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Another Meme!

I know I'm crap, I owe comments like woah, but work is EVIL, please give me a distraction?

Tell me about a story I haven't written, and I'll give you between one and three sentences from that story.

I can totally commit to one-to-three sentences, right?

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I'm repeating myself from elsewhere, but killjoys in space!

"I don't think it's a BL sleeper." Mikey says, droll. The ship is about two decades older than the Tranz Am and from what Gerard can see on the viewer, the hull is a patchwork of mended metal. The chances of it surviving a re-entry look chancy.

"You never know." Gerard says stubbornly. He doesn't glance up at the green mask pinned to the wall with a knife through the eyehole, a reminder not to get caught out again. Trust no one.

"Look," Mikey says, muting the distress signal. "We can out run that piece of shit easy. If they really are in trouble we should try to help."

"You're such a fucking boy scout." Gerard says, but he puts the scrambler on and answers the call.

The image that buzzes into view on the screen is a guy about their age, or older, with a wild mane of frizzy hair. He's not wearing white, and the interior of the ship - what they can see of it - looks as rough and dilapidated as the exterior. If it's a BL trap they've gone pretty deep cover, deeper than they would usually bother. Mikey's probably right. Again.

"This is Raygun Jones, of the Jet Star, is someone there?" He blinks into the receiver, no doubt seeing digital haze the scrambler turns their transmissions into, "Are you using a scrambler?"

"We're private people." Gerard says simply, "What do you need? Your ship doesn't look damaged."

"Med supplies, anything you have. I've got some credits or I can trade for them."

"Is it infectious? You don't look sick." Gerard blurts out, and Mikey kicks him. Gerard shoots him a glare.

"It's not for me." They guy runs a hand through his frizzy mane of hair. He may look healthy, but he also looks tired. "It's for her." He says, stepping aside from the transmitter and revealing another figure, prone and immobile, with the same frizzy hair.

Gerard's breath sticks in his throat. It's funny how when you haven't seen something for a really long time, you start to forget, to wonder if you made it up. Like sunshine, or trees grown in the earth, or food that resembles food. Did it really exist, or did he just read about it?

It's been a really long time since Gerard's seen a child, and now there's one on his screen.

Omg! Somehow I missed that you posted this, too.

This is such a great premise *g*

Also: TRUST NO ONE :'(

Edited 2011-12-15 13:10 (UTC)

Oh man, I really do need to start cross-posting my fics again. I just hate doing it so much.

I'm so glad you liked it! I really liked your one too :DDD

I know. I want there to be an epic Frank backstory where he was a double agent and Gerard caught him out and then in this story (that I WILL NOT write) he crosses their path again and has to try to win back Gerard's trust.

that I WILL NOT write

Are you really sure? Think of the possibilities! ;-D

This is amazing!

All the details, the mask, the hints at back-story, Mikey so determined they should stop and help.

And then Ray! With the kid!

And Gerard, seeing a child!

I love this so much. I didn't expect you'd come back with something so awesome from the prompt.

THANK YOU!

THANK YOU! I would never have headed down this road without your guidance. So glad you liked it!

Also, I love that I could have written Killjoys in space at any point in time, and yet what do I do? I turn it into Killjoys in space ORIGIN fic, where they are not even a group yet. Because apparently that's how I roll.

<3333 You are so welcome, my dear!

THAT IS NOT THREE SENTENCES.

HUSH YOU.

*_____________________________*

<333333333333

I love space AUs and this is wonderful. Now I want to know what happens :-)

Thank you! And thanks for the rec, too.

As to what happens next - well of course the Way brothers will help Ray and his young charge. Except she needs some kind of special meds which they need to travel to get, and they end up crossing into BL's territory to get it, which puts them in Frank's path and then the shit REALLY hits the fan.

Awesome! Tell me more ;-D

I like this.

The story in which race car driving is a metaphor for sex.

I'm not entirely sure if this fits the bill, but let's try this! It was actually kind of fun to write.

*

Gerard jerks the wheel, the squeal of rubber loud in his ears as the Trans Am slides around a corner. He switches up gears, feeling her hum all around him; through his fingers, under his feet. She wants to win as much as he does.

He floors it down the straight, keeping her steady, counting down the seconds to the next turn. A glance in his rearview shows him a slash of green and yellow and he scowls. Some skunk-haired punk who doesn't know shit about shit is not going to take his title. Gerard owns these fucking roads, and he's going to show Iero exactly that.

Iero pulls up beside him, his engine rumbling in broken harmony with Gerard's Trans Am. Gerard barely spares him a glance, and when he does Iero is frowning in concentration. He'll need it. After the next few curves there's an incline, and the trade off between speed and handling becomes crucial. Gerard knows exactly how to handle it, and that's when Iero will get left for dead.

He doesn't though. He holds his own, the fucker, keeping pace with Gerard, their engines growling and panting, all revs and exhaust. Gerard's body vibrates with adrenaline, his heartbeat pounding his blood like the engine pumping fuel. He doesn't look at Iero, but he can feel him, hear him, just outside his blind spot as they crest the rise, the finish line coming into view.

They explode past the checkpoint with a flash of chequered flags and a sharp intake of breath from Gerard as he shoots across it, Iero flying past in tandem.

Gerard comes first, but only barely.

Er hi. I'm just going to read this a few thousand more times. Don't mind me.

Gerard jerks the wheel, the squeal of rubber loud in his ears as the Trans Am slides around a corner. He switches up gears, feeling her hum all around him; through his fingers, under his feet. She wants to win as much as he does.

That is three sentences m'darling.

OKAY THEN: WHERE'S THE REST? :D

Hell yes. Mmmh.

HOTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

For the first time ever, I see how racing is hot.

The all girl gsf fic. I don't even care who the girls are.

In other news, I am going to HELL.

*

Jamia shifts, pressing her thighs together. This had seemed like a better idea, well... before she started to sober up. Lyn had been so insistent that it would be a great bonding experience or whatever, and then there was that whole argument for feminism and claiming the circle jerk for the female sex - it had all sounded so reasonable.

Now that they were actually here, and she needed to take off her pants, it was a little intimidating. It also didn't help that she was the only one wearing pants. Lyn had just slipped her panties off under her skirt and Alicia had done some kind of slippery move with her tights, leaving her in just her shirt, which was long enough to be a dress anyway.

"C'mon, Jai, don't be shy." Lyn says, flashing a scarlet smile.

Jamia fights a blush, but undoes her pants, deciding not to take them off in favour of just getting them open. "So do we just...?" She asks, her voice coming out uneven.

"Um, yeah, I guess." Alicia says, then her her hand disappears under the hem of her shirt.

Lyn is less shy about it; she eases up onto her knees and flips her skirt up. Jamia's not sure where to look, if she's even supposed to look. She focuses instead on wedging her hand down the front of her pants. There's not really enough room to do much, but she's wet anyway. She's been wet since Lyn brought the whole idea up, even more so when she realised they were actually going to do it.

She huffs out a breath when her fingers finds her clit, her face flooding warm when a small noise escapes her lips. She closes her eyes, just feeling it for a few moments. She so wet, so fucking hot. When she opens her eyes again it's to a view of Lyn's fingers, shiny with her own wetness as she touches herself. Jamia lets out a breath and averts her eyes.

"It's okay, you can look." Lyn says, her voice gentle, a little rough. Jamia looks back and Lyn shifts a little, spreading her legs wider. "I don't mind."

"It's kind of the whole point, isn't it?" Alicia adds, creeping the hem of her shirt up higher, until Jamia can see her hand pressed between her legs.

Fighting a fierce blush, Jamia nods, and takes off her pants.

If she's going to do this, she might as well do it properly.

Ahahahaha, YES. I love it. And if you're going to hell for this then I'm coming with you for requesting it, and then you can tell me how it ends.

I would read so much more of this. Just so you know.

The one where Gerard is a fugitive and Frank is the cop who's sent looking for him.

Frank almost hadn't recognised Way. A lot of fugitives will change their hair, or facial hair, or dress differently to avoid notice.

This is something else.

He waits in the shadows for Way to leave the crumbling apartment block. His footsteps announce him before Frank even lays eyes on him but Frank stays in the dark until he can make a positive ID before he makes his move.

He's got Way by the arm, one wrist cuffed and his body pressed against the wall before Way can even make a noise. When he does it's a soft "oof" followed by a strangled "ouch" as the cuffs tighten.

"So you found me, huh?" He asks, not sounding surprised. He turns and locks eyes with Frank, arching one perfectly groomed eyebrow at him, his painted lips quirking up at one side. The light from the streetlight is harsh and should be unforgiving, but it makes him looks like fucking Marlene Dietrich with dark hair. His makeup is perfect, his lips lush and dark, his features nothing but feminine. If Frank hadn't seen the mugshots, he'd be doubting himself right now.

"I'm taking you in." He says gruffly, cuffing Way's other hand and trying not to notice the perfectly manicured fingernails, the flash of stockinged thigh where the split in his dress is high.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" Way asks, tilting his head and fucking batting his eyelashes like an actress from the 20's. "I'm innocent, you know." He does this little movement, almost like a shimmy. It rolls down his torso and arms, making the silky material of his dress ripple.

Frank has to take a breath, swallow it down, and pretend his cock didn't just take notice of that. He reminds himself there's a guy under the dress - a wanted fugitive at that - one that Frank needs to take into headquarters to answer for his crimes.

Way bats his eyes again.

Frank's cock really doesn't care.

Um. Yes. All of this, please.

So much fun!

♥ so awesome!! So much detail in such a short piece! Also, I would love to see Gerard in a Marlene Dietrich look.

Yes yes yes! And it's kind of insane that we KNOW from CANON what the shimmy looks like.

NO AU IS IMPLAUSIBLE WHEN IT COMES TO MCR!

Holly shit on a stick.... THIS is so good

ahhahahaahahahahahahaahahahahha

*deep breath*

ahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha

Okay, that being said, I love all the stuff you put up at the top. Very fun! And I would like some Pete/Mikey in the Killjoys verse, please

Ooh yes! I second this 'story'. There needs I be much more Pete/Mikey in the killjoys verse!

Wow! these are all so great!

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