again, and again and they talk some more and Patrick doesn’t really get into other people too often, finds it hard to connect, but there’s something there, and he’s not sure what it is yet. Not sure if he likes it.

Thing is, thing is, Pete, he’s coming in for a reason and Patrick goes up to the apartment one night to Pete and Gabe fucking on the couch and right. Right.

So hey, drama, coz it turns out Gabe loves Pete but he loves fucking him more and it isn’t so much about the former as it is about the latter and Pete’s just…Patrick’s not sure, but he doesn’t think that they’re on the same page, Gabe and Pete. Thinks that Pete’s wanting something more and Gabe is still off fucking other people and that isn’t fair and it isn’t fun and Gabe’s not an asshole, but sometimes Pete comes over and Patrick doesn’t want to let him in, because they can both hear Gabe and some guy, chick, whatever, can hear their moans from the other room.

When this happens though, Pete just smiles this tight thing and comes in anyway, falls onto the sofa and plays play station with Patrick until Gabe comes out, staggering in the afterglow and waves at them both before grabbing a bottle of booze from the fridge before going back in for another round.

(2/2)

[flash-indie.livejournal.com]

It happens too often and the thing is, the thing is, Patrick is maybe falling half in love with Pete, with the smiles and the eyes, with the voice and the stupid everything that tumbles together in a way that makes Pete sorta an asshole and sorta the most amazing person Patrick’s ever met.

And one day, one day, Gabe’s screwing one of his regulars and Patrick hears Pete twist the handle and ends up dragging them both out, taking them for coffee and Pete doesn’t know what’s happening but goes along with it anyway.

They’re out for hours and Patrick hadn’t realised how little Pete actually talked about himself, how much Pete talks just about shit instead, which is a shame, coz Pete, he’s interesting, fascinating. A few credits off a poli-sci major and a few books away from reading everything ever written ever and he works in a book shop with his ex-boyfriend and he’s sorta in love with Gabe but the thing is, the thing is he’s sorta still in love with his ex-boyfriend too, and this girl he used to date, Jeanae and this other girl too, Ashlee and also sorta Patrick.

He says this.

And right, Patrick thinks, cool. “My place or yours?” and Pete laughs, but it’s hesitant and it cracks in the middle and they go to Pete’s and they fuck and the next morning, they’re both still there and Pete, he says, he says that he’s not used to that - is sorta used to waking up afterwards on his own, and Patrick’s not sure what to say, but he tries to smile and tries to hold Pete’s hand and Pete’s all mind-blowing smile that doesn’t so much make Patrickwant to fuck him as much as it makes him want to make love to him and Jesus Christ , Patrick thinks, he’s not a fourteen year-old girl.



There’s probably more to it than this, but that’s all I’ve got at the moment. ^^

frank/gerard, gabe owns a whorehouse in nevada!

[supergrover24.livejournal.com]

(Way back in May or so I started this with frek. We have an outline and everything! This is the only part of it written, haha. Background, Mikey and Frank left Jersey, wound up as two of Gabe's boys. But Gerard always had a thing for underage Frank. And I really just wanted to write a blowjob at work one day. *shrugs*)

Gerard lets Frank walk into the room, watches him shut the door, locking it with a loud click as he leans against it. They stare at each other for several seconds and Gerard knows they’ve been moving toward this moment every since Mikey brought Frank home after school five years ago.

“Five years is a long time to wait, huh?” Frank asks with a smile. Gerard can only nod in response and then Frank steps away from the door to stand directly in front of him. “Gee,” he whispers.

There’s no way Gerard can resist Frank, not when he’s right here, eyeliner smudged, lips still swollen slightly from their encounter in the hallway. Frank worries his ring with his tongue, a gesture so familiar to Gerard, featuring in his fantasies since Frankie’s seventeenth birthday, when he got pierced. Gerard had told him it was stupid when he first saw it, but it was only twenty minutes later that he’d escaped to the basement to jerk off, imagining how cold the steel of the ring would feel on his dick compared with the hot wet slide of Frank’s mouth.

Gerard wants to feel that now, wonders if he’d even have to ask. He leans forward, eyes open, meeting Frank’s gaze as he reaches up to touch the ring with the tip of his finger. Frank’s mouth opens slightly, a rush of breath ghosting over Gerard’s hand, and he tugs gently, smirking at the moan Frank fails to prevent from sounding.

“I’ve wanted to do that since you got that thing,” he says as he steps back.

“Yeah?” Frank smiles. “I thought it was ‘the stupidest thing’ I could’ve done and that it ‘made me look like some deformed elf.’”

“I lied.” Gerard pushes Frank’s bangs back off his face. “I jerked off picturing your mouth around me, that fucking ring pressing into my cock as you sucked me.”

Frank moans, loudly this time. “Was that where you went so quickly that day?”

“Yeah. Twice, actually.” Gerard’s laugh turns into a groan when Frank drops gracefully to his knees, peering up at him coyly through his lashes.

“God, Gee.” Frank reaches for Gerard’s buckle, pulling impatiently to unhook it, ends dangling while he wrenches open the button at Gerard’s waist. “God,” he repeats. “I’ve wanted to do this since that first day I met you.”

Before Gerard even registers what’s going on, Frank has him unzipped and is dragging the waistband of his boxers down just enough so his cock—and when did he get so hard--springs free, slapping once against his stomach before Frank wraps his right hand the base. Fuck, Gerard throws his head back and Frank’s mouth slides down and his hand moves away, and shit, Gerard shivers at the feeling of Frank's nose tickling his skin.

Gerard has a momentary flash of Frank at seventeen trying to do this, choking when he fails, and as much as Frank’s current life breaks his heart, Gerard can admit that it's better it happens like this.

Frank digs the nails of his left hand into Gerard’s hips, causing him to lower his head, a whispered Christ escaping when he meets Frank’s heated gaze.

Frank’s tongue flutters out, licking obscenely for a few seconds, and then Gerard feels the ball of the lip ring pressing into his sensitive flesh. Gerard whimpers, causing Frank to smile around his prick before he presses his lips tight and slides slowly up to the tip and back down again.

It’s nothing like Gerard’s imagined. It’s so much more and he doesn’t resist the urge to grab Frank by his hair, pulling him back and off his dick with a wet smacking sound. There’s a trail of spit and precome attached to the head of his cock leading back to Frank’s mouth, and Gerard swipes through it with his finger, watching Frank’s reaction when he brings it to his mouth to lick off.

Re: frank/gerard, gabe owns a whorehouse in nevada!

[marksykins.livejournal.com]

gabe owns a whorehouse in nevada!

Wait, this isn't canon? :D

[jezzabe.livejournal.com]

I know that there's a lot of wizard of oz AU going around since Ryan's comment, but i started this before he made his comment! And this is as far as i've got, so i kind of want to see what people think, and if i should just dump it or not.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rain was pounding against the window, rhythmic drops drowning out the sound of Dorothy singing about the rainbow on television. Ryan was curled up on his worn old sofa with his blanket pulled up around his ears and head on Pete’s shoulder. Pete was chewing on a fingernail absently and staring out the window as lightning danced across the sky, illuminating the city.

A crack of thunder followed, and even though Ryan had been expecting it, he let out an undignified squeak. He couldn’t help it, he really hated thunderstorms. Which was why Pete was staying over. He was the easiest person Ryan knew to manipulate – all it took were puppy eyes and a promise of pizza and vodka.

“Why are you scared of thunderstorms?” Pete asked suddenly. Ryan gave him a vicious jab in the stomach with his elbow. Sometimes being really pointy was a good thing.

“What do you have insomnia?” Ryan countered over Pete’s oof of exhaled air, playing with the empty shot glass he held.

“I hate you,” Pete grumbled, his actions providing direct contrast to his words as he pulled Ryan closer, resting his chin on top of Ryan’s head.

“It’s mutual,” Ryan murmured, drifting off to sleep after a particularly loud crack of thunder, his feet propped up on his sticky coffee table next to the empty vodka bottle.

~

Ryan woke up, freezing cold, with someone’s bony knees sticking into his back. He didn’t bother opening his eyes, because he knew without looking that Pete would have stolen all of the blankets and shifted so he was comfortable, without bothering to make sure none of his anatomy was jabbing into Ryan.

Sometimes Ryan really hated Pete. He went back to sleep though, planning on killing Pete next time he woke up, after his coffee. Ryan really liked coffee.

~

“Ryan!” Pete was shaking his shoulder, panic clear in his voice, and Ryan decided he might kill him before his coffee. Then he opened his eyes and sat bolt upright.

“What the fuck did you do, Pete?” Ryan demanded, in what he thought was a reasonable tone of voice. For some reason, he was sitting on a park bench in the middle of a patch of green grass. The sky was light gray, because it was – Ryan checked his watch – three in the morning. Huh. Something was wrong here.

Not least because apparently the bench was occupied, and Ryan was sitting on a dead person. He squeaked and jumped off the bench, clutching at Pete in horror. The person must have been homeless, because he had an odd stench. He was white, like, corpse white, and dressed completely in black. The black was a good look, because it matched his stringy black hair.

Ryan really wanted his shoes, though. They were checked vans, covered with glittery red roses, and Ryan was sure they’d fit him. Stealing shoes from a dead person seemed kind of wrong, though, and Ryan did have some morals.

“What do you mean, what did I do? Why do you always assume that it’s my fault?” Pete snapped. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he was staring at the body with horror across his face.

“Because most of the time it is your fault, Pete,” Ryan explained, feeling the dull throb of a headache behind his eyes. He was too hungover for this.

“Okay. I’ll accept that,” Pete nodded. “Oh, look! There’s a public toilet! I’m going to go check it out!” Pete bounced off, leaving Ryan alone with his hangover and the dead body.

He hated his life.

PART THE SECOND!!

[jezzabe.livejournal.com]

~

“Are you okay?” a voice asked jolting Ryan out of his daydream where he was hungover in his apartment and there were no dead bodies to be seen.

In reality, he was sitting on his ass on the wet grass, staring at a dead body that he had woken up on top of, and being talked to by a giant man wearing fairy wings, a tutu and ballet flats with a lip ring and sandy stubble. If he was sure this wasn’t a dream, Ryan would be freaking out a hell of a lot more.

“I’m not sure,” Ryan answered, staring at the body on the bench as if it could answer all of his questions. “I went to sleep last night in my apartment in Chicago, and I woke up here, on top of that dead body, and now I’m talking to a man dressed as a fairy!” Ryan was sure he had started speaking in a reasonable tone, but somewhere along the way he had begun shouting.

“Oh, don’t worry about Gerard. He likes to pretend to be dead. He’s done it to all of us at one stage or another. We usually steal his shoes to teach him a lesson,” the guy grinned, sitting down next to Ryan. “Wow, this grass is wet, isn’t it?”

Ryan stared at him in shock as his brain processed what he had just been told.

“Wait a minute, he does this all the time?” he asked, voice straining a little.

“Um, yes? By the way, I’m Bob,” the guy stuck out a large, freckled hand, and Ryan shook it numbly.

“Ryan. Are you really called Bob? Because I honestly haven’t met anyone truly called Bob before,” Ryan frowned as he thought about it. “Nope. No-one.”

Bob smiled. “Yeah, it really is my name.”

“Also, why are you dressed as a fairy?” Ryan wished he could stop talking, but somehow his mouth was running without listening to the commands from his brain, and he really wished it would stop doing that.

“Oh,” Bob glanced down at himself and smoothed down his tutu self-consciously. “We were at a costume party.” He gestured over his shoulder where three skeletons, four brides, seven zombies and one flower were watching them curiously.

“Oh,” Ryan muttered. That made sense. It wasn’t like he expected Bob to wander around dressed like a fairy all of the time, although that would be totally bohemian and awesome, and Ryan would be into that. Possibly.

“Is Gee pretending to be dead again?” one of the brides yelled as he absently twirled his bouquet. “Hurry up and steal his shoes already, Glinda. It’s cold, and we’re leaving!” Ryan raised an eyebrow. Glinda, hey? Bob gave the group the thumbs up and turned his attention back to Ryan.

“Seriously Ryan, steal his shoes. I can see you eyeing them off. He kind of expects it. And if he will play dead, then it’s the least he should expect.” Bob motioned to Gerards feet encouragingly, and Ryan switched their shoes before he let himself think about it any further.

They were nice and warm, and they fit so comfortably it was as if they were made for him. He didn’t let himself stare at the holes in the heels of Gerards socks while he was swapping shoes. They seemed like a very private thing.

After he admired his new, glittery shoes for a few minutes, he suddenly remembered that all he wanted was to go home. Oh, and a bacon roll. But going home would be good, too.

“Hey, Glinda,” Ryan said, lifting his head to notice Bob was still sitting on the grass.

“Yes?” Bob asked. The light was gleaming off the glitter on his wings, and Ryan realised how much he did look like a fairy, even if he did have stubble and hairy feet.

“How do I get home?” And Ryan couldn’t help how plaintive his voice sounded.

“The Wizard will be able to help you,” Bob replied after a minute of hard thinking. “He knows everything there is to know about fulfilling our wishes. To get to him, you must follow the hardtop road.”

“Hey, Glinda! C’mon! I’m freezing my stamen off!” the flower called, and Bob smiled.

“I have to go now, Ryan. But if you ever get in trouble, know that I’m watching you.”

“That’s just creepy. On so many different levels,” Ryan muttered as he watched Bob skip off across the road.

[cidercupcakes.livejournal.com]

1950s high school AU, featuring Greta Salpeter, Vicky-T, and Patti Scialfa.



Greta knew that Vicky and Patti were Bad News. Everybody at Ashdown High knew that. Everybody in Ashdown knew that.

The tops of their stockings didn't show -- they would never be that blatant -- but the promise of them was more real. Greta had seen them, once, taping their skirts up in the bathroom before the bell. A cigarette had hung from Vicky's lips, looking like it would fall out any second, and she'd passed it to Patti as she frowned over her skirt, looking like any other girl would look as she puzzled over a particularly tricky stitch in Home Ec. Patti took it, and gave Greta a smile, and it wasn't scary at all, which was what shocked her most. It was sweet and warm, like springtime.

And they still held their heads high, and only smiled when people whispered, if they even noticed. Most of the time they didn't; most of the time they were just acting like everyone else did, except with their skirts shorter and the smell of sin a winter scarf, clinging to them and trailing after. Greta couldn't understand it. She prided herself on understanding things, even silently, but she didn't understand it.

[drunktuesdays.livejournal.com]

oh man, i want to read so much more of this!

a snippet from the boychoir au! (Brendon/Ryan-ish)

[lexicon.livejournal.com]

Oh my god I love this meme, it's seriously the best thing EVER. Set in my boychoir universe where Brendon went to the American Boychoir School (http://www.americanboychoir.org/movie.html) as a kid, and goes to Westminster Choir College, and Ryan goes to Princeton University (Spencer goes to Columbia University, and Jon Walker goes to NYU and works at the 24-hour Starbucks in Union Square, in case you're curious).

--

Ryan could not believe that Brendon had talked him into going to some Christmas concert filled with crazy church music that he wouldn't even understand.

(Okay, so that was somewhat of a lie. Ryan totally went to Catholic school and had sat through more than one mass in Latin. He could still remember the original Latin for the Hail Mary, he just didn't like admitting it.)

It wasn't like they knew each other all that well; they met not even two months ago, and yeah, they hung out a bunch of times since - Ryan always made sure to invite Brendon whenever his Eating Club was having a party, and Brendon tended to wait for Ryan when Ryan's class on the Westminster campus was done. They'd even inadvertently ended up meeting at Hoagie Haven for a late-night snack when pulling an all-nighter, Brendon for Music Lit, and Ryan for Chemistry.

But when Brendon told Ryan about the concert, and the fact that he had scored a solo, Ryan hadn't been able to say no to such happy earnestness when he asked Ryan to go.

("I mean, you totally don't have to go or anything, but I've got these tickets, right? And it's at the Princeton Chapel, so it's not like you have to go far."

"Brendon--"

"And yeah, I'm sure that choir music isn't really your thing, and most of the people there will be, like, parents and stuff, but my parents couldn't come out here, not with me going home for the holidays next week anyway."

"Brendon--"

"I know, I know. It was pretty stupid of me to ask, I mean, you've got finals coming up, and I'm sure you've got to study a lot and have better things to do than go to some dumb choir concert. Forget I even--"

"Brendon! I'll go. Jeez, let a guy get a word in edgewise.")

The chapel was a lot more packed than Ryan had expected, if he was honest with himself. Because really, how many people would want to see a bunch of choir dorks? It was some little tiny school that he had never even heard of before he started at Princeton.

Slipping in to one of the last seats in the back of the room, Ryan got there just as the pipe organ started, and a couple hundred people dressed in garishly bright red choir robes filed into the room. And yeah, it wasn't that bad, they were actually way better than Ryan had thought they were going to be. Each choir sang some songs on their own, or the whole school sang together, and it was. Nice. Despite the readings and the fact that he wasn't the least bit religious, it felt...nice. He couldn't really describe it, but it was something like the first time he listened to blink-182 and felt like he could connect to this music, like it meant something to him; like it could save him.

That was when he saw a figure detach from the mass of red, one that he could recognize, despite the lack of dorky red frames covering part of his face, hair styled beyond a casual brushing aside of overlong bangs. And when Brendon opened his mouth and started to sing, Ryan could only stare.

Ryan knew, on some level, that Brendon could sing. He must know how to sing, since he was a vocal performance major, but there was something different than hearing him belt out random lyrics to Top 40 songs, or singing Disney songs totally unironically. This was-- well, Ryan wasn't exactly sure what it was, but it was good. Really good.

The urge to clap was hard to ignore when Brendon stepped back into his spot with the rest of his choir, but he couldn't, not with the song still going on. But once the last note finished echoing off the high ceiling of the chapel, he stood and applauded, clapping harder than he had probably ever done before. And he knew he didn't imagine seeing the smile on Brendon's face at that, it was plain to see even from the back of the room. And yeah, the whole church music thing wasn't his scene, but he didn't regret coming out, not even a little bit.

Re: a snippet from the boychoir au! (Brendon/Ryan-ish)

[keeplistening.livejournal.com]

MOAR, Lexie! *cough* I mean, please? *bats eyelashes*

Patrick/Joe [1/3]

[drunktuesdays.livejournal.com]

I meant to write this for reel_band, once upon a time, but it ended up being more fun to talk about with cool_rain_kiss then to actually write. Kat looked it over, but it's still generally off the cuff!


There's a shop at the end of the alley Joe had turned down. He can see a dim light emanating from the sign poking out from the brick wall, so he's assuming it's a shop anyways. Curiosity totally overtakes him, and he gets closer.

"Andy's Shop" the sign says. Descriptive. The bell rings when he enters, and at first he thinks no one's there, but his eyes adjust to the sparse light, and he sees a kid, probably no older than him, sitting on a stool behind the counter. "Hey," he says, but the kid doesn't even blink, probably because of the giant headphones on his ears. Seriously, they're like DJ headphones. Joe wants to ask him what he's listening to, but he's too busy being scared out of his fucking pants by the guy who pops out from under the counter.

"He's not for sale," the little hairy guy says, blinking at him from behind thick glasses.

"Yeah. He's a person, so. Figured," Joe says, once his heart slows down.

The little guy sticks his hand out to shake, and Joe barely has time to note the varied tattoos on his arm before he's getting his hand pulverized by the dude's insane grip. "I'm Andy. Can I help you with something?" the guy asks once he releases Joe's hand.

"Joe. And no, I was just avoiding..." he waves vaguely behind him and then gets distracted by the guy on the stool again. "Are you, hey, is that Neurosis?" Joe asks, straining to listen to the music seeping out of the ridiculous headphones.

Andy appraises him at that, even if the other guy shows no notice of hearing him. "He likes you," Andy states, and Joe really has no comment for that, so he stays silent, maybe inches back towards the door a little. Andy continues, taking no notice. "Patrick's not for sale, but you may take him, Joe. There are rules though."

"Rules," Joe says, for lack of really any appropriate response.

Andy nods and says solemnly, "You must never, ever let his head be uncovered. Not even for a second."

"Oh," Joe says. Because, uhm. "Okay then." Patrick stands, neatly folds his headphone cord into the drawer behind him, and moves to stand next to Joe. And what is Joe going to do? Leave him behind to stay in this freaky sex slavery shop? That seems unreasonable.

So he takes Patrick home. And, like, once they get out of the alley, Patrick talks. And Joe likes the words that come out of Patrick's mouth! He knows a lot about music for a dude who was a freaky sex slave or whatever. He's still kind of confused about that, but that's the one thing Patrick won't talk about. Like, he'll lecture for hours about the proper upkeep of a guitar case, but one question about The Shop (as Joe calls it in his mind), and Patrick just blinks and looks at him. So he lets it drop.

Patrick lives in his bedroom, on the futon mostly. He tells his mom Patrick got kicked out of his house, and she fawns over him, sometimes pinching his cheeks. Joe really doesn't know what to say about that, but he's grateful not to have to hide him, because he's not very sneaky. He introduces Patrick to Pete one day, and Pete goes nuts about the outfits Joe's mom puts him in. But whatever, Pete appreciates Patrick's little musical geniusness, and comes over more in the afternoons. Joe's mom likes Pete too, tells him he's too skinny. It's actually his favorite part, because Pete tells her it's cause his mom is too busy to make him anything. And then they all get sandwiches, and that is so very okay with Joe.

Patrick/Joe [2/3]

[drunktuesdays.livejournal.com]

So Joe's pretty happy! And he's even happier one day, listening to Patrick sing the theme song to Gilligan's Island while he does his homework. And then something freaking amazing happens. Patrick leans over and kisses Joe. And it's Joe's first kiss, his first real one that was all voluntary and not a truth-or-dare kind of thing. And dude, its good. It's really good. Patrick is soft and warm beneath his hands, and oh man, Joe has died and gone to heaven, because now Patrick is fumbling at his belt.

And in his excitement, he spazzes a little and his arm flies up over Patrick's neck and promptly knocks Patrick's hat off. Patrick completely stills, and stares, dead quiet. Joe says "Patrick? Patrick?" and Patrick eventually says "We're in trouble now."

Joe blinks, and says, "What does that mean? Patrick, who's in trouble?" and somehow in the space of that blink, there is another Patrick sitting on the bed.

The Patrick closest to him quietly reaches down and puts his hat on. The other Patrick smirks and says, "Too late."

Joe blinks. Nothing happens.

Joe blinks more. Because if he can keep blinking, everything will go back to normal, and he can go back to the business of getting laid.

He keeps blinking. Nothing changes.

"Um," Joe says. "So I'm going to go call Pete. Just. Stay right here, okay? Patrick...s. Stay."

And so he goes downstairs, and dodges his mother, and finds the phone, and calls Pete. There's really no way to explain this, so he just says "Emergency, dude."

Pete says, "Did you find a pubic hair? Cause I told you, the change is a very special time in a boy's life." Joe hangs up on him, and sprints back upstairs.

He flies in the room, babbling about how Pete will fix everything, and everyone should just stay calm. But Patrick, his Patrick, is the only one in the room and he's rocking back and forth on the bed, with his knees against his chest. Joe looks at the open window and simply says, "fuck." Patrick whimpers.

When Pete finally pulls up, Joe spills. About everything, the shop, Neurosis, the rules, the evil twin. Pete doesn't believe him. Why would he though? Because, really, that would only simplify things. And clearly, the universe is not in on simple. Or handjobs, apparently. No, the universe is all for evil clones, and nonbelievers. Pete says "Why don't you go back to the dude you bought him from?"

"I didn't buy him," Joe says. "Quit saying that."

"Whatever. That dude will know what to do, right?" Pete says. He kneels down next to Patrick and says "Patrick, buddy. Whatever happened, we'll fix it. Whatever you and Joe saw, there's an explanation, okay?"

Patrick just nods, which is more than he's done since the Kiss, so. It's a little cheering. So they set off in Pete's car. It takes Joe twenty minutes to find the store. There are a million back alleys, and Patrick's pretty much useless. He's doing the blinking and staring thing again, which, you know. Helpful. Pete's getting irritated, and Joe's on the verge of snapping when he finally sees the dusty storefront. The bell tinkles when he steps in, and Andy pops up from under the counter, but this time Joe's totally expecting it. He allows a moment of amusement at Pete's yelp though.

"No returns!" Andy says gleefully when he sees Joe.

"Dude," Pete says. "We're not returning."

Joe says, "It's just... the hat thing. What was that again?"

The smile leaves Andy's face. "Tell me you didn't take off his hat."

"Okay. I could tell you that. Or I could tell you that it came off for like a minute, tops. Maybe two," Joe says.

"Where is he?" Andy asks tightly.

"In the car," Joe says. "You can't have him back for whatever human slavery thing you have going."

"Fuck you, I'm not a slave trader," Andy says. "Patrick's not... Whatever, this is your fuck up, dude!"

"You can help us, or you could yell at us," Joe says. "Which one would solve our problems faster?"

Andy sighs a little, but eventually goes to a big closet and picks out a duffel bag filled with weapons. "Normally I'm non-violent, but this is not normal times," he tells a wide-eyed Pete.

The start of my smoothieverse

[restless-jedi.livejournal.com]

When his roommate grabbed his hand and started dragging Mikey out the door, hardly letting him grab a coat, Mikey’s first thought was “What this time?”

He’d known Frank since he started college, even though Frank was a year younger; Frank had been taking Sociology post-secondary, and Mikey had somehow ended up in the class too. He didn’t really like the class, but they sat by each other and it wasn’t so bad because they ended up talking about music the whole time. Neither of their grades were that great, but they ended up staying friends after the class was done, because Frank was a pretty cool kid.

Anyhow, that first year kind of sucked a lot, because Mikey wasn’t very good at making friends. Sure, he went out to some parties and maybe, maybe he ended up hungover in class a lot, but that wasn’t actual friendship, and he missed his brother. So the highlight of his week was the days he had sociology. And sometimes he and Frank hung out outside of class, occasionally for studying, but mostly because Frank went to a lot of shows, and Mikey didn’t mind being dragged with.

But the worst thing about that first year, even worse than missing Gerard – who fascinated Frank, even then, when he’d seen maybe two pictures of him and some of his art because Mikey’s binders were all decorated by Gee – was his roommate. His first year he roomed with this guy Matt, who played really annoying music all the time. And sure, Mikey played music almost nonstop, and he prided himself on being pretty open-minded when it came to music, but what Matt played was not okay. Plus, Matt’s friends were always over and it was crowded and sometimes they ended up in Mikey’s bed.

So at the end of that first year, Frank had come to him, all twitchy, which was normal, and a little nervous, which was not, and said he planned on moving out from his folks, which Mikey had kind of expected because Frank’s parents were hardasses who hated letting him go to shows, hated his hair and how he dressed and were never going to let him get the tattoos he always talked about wanting. Frank asked if Mikey wanted to maybe get an apartment together off-campus, which sounded like a pretty good idea, so he agreed.

Originally, Mikey had planned to go home for the summer, but a couple days after Frank’s graduation, which was about a week before the dorms closed for the summer, he showed up on Mikey’s door with a couple suitcases, somehow managing to look sad and forlorn, and pissed as hell, at the same time. His parents had thrown him out after another huge fight, and Mikey couldn’t just make him sleep on the streets for a couple months, so they quickly signed a lease and moved in.

That had been a good year and a half before, and they still got along pretty well. Mikey partied less, though they both went to just as many shows, and they fought over using the bathroom outlets for their hair straighteners.

He’d certainly known Frank long enough not to bother asking; long ago Mikey had come to the realization that Frank never explained anything, and even if he tried, the explanations never made sense. He was a lot like Gerard, that way; it probably helped keep Mikey from getting homesick as bad after that first year.

Frank rarely bothered with a coat. Mikey wasn’t sure if it was just because he was running around too much to remember it, or if his blood ran too hot to need it. The other thing they fought about in the apartment was the thermostat setting, because Mikey was always cold. But usually they settled it by Mikey agreeing to let Frank run around naked or almost naked inside. He didn’t really like that, but he could ignore Frank most of the time, and if the apartment was cold, he never left bed for his morning classes.

They’d been walking for close to a mile when Frank stopped suddenly. Mikey almost slid into him from the ice on the sidewalk, but he caught himself and didn’t end up bruised on the pavement. Frank was beaming, so he looked up and took in the shop they stood in front of. “Smoothie Paradise?” He said the words quietly, more than half to himself, but Frank still heard.

“Yes, it is awesome!” He tugged Mikey in the door as he explained, “Bob makes the best smoothies ever!”

Re: The start of my smoothieverse

[restless-jedi.livejournal.com]

Mikey snuffled to himself. He didn’t understand why they were at a smoothie shop. Especially when it was this cold out. Besides, he was a coffee kind of guy. And they’d had to pass at least half a dozen coffee shops on the walk. “Um. Do they sell coffee here?”

He rubbed his hands together, wishing he’d put gloves in his pockets, since Frank hadn’t let him grab any. Coffee would warm his fingers!

Frank giggled. “Nope! Come on, have a smoothie.”

“I’m too cold already. I don’t need a smoothie.”

“But Bob’s smoothies will revolutionize your view of smoothies!”

Mikey crossed his arms. “Maybe I don’t want my view of smoothies revolutionized. Maybe I am perfectly content living in my little world where I am oblivious to just how good a smoothie can be.”

Frank made a face. “That’s fucking stupid, man. How can you not want to know?” Frank was a philosophy major; to Mikey, that meant Frank was going to be living off him forever, because there wasn’t going to be work in it.

“Frank, you jump out of trees and shit, just to see what it is like. Maybe I am not fucking insane, like you are. Besides, I don’t even know what’s good here. And I was saving my money for coffee.”

The blond at the counter set down the rag he’d been using to wipe the counters and braced his hands on the edge of the front counter instead. The posture made his chest look even broader and more intimidating. “Look, I’m seriously bored here, so I tell you what, the first one’s free. Any food allergies I need to know about?”

Mikey worked his jaw, but couldn’t find words before Frank piped up, “Nope, no allergies, not vegan, nothing. I brought you an easy one this time! You could throw raw fish in there and he’d eat it!”

“Fuck you,” Mikey mumbled. As a vegetarian, Frank seemed to think it was his life’s goal to mock Mikey into giving up meat. For the most part he had; meat was expensive on a college budget, and it was easier to mooch off Frank anyhow. But he wasn’t giving up his sushi.

The blond, apparently the Bob that Frank had mentioned, was already fast at work, back to them as he called, “The usual, Iero?”

“Yeah, man.” Frank looked smug, leaning against the counter as he waited. “Know how you can tell Bob’s fucking good? The first one’s free.”

“Know where else you get the first one free?” Mikey asked, not thinking about the fact Bob could hear them. “Drug dealers.”

A cup slid across the counter, stopping in front of Mikey. He looked up, startled and cheeks pink with embarrassment, under the already existent cold flush. Bob leaned close and cupped his hand around his mouth. “Don’t tell anyone, but that’s my secret. A little black tar heroin in the smoothie mix and it really increases the repeat customers.”

Mikey sipped the thick drink and scrunched up his face. “This is good. What is it?”

“Ha! Told you!” Frank smirked before glaring at Bob. “Hey, dude, don’t I get one too?”

“Yours isn’t on the house,” Bob said casually. “And besides, you’re a punk-ass little pipsqueak, always hassling me here, but this kid seems nice.”

“So what, because I’m old news and he seems ‘nice’ you’ll be polite to Mikey and not me?”

“Pretty much.” Bob shrugged at Mikey, who understood. People were like that with Frank – it didn’t mean they didn’t like him. “It’s lemonade, lime sherbet, strawberries, and since it’s not coffee, I put in a caffeine boost.”

Mikey couldn’t stop himself from beaming. “I never say this, but Frank was right. You do make the best smoothies.”

Bob nodded as he set about making a smoothie for Frank, and a tradition was begun. It became a habit to walk down after the end of class and sit in the smoothie shop to do his homework; Mikey wasn’t bothered by people very often because most people seemed to agree with his original theory on cold and smoothies.

He’d let Bob try new drinks on him, and tried just about every variation of the menu, but for the most part, Mikey stuck with what Bob had made him the first time, only with a green tea shot. Sometimes Frank met him there, and he giggled usually, apparently proud Mikey was now even more hooked on the smoothies than he was.

[hapakitsune.livejournal.com]

So I don't even know, this just...popped into my head earlier because my friend was wearing a Gilmore Girls shirt.

---

Gerard heads into Jon's and sits at the counter, waiting for Jon to turn around. When Jon finally looks at him, Gerard smiles winningly.

"Coffee, please?"

"I know that I'm supposed to encourage drinking coffee, since it brings me money, but do you ever think you might drink too much?" Jon asks, but he pours Gerard a cup and slides it across.

"Never," Gerard says. "I need another cup. For Mikey!" he adds when Jon looks at him askance. "I swear. He said he'd meet me here after he was done with his homework."

Jon shakes his head. "You are the worst father ever," he says flatly, and pours another cup.

----

...IDEK. Jon is clearly pining after his first love Spencer, and Gerard still loves his high school girlfriend Elisa, who lives in...Guatemala now. Gerard owns an art studio!

----

"Hello you've reached Gerard Way's studio can I help you," Ryan says in a bored voice. "No he's not here right now."

Frank jumps up on the counter and smiles at Ryan. "I'm here for my lesson!"

"Hold on." Ryan covers the mouth of the phone and glares at Frank. "I'm busy. Don't you have anyone else to bother?"

"None of them are fun to bother, not the way you are!" Frank grins unrepentantly.

"I feel so special," Ryan deadpans, and he picks up the phone again. "Sorry about that. When did you say you wanted to set up a lesson."

----

And then Mikey gets into a really good school and...meets Pete, who everyone knows is secretly pining after Patrick. And Alicia, who's his best friend.

This could go on indefinitely.

[achika-chan.livejournal.com]

Ohmygod. Bandom as Stars Hallow. YES x 100000000000000000000000000000000000000000.

Ryan as Michelle, it...does things to me due to the sheer perfection. And Jon as Luke? Amazing.

Slave!AU - Part One

[siren-mage.livejournal.com]

Okay so, once upon a time I got about halfway through plotting a slave!AU and it was gonna be awesome and then I didn't write it! Which is made of WOE! Anyway, Gabe and Maja are a cruel king and queen, Ryan and Mike Carden are princes, Pete is a neighboring prince, Keltie is a neighboring princess and Ryan's betrothed, and pretty much everyone else is a servant or slave. I have so much backstory for this I should stop and just write something . . .

Victoria's hand is tight around Brendon's bicep. She's not very big at all, thin and exotically beautiful, but she's stronger than most of the other slaves. Just like Travis and Bill, the King and Queen take better care of her than they do of the others.

"Hold still," she hisses when Brendon squirms.

He's trying to be still, but he's been kneeling for over an hour on a hard surface, letting himself be painted and decorated. There are dark, black swirls all over his body, covering up old bruises and bringing new, fresh ones to sharp relief. When Victoria had forced him to his knees and told him not to move, she'd smiled at the state of his body.

"These are a sign of your master's strength," she told him. "I did not know that Prince Ryan could be so rough with his slaves."

The truth is, none of these bruises are from the prince. In fact, Prince Ryan has not so much as touched Brendon since Spencer's exile. Conversely, since Jon's departure along with Spencer, there has been no one to keep other servants and slaves from doing whatever they want with Brendon. The bruises are from them, from kitchen boys and jealous slave girls, from other sex slaves and the much more privileged servants. All of them have had their eyes on Brendon since his arrival to the palace nearly a year ago, and now there is no one to make sure they can't get their hands on Brendon whenever they want.

It's not so bad, really. Brendon has been treated much more harshly in the past, and anyway, at least the prince leaves him be. His brother was hardly cruel, but losing his personal slave to his parents turned him a bit bitter. He never meant to hurt Brendon, but it happened often enough. As a member of King Gabriel's harem, bruises are expected and decorate the sex slaves like the carefully placed tattoo work so popular in the Southern Kingdoms.

"There," Victoria says after a moment, surveying her work.

Brendon is careful not to move until she gives a terse nod and turns away. She is already dressed and painted, her breasts barely covered, her hips encased in an almost sheer wrap that teases at the skin of her thighs, just below the crease of her buttocks. Her pale skin is dotted with bruises left by the King and Queen, signs of ownership and power, and the rest is covered with bold lines of deep blue. She looks beautiful, as always, and Brendon knows that if she can make any of the foreign visitors covet her, she will be rewarded.

That is also Brendon's goal, although he is not sure the prince will even notice. Prince Ryan doesn't concern himself with slaves. In the past, he was only concerned with Spencer. He offers Brendon an escape from the slave quarters, which he knows to be dismal and dangerous, but he doesn't ask for anything else. Brendon is to sit at his side for the first time and he is to be on his best behavior. He must act alluring and subservient, must cater to the prince's every whim. It is Brendon's job, and Victoria's and Bill's and Travis', to ensure that every other king, queen, prince, princess and royal dignitary knows that the best sex slaves are the ones King Gabriel unearths.

"You are ready," Victoria tells him with a nod. "I'm sure the prince will need some looking after. Go to him. And don't dawdle."

Brendon scrambles to his feet, ignoring the sharp sensation of blood flowing back to his legs, and makes his way out of the room. He's not nervous, although perhaps he should be. He's more tired than anything. This life never bothered him before. And then he met Spencer and Jon and everything changed. Now that they're gone, Brendon feels alone for the first time in a very long while.

He misses the comfortable apathy he had before he was bought by King Gabriel's men.

Slave!AU - Part Two

[siren-mage.livejournal.com]

_._

"They're letting you have Bill for the night," Ryan says, not a question because it's quite apparently fact.

Mike is sitting on the edge of Ryan's bed with Bill's long, familiar form kneeling at his feet.

"Never let it be said that His and Her Majesty are not generous rulers," his brother says dismissively.

He has one hand tangled possessively in Bill's hair, the other resting atop Ryan's sheets, and he looks more at ease than Ryan has seen him look in months. The effect that Bill has on Mike is disgustingly obvious. At least Ryan and Spencer managed to hide their affection away until the end. Even now, Ryan is struggling to prove that he doesn't need Spencer. He's living a lie, but it's much safer than what Mike is doing. He's in love with a sex slave and if he doesn't try to harden himself to it, or at least act like he isn't so damnably stupid as to have made such a mistake, the King and Queen will do more than take Bill away from him again.

"Where's your slave?" Mike asks after a moment.

Ryan lifts his shoulder in an apathetic shrug. "Probably getting painted up like all the others," he says, looking pointedly at Bill who is mostly naked save something around his hips and miles and miles of green ink marking patterns all over his sinuous body.

"You know," Mike says casually, "you're not as cold as you would like us to think you are. You burned hot for your old slave. If this new one isn't doing his job, he can be replaced."

As if the practice of sex-slavery isn't distasteful enough, the rest of the kingdom's calm acceptance of it is beginning to turn Ryan's stomach. He never cared before, but he had a best friend and a lover and a constant companion. Spencer was never a slave. Ryan sighs and turns away from his brother. It's possible he shouldn't judge. He's just as soft-headed as Mike is, just as much of an abomination to the family legacy.

"He's doing his job," Ryan says. "I'm just nervous about tonight."

It's as good an excuse as any. The princess he's betrothed to will be in attendance tonight and all eyes will be on the both of them. It's going to be their match that will ensure peace between their kingdoms. In addition to that, Ryan is sure the King and Queen will be watching him carefully, waiting for him to make a mistake or slip up in some way.

He's not truly nervous, but he has every reason to be.

"You? Will be fine," Mike says, just as the door to the room opens and Brendon enters, head bowed low, shoulder's hunched.

Ryan has always admired Brendon for his beauty, for the angles and curves of his body, the darkness of his eyes and the plumpness of his lips. He is not and has never been interested in replacing Spencer in any way, but he isn't blind, either. His slave is one of the most beautiful in the harem and he is well aware.

Painted up, with black lines cutting across his body in patterns that draw attention to the bruises across his hips, to the enticing swell beneath the delicious dip at the small of his back, Brendon is more than beautiful. He's exquisite. Ryan's breath catches as Brendon moves forward, quick and unobtrusive, to kneel at his feet.

Grocery Store AU, totally self indulgent

[catchmelike.livejournal.com]

I've been wanting to write this for-fucking-ever but couldn't really get a good excuse. No pairing, really. Mostly Pete, but also Brendon and Spencer and Patrick and Vicky. 858 words. Christmas themed! (I don't do memes often. You people are so awesome it scares me in an 'I'm-really-intimidated' kind of way!)

I got a little carried away, and Lj didn't like it, so here's the link to my journal.