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Fics and stuff, by manipulant
Bandom daily drabble journal: beforeorsince
Email: socksockysock at gmail dot com
Twitter: laurabeesayshey
AO3: manipulant
tumblr: a cautionary tale
Bandom
Watch Them Busting Out
Brendon/Spencer, 1700 words, NC-17
WARNINGS: D/s undertones, sort of rough play
Spencer finds out that Brendon's nipples are wired straight to his dick. Oh exploitable.
"Oh, oh fuck, oh jesus fucking - " Brendon gasps, reaching up to grab Spencer’s wrist and squeeze gently. His ankles are curling around Spencer’s legs, hooking around his shins, and Spencer’s suddenly lightheaded at how gone Brendon is, his hips already shifting restlessly, his fingers sliding down Spencer’s arm, digging in a little. "Spence," he whines, grabbing for Spencer’s other hand, trying to push it back down his belly, into his open jeans.
I Was Hiding Under Your Porch (Because I Love You)
various pairings, mostly gen, approx 9k
America's Next Top Band Member
co-written with look_alive
the Warnings really say it all: not!fic, ridiculousness, cartoon violence, Tyra Banks, painted dicks, facial piercings, torturous levels of Dashboard Confessional
So Brendon has to get carted off for tetanus shots in his everyplace, but ultimately he counts it as a win, because fucking GERARD that FUCKER sees the crazy shit they did with the safety pins and turns white as a sheet and pukes all over Gabe's brand new purple Supra hightops he just got as a gift from Justin Bieber, so pretty much everyone wins. Except Gerard and Gabe. And Justin Bieber.
You Mustn't Be Afraid
Brendon/Spencer, less than 2k
Inception AU Prequel
(written for no_tags January 2011)
“You just need to stop trying to impose your own perception of reality onto your subconscious,” Brendon tells him cheerfully, pausing to step behind Spencer for a moment, to let the young lady in the leopard-print shrug walk past them on the stairs. “Once you’re here, you pretty much decide everything that’s real.” He pauses, and tilts his head, giving Spencer a crooked, charming smile. “When you think about it, it’s kind of sad that dreams are as normal as they are. Like, when given the choice between total creativity and mind-blowingness, ninety-nine percent of people are still going to dream about...I don’t know, having to give a speech in front of a crowd?”
The Getaway Mile
Bob/Gerard, Spencer/Brendon, Pete/Patrick/Ashlee, PG, ~7,000 words
Whatever happened to the fifth Killjoy?
It’s uneventful. For the first time in his life, Bob is grateful and not ashamed of his past as a BL/ind drone, because it means that he’s already familiar with the bloodless, mindless, hopeless environment in which he finds himself. He knows the assholes who deliver his food are just trying to make it to clock-out, just trying not to get ghosted for another day. He knows the idiots who come to rough him up every so often are only doing it because their managers want to keep their numbers up and they’re hoping Bob will crack during their shift, so they can take credit for it.
Honestly, he feels kind of sorry for the poor guys working him over, because he knows that when they go back in to report their progress, they’re going to get some kind of talking-to for not giving one hundred and ten percent. He’ll cheerfully trade a couple of bruises and loose teeth for his autonomy.
Keeping a Reflection of You in Hindsight
Spencer/Brendon, Pete/Patrick/Ashlee, PG-13, ~14,000 words
Vampires! H/C! Vampire HC!
(written for bandomstuffsit December 2010)
“When you’re better, you want to have a bowling tournament?” Brendon asks, not even bothering to look away as Spencer closes his eyes, and presses his forehead against the glass. Brendon can feel it happening, the small aching twist to his stomach, the sweet hurt radiating up and out. Uh oh. “Spence?”
“Yeah, bowling would be good,” Spencer mumbles, gesturing with a hand tiredly. Brendon reaches over and grabs it, gently tucks it down between their legs, keeping their palms clasped together. They sit like that for a few miles, and then Spencer shifts and gives Brendon’s hand a squeeze. “Heartbeat,” he mutters simply, his lips twisting up in a tiny smile as he squeezes Brendon’s fingers in time with his pulse.
Into the Woods
Spencer/Brendon, NC-17, ~110,000 words
the fairytale AU - they get sucked into a big book of Fairy Tales and have to play their way through
(written for bandombigbang June 2010)
Hmm?" Spencer's not really paying attention, he's busy inspecting the grove of trees in which they've found themselves, and the bag that's leaning against one treetrunk. "Hey, I think this is mine," he says, pleased, as he turns to face Brendon again.
"Spence," Brendon says, and whatever's in his eyes and voice makes Spencer move, back to his side, in a couple of seconds. Brendon bites his lip and lets the handful of breadcrumbs he got from his pocket fall to the forest floor. He glances over his own shoulder, and then over Spencer's, and exhales raggedly when he sees birds pecking along the clearing.
"Oh," Spencer breathes next to him, turning his head to see the birds and the remains of the breadcrumb trail as well. "Well." He thinks for a minute. "At least in this one, we don't have to marry each other?"
Spencer Smith and the Perils of the Junk Drawer
Spencer/Brendon preslash, worksafe, self-indulgent flangst
NOW WITH MORE PODFIC, read by regonym!
Spencer doesn't mean to find it, is the thing.
He finds himself wondering about it at really weird times, like he'll be at the grocery store getting shampoo and beer, waiting in the checkout line and suddenly there'll be this perfect mental image of Brendon hunched over in a van after a concert at night, squinting down at the back of this envelope, using a promotional pen from a radio station to make this list of what he'll do when his band kicks him out.
Another Instance Wherein Spencer Smith Won't Let Brendon Be Grate :(
Spencer/Brendon, worksafe, pretty much not!fic
Brendon's Gay Chicken Batting Average is 1000 - BECAUSE HE NEVER GETS UP TO THE PLATE. >:(
Brendon occasionally gets disgruntled during tours because okay, everyone rips on everyone else, and he's a fucking member of PANIC AT THE FUCKING DISCO, aka Gayest Band To Ever Gay, and his bromance with Spencer Smith is the stuff of which LEGENDS are made, and yet. AND YET.
NO ONE MAKES FUN OF THEM.
A Field Guide to Ryan Rosses, by Spencer J. Smith, Esq.
Mostly gen, offscreen Spencer/Brendon, worksafe, ~9000 words
Spencer Smith: Ryan Whisperer.
He looks like this today: :[
Today: :\
Today: :/
Today: :(
Today: >:(
Today: 8D SEND HELP
Today: :{| i told him to shave.
Today: :<
Bandom December Drabbles
(all worksafe, variety of pairings)
Coat
Secret
Dinosaur
Tea
Unwell
Hate
Love
Faith
Invisible
Merlin Fic
Puretos
Arthur/Merlin, unrepentant h/c, ~2600 words
Obviously Arthur can't suffer a bad case of chills alone.
After a few nerve-wracking, breathless seconds, Arthur sighs and sinks back against him, and Merlin sighs as well and sets to putting the cloaks and blankets back to right.
He does let out a distressingly girly shriek when Arthur presses ice-cold feet to his legs, however. In front of him, Arthur's shoulders are shaking from what Merlin suspects to be laughter, and he grumbles and smacks Arthur's shoulder. "I should've just let you die," he mutters.
"Not dying," Arthur assures him, like it's supposed to make him feel better. "Better in the morning." And then his teeth clatter together so hard they threaten to leap out of his head, and he shudders and grabs Merlin's arm and tugs it across his chest, curling around it like it's a talisman, a token to help him win a duel. "God," he groans, the word wrenched out of him.
Abraham to kill him -
Arthur/Merlin, angst, ~2400 words
A guild of players has made its way from Londinium.
The boy playing Isaac is slight, and quick with a smile. He gazes up at Abraham with a combination of adoration and fear that's so naked it makes Merlin a bit uncomfortable, but he can't keep his gaze away. Something about the boy - the light blue of his pupils or the half-blonde hair or the unrequited admiration in his eyes - is wrenchingly familiar.
The scene shifts. Merlin keeps one eye on Arthur's chair because he's not entirely pants at being a servant, after all. Therefore, he sees Arthur's grip on his goblet getting tighter, whiter in the knuckles as Abraham leads his son to the top of a mountain (really just a stack of wooden pallets) and prepares the sacrificial knife.
Fics and stuff, by manipulant
Bandom daily drabble journal: beforeorsince
Email: socksockysock at gmail dot com
Twitter: laurabeesayshey
AO3: manipulant
tumblr: a cautionary tale
Bandom
Watch Them Busting Out
Brendon/Spencer, 1700 words, NC-17
WARNINGS: D/s undertones, sort of rough play
Spencer finds out that Brendon's nipples are wired straight to his dick. Oh exploitable.
"Oh, oh fuck, oh jesus fucking - " Brendon gasps, reaching up to grab Spencer’s wrist and squeeze gently. His ankles are curling around Spencer’s legs, hooking around his shins, and Spencer’s suddenly lightheaded at how gone Brendon is, his hips already shifting restlessly, his fingers sliding down Spencer’s arm, digging in a little. "Spence," he whines, grabbing for Spencer’s other hand, trying to push it back down his belly, into his open jeans.
I Was Hiding Under Your Porch (Because I Love You)
various pairings, mostly gen, approx 9k
America's Next Top Band Member
co-written with look_alive
the Warnings really say it all: not!fic, ridiculousness, cartoon violence, Tyra Banks, painted dicks, facial piercings, torturous levels of Dashboard Confessional
So Brendon has to get carted off for tetanus shots in his everyplace, but ultimately he counts it as a win, because fucking GERARD that FUCKER sees the crazy shit they did with the safety pins and turns white as a sheet and pukes all over Gabe's brand new purple Supra hightops he just got as a gift from Justin Bieber, so pretty much everyone wins. Except Gerard and Gabe. And Justin Bieber.
You Mustn't Be Afraid
Brendon/Spencer, less than 2k
Inception AU Prequel
(written for no_tags January 2011)
“You just need to stop trying to impose your own perception of reality onto your subconscious,” Brendon tells him cheerfully, pausing to step behind Spencer for a moment, to let the young lady in the leopard-print shrug walk past them on the stairs. “Once you’re here, you pretty much decide everything that’s real.” He pauses, and tilts his head, giving Spencer a crooked, charming smile. “When you think about it, it’s kind of sad that dreams are as normal as they are. Like, when given the choice between total creativity and mind-blowingness, ninety-nine percent of people are still going to dream about...I don’t know, having to give a speech in front of a crowd?”
The Getaway Mile
Bob/Gerard, Spencer/Brendon, Pete/Patrick/Ashlee, PG, ~7,000 words
Whatever happened to the fifth Killjoy?
It’s uneventful. For the first time in his life, Bob is grateful and not ashamed of his past as a BL/ind drone, because it means that he’s already familiar with the bloodless, mindless, hopeless environment in which he finds himself. He knows the assholes who deliver his food are just trying to make it to clock-out, just trying not to get ghosted for another day. He knows the idiots who come to rough him up every so often are only doing it because their managers want to keep their numbers up and they’re hoping Bob will crack during their shift, so they can take credit for it.
Honestly, he feels kind of sorry for the poor guys working him over, because he knows that when they go back in to report their progress, they’re going to get some kind of talking-to for not giving one hundred and ten percent. He’ll cheerfully trade a couple of bruises and loose teeth for his autonomy.
Keeping a Reflection of You in Hindsight
Spencer/Brendon, Pete/Patrick/Ashlee, PG-13, ~14,000 words
Vampires! H/C! Vampire HC!
(written for bandomstuffsit December 2010)
“When you’re better, you want to have a bowling tournament?” Brendon asks, not even bothering to look away as Spencer closes his eyes, and presses his forehead against the glass. Brendon can feel it happening, the small aching twist to his stomach, the sweet hurt radiating up and out. Uh oh. “Spence?”
“Yeah, bowling would be good,” Spencer mumbles, gesturing with a hand tiredly. Brendon reaches over and grabs it, gently tucks it down between their legs, keeping their palms clasped together. They sit like that for a few miles, and then Spencer shifts and gives Brendon’s hand a squeeze. “Heartbeat,” he mutters simply, his lips twisting up in a tiny smile as he squeezes Brendon’s fingers in time with his pulse.
Into the Woods
Spencer/Brendon, NC-17, ~110,000 words
the fairytale AU - they get sucked into a big book of Fairy Tales and have to play their way through
(written for bandombigbang June 2010)
Hmm?" Spencer's not really paying attention, he's busy inspecting the grove of trees in which they've found themselves, and the bag that's leaning against one treetrunk. "Hey, I think this is mine," he says, pleased, as he turns to face Brendon again.
"Spence," Brendon says, and whatever's in his eyes and voice makes Spencer move, back to his side, in a couple of seconds. Brendon bites his lip and lets the handful of breadcrumbs he got from his pocket fall to the forest floor. He glances over his own shoulder, and then over Spencer's, and exhales raggedly when he sees birds pecking along the clearing.
"Oh," Spencer breathes next to him, turning his head to see the birds and the remains of the breadcrumb trail as well. "Well." He thinks for a minute. "At least in this one, we don't have to marry each other?"
Spencer Smith and the Perils of the Junk Drawer
Spencer/Brendon preslash, worksafe, self-indulgent flangst
NOW WITH MORE PODFIC, read by regonym!
Spencer doesn't mean to find it, is the thing.
He finds himself wondering about it at really weird times, like he'll be at the grocery store getting shampoo and beer, waiting in the checkout line and suddenly there'll be this perfect mental image of Brendon hunched over in a van after a concert at night, squinting down at the back of this envelope, using a promotional pen from a radio station to make this list of what he'll do when his band kicks him out.
Another Instance Wherein Spencer Smith Won't Let Brendon Be Grate :(
Spencer/Brendon, worksafe, pretty much not!fic
Brendon's Gay Chicken Batting Average is 1000 - BECAUSE HE NEVER GETS UP TO THE PLATE. >:(
Brendon occasionally gets disgruntled during tours because okay, everyone rips on everyone else, and he's a fucking member of PANIC AT THE FUCKING DISCO, aka Gayest Band To Ever Gay, and his bromance with Spencer Smith is the stuff of which LEGENDS are made, and yet. AND YET.
NO ONE MAKES FUN OF THEM.
A Field Guide to Ryan Rosses, by Spencer J. Smith, Esq.
Mostly gen, offscreen Spencer/Brendon, worksafe, ~9000 words
Spencer Smith: Ryan Whisperer.
He looks like this today: :[
Today: :\
Today: :/
Today: :(
Today: >:(
Today: 8D SEND HELP
Today: :{| i told him to shave.
Today: :<
Bandom December Drabbles
(all worksafe, variety of pairings)
Coat
Secret
Dinosaur
Tea
Unwell
Hate
Love
Faith
Invisible
Merlin Fic
Puretos
Arthur/Merlin, unrepentant h/c, ~2600 words
Obviously Arthur can't suffer a bad case of chills alone.
After a few nerve-wracking, breathless seconds, Arthur sighs and sinks back against him, and Merlin sighs as well and sets to putting the cloaks and blankets back to right.
He does let out a distressingly girly shriek when Arthur presses ice-cold feet to his legs, however. In front of him, Arthur's shoulders are shaking from what Merlin suspects to be laughter, and he grumbles and smacks Arthur's shoulder. "I should've just let you die," he mutters.
"Not dying," Arthur assures him, like it's supposed to make him feel better. "Better in the morning." And then his teeth clatter together so hard they threaten to leap out of his head, and he shudders and grabs Merlin's arm and tugs it across his chest, curling around it like it's a talisman, a token to help him win a duel. "God," he groans, the word wrenched out of him.
Abraham to kill him -
Arthur/Merlin, angst, ~2400 words
A guild of players has made its way from Londinium.
The boy playing Isaac is slight, and quick with a smile. He gazes up at Abraham with a combination of adoration and fear that's so naked it makes Merlin a bit uncomfortable, but he can't keep his gaze away. Something about the boy - the light blue of his pupils or the half-blonde hair or the unrequited admiration in his eyes - is wrenchingly familiar.
The scene shifts. Merlin keeps one eye on Arthur's chair because he's not entirely pants at being a servant, after all. Therefore, he sees Arthur's grip on his goblet getting tighter, whiter in the knuckles as Abraham leads his son to the top of a mountain (really just a stack of wooden pallets) and prepares the sacrificial knife.