The write-ficlets-for-your-icons-meme
Apr. 27th, 2009 05:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
redorchidsI only have 6 icons. If I cheat a bit. Because I'm still on a basic account. So.
Anyway,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
blindmouse was nice enough to tag me the ones I DO have, so let's get this show on the road, shall we?
Meme is this: Have someone pick 6 of your icons. Write an accompanying ficlet for each icon.
Actually, I'm only going to do four. I'm a bit lazy today. :-)
[Keywords: GSF FTW]
"Dude," Brendon says when they enter the apartment again, dumping their grocery bags on the counter in the kitchen before moving into the living room. "We didn't break them with all the sex, did we?"
Jon comes to stand next to him, looking down on Ryan and Spencer's tangled bodies on the floor, only partially covered by the thin blanket from the couch. "Maybe?"
Spencer stirs, opening his eyes and looking up at them in a way that is far too knowing for someone who was sound asleep less than a minute earlier.
"You guys making dinner?" he says, pulling the blanket off Ryan's hips as he speaks. "Or do you have any other ideas for how you could make yourselves useful?"
Brendon lets his eyes wander from Spencer's face down his side, moving over to Ryan where the blanket blocks the view. Next to him, Jon has removed his jacket and is sliding his hands slowly towards Brendon's belt. "You know," Brendon says, looking at Jon over his shoulder. "I'm not that hungry anymore."
Jon just laughs and pushes him to his knees. Spencer joins in, crawling over Ryan to pull Brendon down on the mattress with him. Brendon feels his clothes being stripped away, feels Spencer's mouth on his, Jon's tongue against his spine and Ryan moving around next to him, hands sliding up the insides of his thighs.
Brendon's band is fucking awesome.
[Keywords: bb!patrick owns my life]
The first night they go on stage, Patrick is ready to throw up from nerves. The guitar keeps him somewhat grounded, but it's nowhere near enough.
Joe and the guy Joe knows who agreed to come play the drums with them tonight go on first, and the crowd whoops in response. It's should be encouraging, but it's not. Patrick tries to move his feet forward. It doesn't work.
"You're gonna be a star."
It's six words breathed into his ear, and Pete sounds so certain that, for a split second, Patrick believes him, sees what Pete sees and feels the excitement surge from Pete's lips into his own skin. Pete wraps an arm around him, steadying both of them, and Patrick closes his eyes and leans into the touch, saving the memory for later.
The crowd (only fifty people or so, they're in some guy's basement after all) cheers loudly when Pete walks onto the stage, all blinding smiles and confident swagger. Patrick watches him call out greetings and fiddling with his bass, admires the mask Pete is able to just slide over his face whenever he needs to.
He makes it to the mike stand. Focuses on the blue lights and fixing his eyes on a nameless spot on the wall. The music starts, his fingers and voice find the confidence Patrick doesn't feel, and during the second chorus of their opening act, Pete leans his chin against Patrick's shoulder.
He plays the rest of the show in a kind of blue daze, too many impressions around and inside him to be able to handle them all. There are girls in the crowd looking up at him in a way girls never have, and people hanging on to his words like Patrick has something to say that they need to hear.
Pete's words. And Patrick is actually able to sing them.
He looks to the left, catches Pete's eyes, and the first smile of the night spreads on his face as he launches into the next chorus.
If he's to be a star, he might as well burn.
[Keywords: put on your Ryden tinhat, baby]
They're all dolled up and waiting for the photo shoot to start. Ryan pulls at his hair for the millionth time, and Brendon wants to reach out and grab his hands, tell him that it looks great, that they've got this down.
The camera starts snapping away, and Brendon tries to move his face in ways that say 'confidence' or 'attitude'--the kind of look that models know like the back of their hands. The one that says 'buy our talent and the clothes we wear, because it's the only part of us you'll ever have a shot at.'
He's not sure he's doing it right.
"Pretend it's a mirror," Ryan says quietly beside him, angling his shoulders to lean into Brendon's space. "Tell yourself something you need to believe, and be determined."
Brendon looks up at him, grateful, and turns his focus back to the black lens.
It will happen, he thinks, projecting all his defiance on the inanimate object in front of him. I don't care what you say. One day, it will.
[Keywords: Jon Walker on the prowl]
"So, Spencer Smith," Jon says when the door to the Academy bus closes and the unconscious form of Brendon Urie has been carried out by two of his bandmates. "You know if he's single?"
Bill smiles huge and wide, leaning a bit closer. "Shouldn't you be asking if he plays for the right team?"
"Nope," Jon says easily, taking another slow pull of his beer. He closes his eyes and remembers blue ones locking with his in the kitchen, an eyebrow raised at the way Jon was blocking the fridge, partly a game, partly a dare. Jon bites his lip, tries to hold back a smile and fails. "I think I'm good on that part."
Feel inspired? Leave a comment and I'll pick out icons for you as well. :-)
Anyway,
blindmouse was nice enough to tag me the ones I DO have, so let's get this show on the road, shall we?Meme is this: Have someone pick 6 of your icons. Write an accompanying ficlet for each icon.
Actually, I'm only going to do four. I'm a bit lazy today. :-)
[Keywords: GSF FTW]
"Dude," Brendon says when they enter the apartment again, dumping their grocery bags on the counter in the kitchen before moving into the living room. "We didn't break them with all the sex, did we?"
Jon comes to stand next to him, looking down on Ryan and Spencer's tangled bodies on the floor, only partially covered by the thin blanket from the couch. "Maybe?"
Spencer stirs, opening his eyes and looking up at them in a way that is far too knowing for someone who was sound asleep less than a minute earlier.
"You guys making dinner?" he says, pulling the blanket off Ryan's hips as he speaks. "Or do you have any other ideas for how you could make yourselves useful?"
Brendon lets his eyes wander from Spencer's face down his side, moving over to Ryan where the blanket blocks the view. Next to him, Jon has removed his jacket and is sliding his hands slowly towards Brendon's belt. "You know," Brendon says, looking at Jon over his shoulder. "I'm not that hungry anymore."
Jon just laughs and pushes him to his knees. Spencer joins in, crawling over Ryan to pull Brendon down on the mattress with him. Brendon feels his clothes being stripped away, feels Spencer's mouth on his, Jon's tongue against his spine and Ryan moving around next to him, hands sliding up the insides of his thighs.
Brendon's band is fucking awesome.
[Keywords: bb!patrick owns my life]
The first night they go on stage, Patrick is ready to throw up from nerves. The guitar keeps him somewhat grounded, but it's nowhere near enough.
Joe and the guy Joe knows who agreed to come play the drums with them tonight go on first, and the crowd whoops in response. It's should be encouraging, but it's not. Patrick tries to move his feet forward. It doesn't work.
"You're gonna be a star."
It's six words breathed into his ear, and Pete sounds so certain that, for a split second, Patrick believes him, sees what Pete sees and feels the excitement surge from Pete's lips into his own skin. Pete wraps an arm around him, steadying both of them, and Patrick closes his eyes and leans into the touch, saving the memory for later.
The crowd (only fifty people or so, they're in some guy's basement after all) cheers loudly when Pete walks onto the stage, all blinding smiles and confident swagger. Patrick watches him call out greetings and fiddling with his bass, admires the mask Pete is able to just slide over his face whenever he needs to.
He makes it to the mike stand. Focuses on the blue lights and fixing his eyes on a nameless spot on the wall. The music starts, his fingers and voice find the confidence Patrick doesn't feel, and during the second chorus of their opening act, Pete leans his chin against Patrick's shoulder.
He plays the rest of the show in a kind of blue daze, too many impressions around and inside him to be able to handle them all. There are girls in the crowd looking up at him in a way girls never have, and people hanging on to his words like Patrick has something to say that they need to hear.
Pete's words. And Patrick is actually able to sing them.
He looks to the left, catches Pete's eyes, and the first smile of the night spreads on his face as he launches into the next chorus.
If he's to be a star, he might as well burn.
[Keywords: put on your Ryden tinhat, baby]
They're all dolled up and waiting for the photo shoot to start. Ryan pulls at his hair for the millionth time, and Brendon wants to reach out and grab his hands, tell him that it looks great, that they've got this down.
The camera starts snapping away, and Brendon tries to move his face in ways that say 'confidence' or 'attitude'--the kind of look that models know like the back of their hands. The one that says 'buy our talent and the clothes we wear, because it's the only part of us you'll ever have a shot at.'
He's not sure he's doing it right.
"Pretend it's a mirror," Ryan says quietly beside him, angling his shoulders to lean into Brendon's space. "Tell yourself something you need to believe, and be determined."
Brendon looks up at him, grateful, and turns his focus back to the black lens.
It will happen, he thinks, projecting all his defiance on the inanimate object in front of him. I don't care what you say. One day, it will.
[Keywords: Jon Walker on the prowl]
"So, Spencer Smith," Jon says when the door to the Academy bus closes and the unconscious form of Brendon Urie has been carried out by two of his bandmates. "You know if he's single?"
Bill smiles huge and wide, leaning a bit closer. "Shouldn't you be asking if he plays for the right team?"
"Nope," Jon says easily, taking another slow pull of his beer. He closes his eyes and remembers blue ones locking with his in the kitchen, an eyebrow raised at the way Jon was blocking the fridge, partly a game, partly a dare. Jon bites his lip, tries to hold back a smile and fails. "I think I'm good on that part."
Feel inspired? Leave a comment and I'll pick out icons for you as well. :-)
