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kat_lairI slept too long, not because i was tired but because I just didn't want to get up to start doing all the stuff on my list. But! Up now. Have had yesterday's leftovers for breakfast (when you're adult you can eat dinner for breakfast and dessert for dinner and alcohol for dessert... or something like that) and made coffee. Soon, epic house cleaning will commence. But first, as threatened...
The WIP-meme! You know, the one where you post a snippet of your WIPs in a vain effort to kick-start your motivation to finish them. I’ve actually limited this to the ones that I definitely plan on finishing one day.
Bandom – AU – Gerard/Patrick, Mikey/Pete
Pete smiles beatifically, ignoring the reprimand with what appears to be several years of experience. “Patrick, my man,” he says. “This is Gerard, Mikey’s brother.” He gesticulates between the two of them. “This is Patrick, my best friend and a musical genius.”
Patrick smacks Pete on the head but sticks a hand out to Gerard. “Nice to meet you.”
Gerard’s eyes are probably bugging out comically, but that can’t be helped. Patrick’s hair is sticking to his neck wetly and his t-shirt is see-through with sweat. Gerard is allowed.
“Hi,” he says. And then, breathlessly: “Can I paint you?”
Gerard is also clearly a retard with no brain-mouth filter. Behind him there’s a soft thumping sound of Mikey’s head repeatedly hitting the table.
Bandom – Patrick/Pete
Gabe turns sideways on the sofa, eyes wide. “Patrick Martin Stump!” he exclaims gleefully. "Are you asking for a blowjob?"
"Yes. No. Yes, hypothetically."
“You’re asking for a hypothetical blowjob?”
Patrick would be embarrassed if not for the fact that this was not his idea in the first place. He tells Gabe about Brendon’s delusion that Patrick is some sort of sex god in front of whom people would be willing to, well, kneel, and how ridiculous and wrong, so very wrong, that is.
Gabe laughs for two whole minutes and Patrick would feel vindicated except then he stops and smiles lasciviously, leaning closer until he’s whispering right into Patrick’s ear. “Not only would I go down on my knees for you.” Gabe’s voice has gone husky and Patrick is pretty sure he’s letting a tiny hint of accent bleed through. “I would go down on my hands and knees, on my back, on my front, over this couch and against that wall right there, because Patrick, my friend, I would do pretty much whatever you wanted, just to get your fucking mouth on me.” He pauses for a second and Patrick can feel his breath hot against his skin. “Hypothetically.”
Patrick’s brain is short-circuiting from the mental images, because Gabe. Gabe Saporta just... He really can’t process this.
He doesn’t get a chance even to try. Gabe leans back, as casual as you please and slaps him on the shoulder in a friendly manner. “So tell me,” he says, his voice normal once more. “Is this about Pete?”
Patrick excuses himself to the bathroom.
Bandom – Patrick/Pete
Patrick reaches out without looking, grabs Pete’s hand by the wrist and slams it onto the table top. “Well, go be bored somewhere else,” he says, attention still on the computer screen.
It takes a few seconds for Patrick to realise that he’s still holding Pete’s hand trapped and that Pete’s fallen suspiciously silent. He uncurls his grip slowly, glancing over his shoulder.
Pete is rubbing at his wrist, eyes downcast. “Yeah,” he says, voice surprisingly low. “Yeah, okay.” He gets up and leaves the room.
Patrick blinks, but doesn’t think too much about it.
Bandom – Cobra GSF
“Listen,” Ryland says, and Nate automatically lifts his head and does, because Ryland is calm and reasonable and can usually be trusted to make sense in most situations.
“This band is a democracy. I think we should all have an equal chance of finding salvation. Especially, if it’s inside Nate’s mouth.”
Except apparently in a situation that involves kissing. Nate is going to have to keep that in mind. For the future.
Vicky nods sagely. “Share,” she says.
“And share alike,” everyone choruses.
Nate thinks about calling Pete and requesting to move to another band. Then he realises that this exact same scenario would probably happen in every band on this label and gets a little bug-eyed about the possibilities.
“So, it’s settled,” Alex says. “Nate has to kiss everyone.”
Stargate Atlantis – crack, witch!AU – Radek/Rodney
Rodney had a familiar, as all self-respecting witches should. His name was Albert. To call Albert a cat was technically correct, but only in a same way one might describe a knuckle iron as a piece of jewellery. Albert had a face like an angry troll and a personality to match. His fur was a curious mixture of ginger and mud brown, his eyes yellow and unblinking and he had balls the size of duck eggs.
Radek also had a familiar. It wasn’t a cat or a frog or an owl though. Not even a hairy tarantula (Rodney was secretly quite relieved by this).
Radek’s familiar was a tiny bat called Leopold.
Supernatural – crack – Dean/Sam preslash/UST
“Sam. Good to hear your voice.” Bobby sounded genuinely pleased.
“Listen, I have a bit of a… a situation here and I could use your help.”
“Shoot.”
Sam took a deep breath. “Dean’s a fairy.”
There was a long silence before Bobby came back on the line. “Now son, you shouldn’t say that.” His voice sounded gruffly disapproving. “I think the proper term is ‘homosexual’.”
Sam’s jaw dropped open. “What? No!” He flailed a good bit, almost falling to the floor. “He’s not gay!”
Dean’s head came up, his wings snapping open so fast he actually lifted up into air briefly. The glare he shot in Sam’s direction made flowers around the bed wilt.
Doctor Who – Doctor/Master (latest versions)
The Doctor steps closer, palms stretched toward them. “Don’t,” he says. “It’s not your place to punish.”
“It’s not yours to forgive,” he counters, slitting the man’s throat open with one decisive move.
Blood gushes over his hands, hot and black in the dim light of the alley. The Master stands up, letting the body slump to the ground with a dull thud.
The silence that follows is like glass.
He breaks it first: “He would have killed you. He would have killed us.”
“We could have regenerated.”
“We wouldn’t have had the chance! Were you even listening?” He didn’t expect to be angry, but he is. It feels fucking fantastic. “We would’ve been in million and one pieces before the sunrise. Not even the Binding can fix that.”
The Doctor’s mouth is tight around the edges but he’s not arguing. “Give me the knife,” he says.
The blade is still dripping. The Master presses it into the Doctor’s open palm, making sure the blood coats both of their hands equally.
Original – Dina/Stace (f/f)
Stace gets a tattoo where everyone can see it and another one where only some people (not Dina) can. She dates keyboard players and guitarists (not Dina) and fucking kindergarten teachers. She never says I’m in love. Stace never really gets over her stage-fright, but she gets better at faking it until she actually gets on stage where things are always more real than they are off it.
Dina gets a reputation and spends a year picking a fight with everyone (not Stace). She sleeps with keyboard players and singers (not Stace) and once, when she is very drunk, a reporter and wasn’t that a clusterfuck of epic proportions. She never says I’m in love, even though she knows she is. Dina never really gets over Stace, but she gets better at faking it until she… Well, you know how this one goes.
Original – multiple pairings, ensemble fic
Rosalyn moves to the city in the spring. The pavement outside her flat is cracked by dandelions and shy daisies that push through; emboldened by the sun and the rain that drenches the streets twice a week.
Her apartment building is old and red-bricked and even beautiful in a way an aging Hollywood star is beautiful; all past glory and caged makeup.
Neil the caretaker gives her the keys early on a Monday morning. “Here you go,” he says, his other hand wrapped around the collar of a large Rottweiler. The dog is called Ella “after Ella Fitzgerald”.
“Oh you like jazz?” Rosalyn asks, fingers playing with the scratched New York is for lovers keychain the previous tenant has left behind.
“No. My wife did,” Neil says, dragging the enthusiastically whining Ella away with a curt nod.
Rosalyn wonders about the past tense. She’s met Neil’s wife when signing the contract; a young Greek girl named Erika who smiled a lot and asked Rosalyn about her family in hesitant English. Rosalyn thinks it’s not this wife who loved Ella and Billie and the Duke, but someone else, some woman long gone but not forgotten.
There are others, most notably two SPN Five Times fics that I’m actually really proud of, but just not confident that I’ll ever finish. Plus they’re season 1 and 2 compliant so not sure there would even be an audience for them anymore... This is what laziness gets me.
Anyway! Off to clean the bathroom! Oh the excitement...
The WIP-meme! You know, the one where you post a snippet of your WIPs in a vain effort to kick-start your motivation to finish them. I’ve actually limited this to the ones that I definitely plan on finishing one day.
Bandom – AU – Gerard/Patrick, Mikey/Pete
Pete smiles beatifically, ignoring the reprimand with what appears to be several years of experience. “Patrick, my man,” he says. “This is Gerard, Mikey’s brother.” He gesticulates between the two of them. “This is Patrick, my best friend and a musical genius.”
Patrick smacks Pete on the head but sticks a hand out to Gerard. “Nice to meet you.”
Gerard’s eyes are probably bugging out comically, but that can’t be helped. Patrick’s hair is sticking to his neck wetly and his t-shirt is see-through with sweat. Gerard is allowed.
“Hi,” he says. And then, breathlessly: “Can I paint you?”
Gerard is also clearly a retard with no brain-mouth filter. Behind him there’s a soft thumping sound of Mikey’s head repeatedly hitting the table.
Bandom – Patrick/Pete
Gabe turns sideways on the sofa, eyes wide. “Patrick Martin Stump!” he exclaims gleefully. "Are you asking for a blowjob?"
"Yes. No. Yes, hypothetically."
“You’re asking for a hypothetical blowjob?”
Patrick would be embarrassed if not for the fact that this was not his idea in the first place. He tells Gabe about Brendon’s delusion that Patrick is some sort of sex god in front of whom people would be willing to, well, kneel, and how ridiculous and wrong, so very wrong, that is.
Gabe laughs for two whole minutes and Patrick would feel vindicated except then he stops and smiles lasciviously, leaning closer until he’s whispering right into Patrick’s ear. “Not only would I go down on my knees for you.” Gabe’s voice has gone husky and Patrick is pretty sure he’s letting a tiny hint of accent bleed through. “I would go down on my hands and knees, on my back, on my front, over this couch and against that wall right there, because Patrick, my friend, I would do pretty much whatever you wanted, just to get your fucking mouth on me.” He pauses for a second and Patrick can feel his breath hot against his skin. “Hypothetically.”
Patrick’s brain is short-circuiting from the mental images, because Gabe. Gabe Saporta just... He really can’t process this.
He doesn’t get a chance even to try. Gabe leans back, as casual as you please and slaps him on the shoulder in a friendly manner. “So tell me,” he says, his voice normal once more. “Is this about Pete?”
Patrick excuses himself to the bathroom.
Bandom – Patrick/Pete
Patrick reaches out without looking, grabs Pete’s hand by the wrist and slams it onto the table top. “Well, go be bored somewhere else,” he says, attention still on the computer screen.
It takes a few seconds for Patrick to realise that he’s still holding Pete’s hand trapped and that Pete’s fallen suspiciously silent. He uncurls his grip slowly, glancing over his shoulder.
Pete is rubbing at his wrist, eyes downcast. “Yeah,” he says, voice surprisingly low. “Yeah, okay.” He gets up and leaves the room.
Patrick blinks, but doesn’t think too much about it.
Bandom – Cobra GSF
“Listen,” Ryland says, and Nate automatically lifts his head and does, because Ryland is calm and reasonable and can usually be trusted to make sense in most situations.
“This band is a democracy. I think we should all have an equal chance of finding salvation. Especially, if it’s inside Nate’s mouth.”
Except apparently in a situation that involves kissing. Nate is going to have to keep that in mind. For the future.
Vicky nods sagely. “Share,” she says.
“And share alike,” everyone choruses.
Nate thinks about calling Pete and requesting to move to another band. Then he realises that this exact same scenario would probably happen in every band on this label and gets a little bug-eyed about the possibilities.
“So, it’s settled,” Alex says. “Nate has to kiss everyone.”
Stargate Atlantis – crack, witch!AU – Radek/Rodney
Rodney had a familiar, as all self-respecting witches should. His name was Albert. To call Albert a cat was technically correct, but only in a same way one might describe a knuckle iron as a piece of jewellery. Albert had a face like an angry troll and a personality to match. His fur was a curious mixture of ginger and mud brown, his eyes yellow and unblinking and he had balls the size of duck eggs.
Radek also had a familiar. It wasn’t a cat or a frog or an owl though. Not even a hairy tarantula (Rodney was secretly quite relieved by this).
Radek’s familiar was a tiny bat called Leopold.
Supernatural – crack – Dean/Sam preslash/UST
“Sam. Good to hear your voice.” Bobby sounded genuinely pleased.
“Listen, I have a bit of a… a situation here and I could use your help.”
“Shoot.”
Sam took a deep breath. “Dean’s a fairy.”
There was a long silence before Bobby came back on the line. “Now son, you shouldn’t say that.” His voice sounded gruffly disapproving. “I think the proper term is ‘homosexual’.”
Sam’s jaw dropped open. “What? No!” He flailed a good bit, almost falling to the floor. “He’s not gay!”
Dean’s head came up, his wings snapping open so fast he actually lifted up into air briefly. The glare he shot in Sam’s direction made flowers around the bed wilt.
Doctor Who – Doctor/Master (latest versions)
The Doctor steps closer, palms stretched toward them. “Don’t,” he says. “It’s not your place to punish.”
“It’s not yours to forgive,” he counters, slitting the man’s throat open with one decisive move.
Blood gushes over his hands, hot and black in the dim light of the alley. The Master stands up, letting the body slump to the ground with a dull thud.
The silence that follows is like glass.
He breaks it first: “He would have killed you. He would have killed us.”
“We could have regenerated.”
“We wouldn’t have had the chance! Were you even listening?” He didn’t expect to be angry, but he is. It feels fucking fantastic. “We would’ve been in million and one pieces before the sunrise. Not even the Binding can fix that.”
The Doctor’s mouth is tight around the edges but he’s not arguing. “Give me the knife,” he says.
The blade is still dripping. The Master presses it into the Doctor’s open palm, making sure the blood coats both of their hands equally.
Original – Dina/Stace (f/f)
Stace gets a tattoo where everyone can see it and another one where only some people (not Dina) can. She dates keyboard players and guitarists (not Dina) and fucking kindergarten teachers. She never says I’m in love. Stace never really gets over her stage-fright, but she gets better at faking it until she actually gets on stage where things are always more real than they are off it.
Dina gets a reputation and spends a year picking a fight with everyone (not Stace). She sleeps with keyboard players and singers (not Stace) and once, when she is very drunk, a reporter and wasn’t that a clusterfuck of epic proportions. She never says I’m in love, even though she knows she is. Dina never really gets over Stace, but she gets better at faking it until she… Well, you know how this one goes.
Original – multiple pairings, ensemble fic
Rosalyn moves to the city in the spring. The pavement outside her flat is cracked by dandelions and shy daisies that push through; emboldened by the sun and the rain that drenches the streets twice a week.
Her apartment building is old and red-bricked and even beautiful in a way an aging Hollywood star is beautiful; all past glory and caged makeup.
Neil the caretaker gives her the keys early on a Monday morning. “Here you go,” he says, his other hand wrapped around the collar of a large Rottweiler. The dog is called Ella “after Ella Fitzgerald”.
“Oh you like jazz?” Rosalyn asks, fingers playing with the scratched New York is for lovers keychain the previous tenant has left behind.
“No. My wife did,” Neil says, dragging the enthusiastically whining Ella away with a curt nod.
Rosalyn wonders about the past tense. She’s met Neil’s wife when signing the contract; a young Greek girl named Erika who smiled a lot and asked Rosalyn about her family in hesitant English. Rosalyn thinks it’s not this wife who loved Ella and Billie and the Duke, but someone else, some woman long gone but not forgotten.
There are others, most notably two SPN Five Times fics that I’m actually really proud of, but just not confident that I’ll ever finish. Plus they’re season 1 and 2 compliant so not sure there would even be an audience for them anymore... This is what laziness gets me.
Anyway! Off to clean the bathroom! Oh the excitement...